It’s hard to tell a story when you’re the
villain, the malevolent antagonist that is hewn like a fruitless branch and
cast into the fire whilst the hero prances off to a happily ever after. What’s
even worse is that I have to sit here and tell you I didn’t see the end coming,
when it was by all standards of the cliche, predictable.
It all
started on a dull Sunday afternoon, my school was convinced we needed extra
lessons in preparation for JAMB, so hell bent that we passed, they were willing
to break the second commandment to ensure it.
I
wasn’t all that thrilled though, I mean who would be? You remember Secondary
school don’t you? That cool colored building that connotes the passing of the
vibrant colors of Primary school, with its lethargic shepherds leading us
little lambs around the thicket of youthful exuberance and into the
slaughterhouse of blue collar drudgery, the first real taste of real life.
Of course
it wasn’t that bad, but nostalgia underwhelms me. So anyway I was returning
from school and you must understand I was birthed of middle class parents, so
every walk home was like a fashion parade.
The
tight streets were the runway, and every Crayfish seller, Shoemaker and Aboki
was a fashion enthusiast, with eyes flashing like cameras and mouths asking
about Uncle This and Aunt That and so on and so forth, These were people that
had seen you on your mothers back as a baby and though they never lent a hand
in raising you, assumed the roles of proxy parents, as though ‘How are yous”
and ‘How is school?” was all it took to earn
parent of the year.
If I’m starting to sound like I was very
irritable, it’s because I was, hormones and all, you understand.
So I
walked down my road, passing houses that bore the paint of over a decade and
gutters decorated with moss and stagnant water. The road itself was a pimply
surface that made model level grade walking next to impossible. But I strutted
nevertheless till there he was, leaning against a Nepa pole talking on the
phone. I didn’t recognize him so I walked right past.
“Sade.’’ He called, and the ring of my name
as it bounced off his lips and tunneled down my ear drums made me turn
instantly around.
‘Yes.’ I answered, and the face from which the
voice had emanated didn’t look any better the second time.
“It’s me, Yemi Jalade.”
It took a second to remember, but that’s
mostly because I was still savoring his voice with my ear buds. “Right, Yemi,
how are you, when did you get back?’ I finally said.
‘’Monday, I knew you had school so I didn’t
bother to come by.’’
‘’Yeah, you look…good.’’ I remarked
He chuckled unaffectedly and it warmed my
heart. What I’d actually meant to say was he sounded good but at that point,
the two were fungible.
Now before you rag on me for having an edgy
introduction and then spiraling into the trite nuances of chick flicks. Let me
just say that this is not a Romeo meets Juliet. This is a stupid young girl
meets old friend with new accent who has a temporary lapse of common sense.
He walked me to my gate and stopped, hands in
his pocket and gleam in his eyes.
‘So I’ll see you next year?’’ He said, and I
whispered a yes. Maybe if I’d walked away then I wouldn’t have a story to tell,
but if maybes were horses, we would ride.
“Would you like to come inside?” I asked, and
he shrugged. “Come on my parents aren’t home and I won’t bite.” I persisted,
and honestly, I didn’t mean it that way, and for what it’s worth, I don’t think
he took it that way either. It just seemed that I was inadvertently flirting
and my brain had switched to a default setting that did not have the
customization of almost 4 years of having ‘’the talk.’’
He seemed to contemplate the invite for a
while, then get derailed by another thought. “My parents aren’t home either. I
think the church is having some sorta event. Why don’t we go to my place?” He
saw the hesitation in my eyes, and then added. “Don’t worry, I don’t bite
either.”
It was then for the first time that day, that
I heard a little alarm ring, but it was short, and jarring compared to Yemis
playful, innocuous voice.
“Okay.’’ I said, and okay was the voiceless
answer to all his voiceless advances that evening. It was nothing special, not
like in the movies at least. It seemed like we were both caught in the dance of
someone else's song, his every move was tentative, I could tell the slightest
resistance on my side would shut him down entirely, but I was lost in the
groove too, not wanting it, but not wanting to stop either, so he gave in to
the flesh, and I let him, figuratively and literally.
That night was empty and dull. He was on an
evening flight back to the UK and I was the same pouting teenager my parents
saw leaving for school that morning. But beyond the superficial, something was
broken in me, and now it was bent and twisted.
‘…it was good that God
kept the truths of life from the young as they were starting out or else they’d
have no heart to start at all.’’-Cormac MCCarthy
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