by Seun Odukoya
No alarms.
I stood up and walked slowly towards her, stopping a few feet away where I could get a clearer picture without looking like I was getting a clearer picture. I held the disposable cup to my lips and gave her the edge of my eyes. She looked like she was completely lost in the spray of the water from the night tide, eyes closed, lips slightly parted, head thrown back. I hesitated; not wanting to interrupt what was obviously a ‘moment’ for her.
But when nature calls…
“Nature can be so annoying,” I said.
And for a long minute (about ten seconds actually) she said nothing or made any movement, just standing there as she had been before I noticed her. I was wondering whether she hadn’t heard me, to go closer or to walk away when she opened her eyes and looked at me.
“Why would you say that?”
She sounded like Waje and Chidinma rolled into one, with a blend of Regina Askia thrown in. My belly started churning somewhat and for the second time within the past hour; I wondered how wise it was to consume alcohol on an empty stomach. I ignored that and focused on her.
“In this case it makes it look as though peace is something easily attained, and we both know that’s not the case.”
She squeezed her eyebrows into something that was supposed to look like a frown but ended up looking like a ripple across a small pond. She jumped off the small hill and came to stand beside me, coming up almost to my eye-level.
“How do you mean ‘we both know’?”
Her hands were beside her, and I saw my earlier assertion was wrong. The shirt was unbuttoned to the waist, putting the black workout bra that restrained her ample bosom on display. I could see the beginning of the waistband of a pair of shorts just past her bare midriff – before the shirt was abruptly drawn together.
“My face is not down there,” she said, sounding like a petulant child.
“Sorry,” I said, blaming the Amarula for making me so reckless. “I did not mean to stare or anything. Sometimes, the hardest thing to do is look away.”
She waved away my apology with one hand while the other one held the shirt together. Her thighs were…they looked like Éclairs in that TV advert. I spent about ten years of my life looking for Éclairs that actually looked like that.
“What were you saying about peace?” she interrupted me.
“How happy are you?” I asked her, startling her out of her indignation. She looked surprised for a bit, and then her heart showed up on her face. This was one hell of a lonely girl.
Her lower lip trembled, and for an awkward moment, I thought she was going to cry. I let the nylon I was carrying slip through my fingers and reached for her hand.
“Don’t…” I started to say, but she shushed me with a stern look.
“I’m not crying jo,” she said, but did not take her hand away from mine. There was a lump in my throat and my heart was pounding loud enough to serve as the basis of a rap song. “What the hell…” I muttered half-aloud. She wasn’t saying anything – we just looked at each other. She had let go of her shirt and it was blowing wildly in the suddenly cold night air, looking up at me with a curious half-smile on her lips and well…
The expected happened.
Honestly, I don’t know who moved first but there we were, within minutes of seeing each other for the first time, kissing as though there was a competition for whoever could do it best. She kissed just as she looked; calmly and passionately, a contradiction; I know, but that’s the only way I can describe it. She tasted like a blend of Suya and Snapp – and one more thing I couldn’t exactly define. Her lips were cool but her breath was hot...
I jerked away, mumbling incoherently to myself. “This is crazy…” I said, shaking my head trying to clear cobwebs that were not put there by alcohol. She let go of me and turned away, wind blowing her hair and making her look like something out of a movie.
“I should be going home now sef,” she said.
I reached for my phone and checked the time. 10:24pm.
I flung the cup away into the distance and held her hand, walking towards the noise. We weren’t looking at each other, but we were so aware of one another it was surreal. I collected my shoes from the bartender, called the cab guy and walked with her to wait for him.
A few minutes later, we were driving off the island. I did not know where we were going – neither did I care. It did occur to me that I might be in a taxi with the devil himself; but I don’t know. I guess I was past caring. Or maybe I did not want to seriously consider that possibility.
She held me, head on my shoulder humming a low happy tune. Her eyes shone in the near-darkness of the cab’s interior, and I looked at her feeling as though I was looking at a dream.
She said her name was Nike.
Me and Her – Some Guy and Some ‘Girl’
She promises to take away the pain.
She never asks questions; she never bothers with reason or knowing. She cares about me – and that is enough.
She helps forget the hurt. She calms me with her smoothness; soothing my nerves with skilled and patient fingers. I’m never too much of a bother to her.
And you know the best part?
No time of the day is too early or too late. She’s always available. She gives me much space to be myself – but is always there whenever I need her.
Which – fortunately or otherwise; depending on how you choose to see it – is almost all the time.
She promises forever and a day. And even though promises like that are usually hard to keep, she seems determined to keep hers. She tells me she’s here to stay – unless I decide I don’t want her anymore.
Like I’m in a position to do that.
It’s not like we have an exclusive relationship. I see her all over the place with this guy and that dude…I’ve even seen her couple of times with other women. But I’m not bothered. She did not make me any promises except that she will always be there for me – whenever I need her. And so far…
Did I make her any promises?
No. I’m not that daft. In fact, if we’re being honest here I’ll tell you; I have considered leaving her. I have even attempted it several times. But every time I leave I come back, with a little more baggage than I had before.
It’s funny ‘cause she would see me at those times I said I was leaving – I mean times after I’ve left her, she would see me around town; her probably with an arm around her; me probably with my arms around me. And she would smile at me, a rather sad smile and wag her fingers in my direction. At first I thought she was making fun of me or something, but I came to realize –
She actually wanted me to move on without her.
That made me sober.
That woke me up – not as I usually do; after a heavy night with her; bones all achy and shit, mouth all fuzzy and what not – but with a clear head and clearer disposition. And I saw; perhaps, for the first time since forever, the exact nature of our relationship:
She was good for me but she wasn’t for me.
So I kissed her; touched my mouth to hers – softly, like parting lovers do – like the girl Wyclef was singing about in Guantanamera must have kissed her lover – knowing she wouldn’t see him again…
We kissed long because I was kissing her for the last time.
It was hard; it was sad. It was the feeling of a tooth being pulled after the anesthetic had worn off; the feeling of missing the nail and hitting your thumb with the hammer. It wasn’t the volume of the pain but the irritating nature of it – like hitting your shin bone against a stool in the dark – a stool you put there only minutes earlier.
But I did it. I said goodbye.
And for a long time after that, I avoided the places she liked to hang out at – and it would seem she was paying me the same respect – because we both knew it was nothing for her to move on – guys always lined up and would always line up for her attention – but for a while; she faded into the background while I moved on.
<
br /> She will always own a corner of my heart for that.
Hard as it was; I finally moved on – or at least I learned to act like I have. Fake it till you make it; isn’t that how the bumper sticker goes? And I am good at faking; acting like I didn’t see that guy at the store caressing her desperately – even though he was yet to take her off the shelf? Like I don’t see women kissing her as if she was the fountain of youth in a bottle?
Yeah. I mastered the art of faking till it became real – till for all her allure and hold on my soul I saw her for what she really is – a bottle of vodka.
Alcohol. An addiction I’m very well better off without.
Love Interstate – Mimi, Ahmed and ID
MM2, Lagos. January 17.
9:11am
Ahmed
Mimi looked at the guy who was holding her hand and guilt twisted hot iron within her chest this way and that. Why don’t I choose him – choose him and be happy? Why do I lie to him – why do I use him?
What if that was me? If I was him?
There was no answer.
She liked him but did not understand him. He was smart; he was witty and he could make her laugh – but he rarely did.
She wondered about that.
He was a bit too serious; quite unadventurous and too ‘safe’. But he could cook, and the sex, while not earth-shattering, was decent enough. Still…
“Ahmed?”
He looked at her and smiled, eyes dancing with mischief behind his bullet-proof glass thick glasses. “Yes, mi corazon?”
She chuckled in spite of herself. “Here we go again. What does that even mean?”
“It’s ‘my heart’ in Spanish. I’m listening. What is it?”
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, exhaled and opened her eyes. “Why are you with me?”
He looked as if she had just asked him why he was wearing a skirt. “Excuse me?” he asked, touching the rim of his nose – no; adjusting the glasses resting there actually.
“Why are you with me – why are you dating me?”
Now he looked as if she was asking him what her name was. “Is something the matter?”
Her one hand left his; and together with its other half folded itself into a fist. “Can you just please, answer the bloody question?” she said through clenched teeth. He looked at her for a small while – and then took her hand again gently.
“Let’s sit down and talk about this,” he said.
9:17am
“Your flight’s not for another forty-five minutes – “ he let the hand with the wrist-watch fall to the table, beside the uneaten burger. “ – so we can talk.”
Mimi nodded, eyes on his mouth. “Why are you with me?” she asked again.
“I like you. You’re fun, witty, interesting – I absolutely love how your mind works.”
She watched as he leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table. The answer sounded genuine enough – but there was that wet-blanket feeling slowly enveloping her.
Truth is – she was expecting more.
“Is that all?” she asked, sulky child-thinness apparent in her voice.
With deliberate slowness, Ahmed removed his glasses, peeked at them – eyes at half-mast like a bat trying to read a billboard – and wiped them with the hem of his blue shirt.
And then, he put them on again, and regarded her. “You want more?”
A small something flared up inside her – a small something that filled her veins with volcanic plasma and made her want to slap the apathetic look off his face. “Don’t I deserve more?”
“These things take time. You know that. This is where I am at the moment. When I…move on to the next level, you’ll know.” He reached for the lone hand she placed on the table. She didn’t resist, and he was surprised at how cold it was.
“Are you okay?” he asked.
“I really like you, Ahmed. But I cannot help but feel like you’re keeping me at a distance – like you won’t let me in; but you don’t want me out of sight.” She stopped talking and slowly shook her head. “I can’t do this anymore.”
He looked at her – he looked in her eyes from above his glasses and, still holding her gaze leaned back in his chair. And then, a gentle smile curved his lips.
“Are you sure about that? Is there something I’m not getting right – “
She cut in impatiently. “There’s a lot you’re not getting right! And believe me; I know these things take time! I know!” her voice softened. “But how much, Ahmed? How much time?”
He looked away. “I don’t know, fine girl. I don’t.” He turned, facing her at a diagonal angle. “I understand. It’s okay – I’ll miss you sha.”
She looked at him, unbelievingly as he stood up slowly. “Is that it?” she asked, mouth slightly open.
His smile reappeared. “What else?” He looked at his wrist watch – and back at her. “Come on. You don’t want to miss your flight.”
10:22am
The plane’s rumbling motion woke her, and she straightened in her seat as an air hostess’ voice came on.
“Please remain in your seats and fasten your seatbelts. We are experiencing minor turbulence but everything will be calm soon. Thank you for your cooperation.”
She eased back the window cover and looked at the clouds – looked at them; but wasn’t seeing them.
No. What she was seeing instead was a face; a round face adorned with glasses and a smile that was somehow juvenile and old at the same time. Briefly she wondered if she’d done the right thing; felt a small flash of anger at what she saw as his indifference –
She would let that go. He was no longer of any consequence.
And so thinking, she closed her eyes again.
Abuja International Airport. January 17.
11:12am
ID
“There she is!”
A frail attempt at a smile appeared on her face – and then it dissolved. She buried her face against his shoulder, inhaling the clean male smell of him. Somehow, this was different. He was different.
He had to be.
“How was Lagos? And the family?” His right arm slipped across her shoulder as they continued to move, left hand gently taking possession of her bag.
Laying her head on his shoulder she looked up at him. “It was okay. Mummy kept asking when I was bringing you home and Tobi kept talking about how great a guy you are – after rushing all the kilishi alone.”
His rich laughter sent soft vibrations down her belly – vibrations she was partial to. She kissed his neck gently and was rewarded with more rich laughter – which made all the unrest in her head more confusing.
This was where she wanted to be. He knew what he wanted – and it was her.
So what is the problem?
They were almost at his car when –
“Where are we going?” she asked as he ducked in and opened the door for her. She sat in the vehicle and closed the door. She was reaching for the seatbelt when she realized he was sitting still behind the wheel, looking at her strangely.
“Where else would we be going but my place? I have some breakfast – KFC – and plenty TLC for your consumption. Where else would you want to be?”
He turned away and fired the ignition – the same moment something fired up in her head. But it was different from the stuff that had been there some hours before – with the other guy.
There. That; her head said, is the problem.
“Wait,” she said. The car’s forward aggression halted suddenly.
“What?” he asked, irritation giving his normally smooth baritone a gritty edge.
“Why do you think I want to go to your place?”
He shook his head – and an i-don’t-believe-it expression manifested on his face. “Where else would you go?” he asked, genuinely puzzled.
She rolled her eyes at him. “I have a place, remember?”
“Why would you want to go to that small shack you call a house? Besides, you
just went off to Lagos for three days – I haven’t seen you in three days! We need time alone.” He paused dramatically and leaned towards her. “Together,” he added.
“But I don’t want to go to your place,” she stated adamantly. “I want to shower first – and then have some rest. And then maybe – “