REBEL GRAINED

GRAND AUNT JULIETTE-OH!

Thulile haunted Lars' mind for a month, and now it was his turn to rent some space in hers.

His eyes, how could someone have eyes so blue?

This time no waves crashed behind his stare. He was in peace, but they were still a few ripples.

"He must have liked the first coffee," Palesa said as they cleared that day.

"Pardon?"

"The tall white man, he must have liked your beans."

"It wasn't the first time?"

Palesa shook her head, "nope, I remember he asked for our menu. He's the unforgettable type. Did you see his eyes? Or hear the accent? I doubt he's an Afrikaner. He's probably from somewhere where there's ice. He has this cold side to him. Humm, he must really like the coffee."

Thulile rinsed her coffee utensils, and the women left.

As Thulile walked, the morning scene with Lars replayed. The woman wondered why she panicked or why she still trembled without thinking her psychical reaction could be a response to something else.

She giggled at her thought. It was crazy to presume the man remembered her from the club. As if he could distinguish a person of color from another. He'd probably be lost if she wore a wig.

The woman naively placed Lars in the category of those who imagined all people of color looked similar.

Also, Thulile forgot the specific detail of her face. Lars could at least nail his list down to women with her eyes shape. In the club's lighting, the man almost thought she was Asian or mixed. Like many black South Africans, her skin was naturally fair. For Lars, she was darker than he imagined, but it didn't change the fact Thulile was the girl who bewitched him with her dancing.

The woman walked instead of taking transportation. She wasn't in the mood to squeeze up on the bus with her swollen face and the heat.

Both cheek and head throbbed. She had barely slept, and she ran under the rain to open shop. The woman felt her body temperature rise with every step.

When she opened her home's door an hour later, Thulile burned with fever.

"Thulile?"

Dizzy, Thulile dropped to the floor.

Her gran wheeled herself to the spot where Thulile laid motionless.

"THULILE," the older woman yelled; she wheeled herself back a little, gritted her teeth to brace herself. She then began to rock on her chair, forcing it to topple. The woman didn't even feel the shock of the fall as she focused solely on her suffering grandaughter.

She pulled herself in Thulile's direction. The woman used all the strength she had in her arms. When she came close enough, she touched her grandaughter's forehead.

The young woman boiled, and she mumbled gibberish. Thulile didn't take anything for her cheek or head, which now had an egg size bump. Kungawo's blows were heavy, her gran panicked. Perhaps Thulile had a concussion.

Her gran screamed for help. Femi was not due home for at least an hour.

The old lady's voice dried up, and her sobs became a murmur as she caressed her grandaughter's face.

Femi stood stunned in front of the sight he found when he got home. The scene reminded him of another one where his mother starred as the victim. Femi refused to lose someone else. He ran to their neighbors four doors up, who came to lift his gran and placed Thulile on the couch.

"Eee, this child is so sick. Perhaps it's Typhoid fever or Malaria. Whatever the case, she needs a doctor, and fast," said Kalesi.

Femi rummaged through Thulile's bag and tried to unlock her phone. He knew he had three tries for the pin.