“My kite? It’s safe.” I never told him what I did with the new craft box. I had been waiting for him to come home. 

He took a deep breath. “Good. Don’t ever lose it, Champion. Don’t ever lose your kite.” He struggled to say more and his eyes looked far away. 

Uncle Kumi re-entered the room. My father lifted his face and stared at him as if he had told me a bitter truth. Uncle Kumi stood by my side but would not look at me. “Your father needs some rest. We will be back tomorrow.”

My father leaned forward and hugged me. He did not let go for a long time.

Until you come home. Over and over I repeated it. Until you come home.

A month went by. Our school was on a long vacation and everything felt strange with the new void that lingered at home. Auntie Serai visited all the time: she helped a lot because my mother was weak. My mother sat in one place all day, staring at the wall.

  A month ago, at the start of July and two days after Abena’s birthday, I was excused from school. I rode in the back of Uncle Kumi’s car. I did not ask him why he had picked me up early. Uncle Kumi drove across the highway patiently; he was in no rush. He did not put on the stereo and as we rode along, the loud exhaust from motorists filled the silence. When we approached the tall tower of Maitama Hospital, he turned to me, “Cudjoe, you are a man.”

Uncle Kumi led the way to my father’s ward. I spotted Dr. Boateng, and Mr. Kofi, my father’s best friend, outside his room. They did not say a word and Uncle Kumi did not acknowledge them. He walked past them and entered the room. Inside I saw my mother’s weary face. Her eyes were swollen and red. She stood up and wrapped her arms around me. 

My father lay on the bed. I broke apart from my mother to look at his face. His skin was blue-grey and puffy and his eyelids were shut tight. He seemed to be sleeping peacefully. The room was quiet. And as I inched closer to feel his body Uncle Kumi held me back without saying a word. My uncle took off his hat and gestured to Dr. Boateng, who moved to pull a white blanket over my father’s head. Two hospital attendants came in and wheeled him away. I heard my mother scream as she slumped to the floor. My gaze did not shift. I stared into that empty space where the bed had been removed. The world was empty. I felt so small, so weak, and so helpless. I had been betrayed by Dr. Boateng and his promises. I fell into Uncle Kumi’s arms and struggled for air.

The days felt longer. Under the evening sky, children played. Their joyful voices mixed with the loud waves of Labadi Beach. I smelled the ocean as a strong breeze blew, and Auntie Cece’s overgrown cassava plants swayed with the wind. The voices of the children grew nearer and soon, Ama came running around the yard with her playmates.