Two years ago when I was sixteen, I learned the real meaning of the word 'later'. It had never been a pleasant word to hear. It meant bouncing on the seat for another ten minutes before asking again and receiving the same answer. It meant trying to keep my expression happy and not pouting if I wanted the event to actually happen. It meant clutching to my mother's clothes and frowning up at the other adults who took her attention away from me. 'Later' was not to be used lightly with me.
             Two years before that, when I was fourteen, I spent two months down in Cape Town saying goodbye to friends and family, as it would most likely be the last time I saw them again for many years. My brother spent the first month contacting all of his old friends, getting addresses and email addresses so he could move their friendships to another level of long distance. I inevitably pulled closer to my family, reasoning that I'd get in touch with all my friends 'later'.
             Getting closer to my family required me to spend most of my time with my grandparents, with whom we were staying, spending much of the time with a certain aunt and her children, and the rest of the time with anybody else who wanted to come see us.
             The cousins I loved spending time with in particular were the children of my mother's younger sister, and, as such, we had been raised to think of each other as extra siblings. Chantelle and I would fight like there was a mini war taking place in the walls of the house, complete with sending out troops and throwing things at each other, and it was all good because afterwards we would sit down in front of the TV with ice cream and watch Barney with her younger sister. We sang the songs we knew the words to, and mumbled our own words to songs only Zaria knew.
             Perhaps the closest of those three though, was their brother, my cousin Nathaniel. If it was possible for me to simply adore him, I did....