by Bobbie Smith

Created on: July 16, 2009

Chapter 7 Singing at Home (from Sing, Girls, Sing)

Fatima felt a new rhythm. Instead of drumming through four and five sports every day of every week, the girls The Giggles tapped into hour after hour of song, each of them sounding out their own unique parts. Fatima felt the draw of music pulling her outside her head where all her cluttered thoughts ran into each other like dominoes, each one knocking another one down until she couldn't remember which one she started with. Her race to organize the dominoes, stand them up or lay them out, anything to stop them from knocking into each other and creating piles of confusing thoughts could only be slowed by skiing, skating and hiking, and now music.

The doorbell rang pulling her from the image of her father's frail body, the grey hospital room and the dim lights when she realized how dark it was in the condo. She scrambled to flick on a couple of lights and opened the door just as Christy has her finger ready to press again.
Hi, Fatima, I was just about to ring again.
Sorry, about that, said Fatima. I was in a trance. She shook her head gently to let go of the lasting images, the sickly ones.
No worries. Hey, did you talk to anyone else yet? Fatima walked to the kitchen to grab glasses for juice.
No, why? The four glasses clinked together as she carries them to the coffee table that she and her mom never used. She was pretty sure her mom had never even sat on the green sofa since they moved to Ottawa.
I was just wondering, that's all, Christy's eyes gleamed with mischief. I haven't had a chance to talk to anyone either. I just came straight on the bus.
Are you sure you're just wondering? said Fatima. You seem like you're up to something.
Moi? Lots of time to cause mischief, she thought to herself.
Yes, you. Fatima watched Christy grab a magazine and flick through the pictures realizing how strange it was not to be alone in this place with the clean coffee table, the empty, green sofa and the overly tidy surroundings. Usually, she was out or in her bedroom, her personal nest, reading books by lamplight under the heavy covers. She invited the girls over, since she knows there was no chance of her mother being around.
You know, Fatima, you're lucky that you have all this independence, Christy said. Fatima caught her breath. Was Christy reading her mind? Christy continued as she still flicked the thin pages, not looking up. My parents may be off and on again, but my mother drives me crazy always trying to tell me what

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