Assuming Aunty Jaja

Artwork by t.h. lisa

The white shirt that accentuates my honey-roasted skin had a misplaced patch of mud, courtesy of a pack of rabid Beckham wannabes. My toes were whining to be released from their Mary Jane dungeons. The grungy, mustard-gold key fit. Before I got the chance to relieve myself of my attaché case, a siren of "Aunty Ja!!" rang, and miniature limbs were entwined around my knees. It's amazing what two months of close proximity could do.

I looked down on the pseudo-octopus, which grinned cheekily to acknowledge my gaze. I began my penguin-like waddle around the living room, while the stubborn tumour emitted giggle after giggle.

"Matthew! Get off Aunty Ja! Can't you see she just got home?" a stern voice rang from behind me. I struggled to face it, nearly falling in the process. Cue more giggles.

"But Mummy... " the voice pleaded, fading on contact with the stern face of the anti-fun police. Reluctantly, my legs' captor released them, before fleeing in search of his next victim.

"Thanks for that sis."

"No problem. And how was your day, Nadia?"

"Well, where do I begin... Mr Meyer's a prick, nearly fell asleep during the board meeting and my salad was garnished with a grimy fingernail,"

"Wow. Sounds like you really needed the lotus position today," Nat replied, her face crumpling with concern. I loved yoga, but there was no way Matt was going to be home alone.

"Hey, no worries. I was getting sick of those self-righteous spiritual freaks anyway."

Nat examined my face, looking for circumstantial evidence. However, those acting classes really paid off. Content with the notion that I was alright, she let me be, while she went back to her room. I scaled the stairs, and made a beeline for mine.

"Mummy!"

I turned from the dressing table and found Matt facing Nat's room door. She let him in, closing the door behind him. Not a glance thrown my way.

I stared at the raccoon-eyed lookalike in the mirror. Duncan loved my "starry" eyes. I ran my fingers through my greasy tresses, the ones Duncan loved braiding. I touched the rough face that Duncan loved to caress. The waist he loved to encase, the hands he loved to hold, the…

"Stop it!" my brain screamed as my palms blocked by ears. I tried shaking the images out of my head, but Matt's hullabaloo in the background hampered my progress. I locked myself in the bathroom.

I showered for a good half-hour, letting the streams trace my weary body. The steam travelled up the walls, lifting the scent of the mint shampoo with it. I was nearly lost in my sinful indulgence when I heard my calling. A quick flick of the wrist - the hot water shut. A sudden surge of near freezing water jolted my senses. I nearly screamed.

Five minutes of accelerated dressing and a few screams later: I was at the door with Nat and Craig. While Craig smothered Matt farewell, I had to threaten Nat to move away from the building.

"If there's anything, just call my mobile."

"I will..."

"Anything. Anything at all..."

"Sure."

"You remember my number right?"

"Stop worrying already! Just go!"

"Right. Well... oh, before I forget, don't let him go near the computer. Craig's working on his thesis so..."

"Yea, I gotcha, now will the two of you just vamoose!" I retorted.

"Thank god you decided to move in with us, Naddie," she finally said, before bestowing me with the ceremonial peck on the cheek and leaving, arm in arm, with her knight in shining armour. Matt waved them farewell until their chariot disappeared around the corner.

"So pardner, what would you like for dinner tonight?"

"Chocolate cake!" the runt answered, his eyes gleaming. Ah, those eyes. They remind me of Duncan. They are the kind of eyes which could light a dreary room when they set their gaze on you. Irresistibly boyish eyes I call them.

"Hmm... I don't think so..."

"I promise I won't get a stomachache," he pleaded, casting those eyes on me. The desperado knew my weakness, but I was determined to remain unmoved.

"Tempting offer, but you've gotta eat proper food so that you'll grow big and strong!"

I scooped Matt and abducted him from his spot, grabbing some essentials along the way.

While he drew coy cats and droopy dogs, I chopped garlic and onions. While he coloured the sky green, I accidentally opened a can of kidney beans. Every once in awhile, Matt would set his artistic pieces aside to play inspector, and chat about whatever was on his youthfully innocent mind.

It is surreal hearing him talk. When you close your eyes, you would be convinced that Matt is an Australian child, but on opening them, would be shocked to discover that his hair is a bit too dark and skin a bit off-shade. Again, he reminds me of Duncan.

One of the things on his mind was a girl at kindergarten. Her face is framed with golden ringlets, and eyes, a Pacific blue. A real life Shirley Temple. She is more like a young Drew Barrymore. A complete paradox on the interior. Candy theft, child harassment, playground assault, non-napping, tantrum throwing -- the child has done it all. Satan would be so proud.

"Ayemeen Gerle said I have an ugly honker and called me fungus beak!" he wailed, sticking his nose up at me. Why can't that girl ever have words to match her appearance? A swift motion, and my height was dramatically reduced.

"Well, you tell Ayemeen Gerle that you got your grandfather's nose. Just like me. You tell her that I said so," I replied, kissing his minute albeit runny nose. He grinned he knew he'd be one up on Ayemeen now. Ayemeen always seeks my company whenever I pick Matt up. Although, I'm not particularly enthralled by the idea of being worshipped by the devil's associate.

"Now, do you know what time it is?" I asked in a mysteriously husky voice. I was met with a blinding onslaught of stars shooting out of the windows of Matt's soul.

"Cooking time!!" Matt shouted, just like the oversized fashion-challenged fruits on the television. What were they called? Zucchinis in bikinis? No, that didn't sound right. Before I could recall, Matt had raced back into the kitchen, with Shakira's voice in hot pursuit. I mercilessly condemned the vegetables, white with fear, into the pit of my trusty wok, rhythmically tossing them about. Matt was running around the counter, awkwardly wiggling about. It's always weird watching him to think that before I returned, the last memory I had was that of a helpless babe in arms. How happily he suckled his mother's breast, in contrast with how miserable I was feeling because I had to leave.

"Hunny, you've got to sway to the beat of the music!" I joked, attempting to displace my hips. Matt was suitably impressed with the mediocre attempt at belly dancing, cheering Aunty Jaja on. Funny that Matt should call me that.

Jaja: what a toddler calls herself when she cannot pronounce Nadia. Nobody calls me that except Nat. And Duncan. I remember when he first called me that. How the words just flowed so effortlessly, with such warmth. Jaja. Why are you calling me that, I remembered asking. Because it's a term of affection, he replied. His ring still graces my finger.

The promise of his favourite movie got Matt to swallow down his meal in record time. The DVD found its way into the magical black case as Matt snuggled up to me. I twirled his hair affectionately as I thought about Duncan.

"You know what I wanna be when I grow up Aunty Ja?"

"What's that?"

"I wanna be a policeman!" he announced, obviously pleased with himself for choosing such a gallant occupation. "I wanna chase away all the bad people!" he continued, before scrunching his nose up, utterly disguised by the misdeeds of his future captors.

"That's very brave of you, but it's very dangerous being a policeman, you know.."

"I don't care! I hate bad people! They're mean!" he proclaimed haughtily, dismissing my worries. I wanted to discourage him, but the look on his face suggested that even the Power Rangers would have problems outdoing his feet-stamping if I continued. Men, even small boys, can be so stubborn at times. Even my beloved Duncan.

I remember it clearly. My eyes were burning from all the crying. I pleaded. Don't go. Think of the future we have planned, I begged. He would have none of it. Justice must be served. I am thinking about our future, Jaja. Would you want our children to grow up in a world ruled by hooligans? That's all he said before he walked out that door. I spent the rest of the evening rocking like a drug addict going cold turkey. Duncan on the other hand, was hooked like an addict chasing his first high, but never quite achieving it. He had to continue his quest. And he did it with such fervour.

Sure he came back safe and sound from another successful raid. The news was splashed in the papers about his latest triumph. You must be so proud of him Nadia. He's making our city safer by the day. That ought to teach those bikies! But I knew the battle was far from over. Was it over when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbour? Was it over when the World Trade Towers came crashing down in a cloud of dust?

"When I catch those bad guys.. BANG BANG BANG!" Matt yelled with a vengeance, haphazardly shooting the air around us. I blinked hard. BANG BANG BANG indeed.

We were walking home after a night in the city. Our hands fit perfectly as if they were moulded for each other. I remember thinking that there was nothing that could make us let go of each other. We stopped to appreciate the Southern Cross. His hands warmed my cheeks, his lips tasted my love for him. We were so happy we had our whole lives ahead of us. The past four months had been our happiest. We couldn't wait for more firsts our first house, our first anniversary, our first taste of parenthood...

the list was endless.

We ventured on as one. I was certain that our love would never die. Then... BANG BANG BANG. My back hit the punishing concrete. Then came the screeching friction of rubber tyres and the asphalt road. My stomach ached, but save for a few bruises, I was okay.

"Duncan..." I whispered, terrified to make a sound. Duncan's hair tickled the crook of my neck. I held his warm body close to my accelerating heart. My hands caressed his back, feeling the woollen strands of his knitted sweater. It felt moist. I lifted my head and found my palms clutching a reddened sweater.

I remember the sleepless nights spent wrapping my arms around my belly protectively. That used to be Duncan's job. Not bothering with my mini-skirts anymore. Besides, there was no one worth looking good for. Not anymore. Torturing myself with incessant images of Duncan, clearer than any plasma screen could ever transmit. Afterwards I couldn't even walk down the street without runny mascara making me look like a brown zebra. I transported my hollowed body as far as I could, as soon as I could. I severed all contacts. Anything to get the ear-splitting, flesh-bound bullets out of my mind.

"Will daddy like it if I was a policeman instead of a lawyer?" Matt asked, breaking my reverie. His eyes were widened by his blissful ignorance and inherent curiosity. It's heartbreaking to see the apparently non-exhaustible hope in the eyes of the innocent in times of almost certain uncertainty.

I was not quite sure what to say. Malevolent spirits rubbed chilli on my eyes. But I knew the answer to his question.

"Will daddy still love me if I was a policeman?" he repeated, thinking that Aunty Ja had gone deaf.

"Your daddy will love you no matter what you do," I finally enunciated, forcing the words out of my larynx. I wasn't lying. There is no doubt that his daddy will be chuffed. After all, Matt wants to follow in his footsteps.

Nadia Vrishiba Haniff is one of Singapore's younger women writers.