Love Drops E-Book

by Seun Odukoya

  But – but; this was crazy.

  I had no idea when she went to inquire what kind you were coming as – next thing I knew; she was filling the house with all kinds of stuff.

  Without telling me.

  I lost it.

  I had a loud argument with her that night. I called her all sorts of names – from inconsiderate to selfish to self-absorbed – in short, I created all sorts of permutations of the word ‘self’ – in fact; I turned ‘self’ into a prefix.

  She wouldn’t budge.

  So I did something – something I still wish I could take back till now – something I wish I had just swallowed my tongue about.

  I asked her to choose between you and me.

  She looked me dead in the eye, smiled – and walked out of the only room we’d ever shared as husband and wife.

  I thought she was bluffing. I thought it was just a matter of time – she would come round. After staying up for a while I curled up and went to sleep on the floor.

  Hours later, the moon’s lazy gaze the answer to my inquiring one, I went to look for her. After walking all over the house, I finally found her asleep in the room she’d earmarked as yours.

  That was it.

  The morning after, I left the house. I truly did feel there wasn’t a place for me in it anymore – or maybe I was hoping she would miss me and beg me to come back. She did call – a few hours later as I arrived Lanre’s place in Ajah. I told her I was fine – but that I couldn’t stay with her in that house anymore. She hummed her understanding – told me her mother would be coming to be with her – and then rushed me off the phone.

  I was unhappy. Depressed. Yet, there was a freeing within me – a sort of weightlessness. It was somehow – because I knew then me and Tola would work out somehow. I felt we would come out of that phase better.

  What I didn’t know then was what it would cost.

  Lanre; as is his quiet dignified manner didn’t say much. Just opened a bottle of Johnny Walker, gave me and glass with ice cubes and left me alone in the guest room. After a while, he came back to suggest we go out and I obliged. We went to Rapsody’s and I mixed and mingled with all sorts of women who helped me forget – at least for the night.

  No. I didn’t sleep with them. I didn’t even kiss any.

  We just talked and that was it.

  I felt better – and after two days with Lanre I started to consider going back home to pick up the rest of my stuff. But I figured I’d leave it till the following day.

  Tola called me that night.

  But it wasn’t a Tola I knew. There was so much pain in her voice – so much hurt and agony I started shaking. She just kept calling my name and asking me to come home. I jumped out of the house in my boxers and flew down to Ikeja. God was good to me; there was hardly any traffic so I got home in time. I barged into my house, screamed my wife’s name.

  Her voice sounded from the bathroom. I ran there and threw open the door –

  And saw her lying on the floor.

  Dear God, I have never seen so much blood…

  She lost you.

  It was rough. Within weeks, all that was left of Tola was skin and bones. Her very appearance scared me; she wouldn’t eat or drink anything.

  All she did was cry. And sigh.

  And cry some more.

  I don’t which gutted me more; the sight of her hurting like that; or the guilt I was carrying inside. In some subtle way I was feeling resentful – I blamed her for some of it.

  But I bit down on that bit and soldiered on.

  Things still were not good. We lived in the house like two strangers – walking past each other barely acknowledging one another – like running into your side chick at Shoprite while you’re shopping with your wife. It was crazy – I felt like I was walking on shattered glass. She had the room while I had the sofa – and the room she had been obsessed with had become out of bounds – even for her. It was hard.

  But I knew it couldn’t go like that. And I was right.

  Then came the night she came soundlessly to me in the living room, patiently dragging open my arms and squeezing herself into them; tangling her legs with mine so she wouldn’t fall off – and then let out the tears that scalded like steam from a overheating radiator.

  And in so many ways, that description is apt.

  And as dawn began to slowly open its eyes, hers finally closed in sleep – deep sleep, the likes I haven’t seen her have in months.

  That was it. She – or rather, we came back after that.

  Slowly, she got back to herself, her dimples began to fill out, her hips started to round up again and finally we had that conversation. No blaming, no name-calling or bitterness. Just owning up to mistakes that had come from both sides of the table, addressing them, apologizing and moving on.

  We even came to a point where we agreed on what to call you.

  “Onome,” she said. And I agreed.

  That was a year ago.

  I’ll soon be leaving the house – mum is preparing Tola for the hospital waka. She has been having contraptions – I mean contractions; and they seem to be coming faster by the minute. We’re about welcoming your sister –

  Mama just called me. I have to go now, son.

  I love you. Always.

  Absolution - Veronica and a New Customer

  A cold, metallic strip scratches her back. She cannot help the shudder that shakes her slender, very naked frame – and the vulnerable feeling that comes after.

  It’s a strange feeling. Very uncomfortable too.

  “Are you okay?”

  She realizes then that the lullaby rocking her gently in her state of ‘unawareness’ – the bedsprings – have stopped singing. She opens her eyes and see him bent over her, concern etched on his face.

  “Are you okay?” he asks again.

  She grabs his hips and pulls him onto her, urging him on with her thighs. She pushes her face into his shoulder, enjoying the clean smell of him – and makes some meaningless noise. His shoulder muscles unclasp themselves under her hands and his weight sags against her.

  She lets him lie there and drifts away –

  Or at least she tries to. He kisses her neck, tonguing the crook where neck joins with shoulder – and his mouth continues up; a heated orifice – murmuring sweet nothings in her ear.

  It tickles – a feeling she’s not used to.

  She closes her eyes and brings up her mother’s face. Her mother; back in –

  An involuntary moan escapes her mouth and her eyes fall open in shock. His mouth; ever restless, has found a breast and is suckling at it; albeit quite gently. The sensations are doing something to her lower belly – sensations received and redirected by similar action below her waist. Her thighs start to tremble.

  She sucks in air through her mouth and looks at the face above her, illuminated in the light streaming in through the window from the neighbor’s.

  What kind of guy is this?

  There are several beads of sweat on his eyebrow – his eyes are tightly closed but other than that, his face is bereft of emotion. But for a few lines between the brows, corner of the eyes and mouth it’s as smooth as a baby’s bum bum.

  And then, a smile curves his almost-not-there lips. A couple new sounds are introduced to their private haven; the breathe rustling through his slightly open smiling mouth, breathe from laboring lungs; breathe accompanied by small moans. She touches his chest; throwing her head back as intense heat mushrooms from her centre and along her spine –

  He gasps. Oh no.

  He exhales violently and sags, arms falling apart like sticks of cooked spaghetti made to stand without support. His full weight falls on her and the breath is pushed out of her violently –

  “I’m sorry – I’m so – “

  He starts to roll off her, still apologizing. She grabs and pulls him back to her chest, running her fingers along his scalp and neck and back, holding him still with her legs and thighs locked around his hi
ps. He buries his head in her shoulder, trembling gently from spent passion –

  A sound interrupts the silence.

  A sound that sounds curiously like a sob.

  *********************************************************************************************

  She lies – unmoving – and watches him.

  The flare of the lighter illuminates his face brightly for the briefest of moments – and then it goes out and it’s just the light – a few scattered beams – piercing the curtains. The end of the cigarette glows brightly and recedes – a cloud of smoke floats from his mouth to wrap itself around his head – looking like a halo around Jesus’ head in some pictures.

  A deep sigh is squeezed from his belly; and she knows it’s time for the second part of her job.

  The listening.

  “Why aren’t you married?”

  The question shocks her mouth open – and then she closes it and rearranges her face into a frown. She cannot resist a barb; “If I was married, would you be here?”

  His self-possessed mask slips and surprise appears as though conjured up. “I didn’t mean…” he shakes his head, dispelling the cloud around it. “I’m sorry.”

  She’s instantly contrite. “Don’t mind me.” She holds herself still – and then the words pour forth. “I never really thought any man was worth the trouble.”

  He nods slowly, as though approving her response. She watches as he takes another pull at the cigarette – and then the glimmer off one of his fingers inspires a question.

  “Why are you married?”

  He starts awake. “Ehn?”

  She nods in the direction of his ring. “Your ring. That’s a wedding ring, right?”

  Her eyes lead his towards the middle finger of his left hand, and he stares at the white gold band as though he hadn’t seen it before. He holds the hand up for a while, staring at the ring, cigarette smoke from his right hand wrapping itself around his face like so many white bandages –

  “I can’t exactly call it a wedding ring; seeing I don’t have a wife – “

  “What happened to the one that gave you that?” She is curious.

  His chuckle is without humor, his voice without feeling. He might as well be reciting the news – and even newscasters know to put inflection and some feeling in their voice. “Roughly three months ago I found out I was the only one in my neighborhood who wasn’t sleeping with her.” He shrugs. “Seems she has a thing for younger men. Who would have thought?”

  His dispassionate recital annoys her for some reason she cannot fathom. “Didn’t you love her?” she asks, indignation putting a rough edge to her voice.

  There’s just enough illumination for her to see the frown that deepens his brows. “Honestly, I don’t know. I sha know I really liked her, was faithful and did my best to make her happy.” He shrugs – and like a signal, the frown disappears. “It just wasn’t enough.”

  “Are you sure? You’re the one telling the story – of course you’ll say it to favor yourself. I’m sure she has an entirely different story to tell.”

  He blows ash off the end of the cigarette and takes a long drag before looking at her – and shrugging again. “Well, it doesn’t matter anymore.”

  “What do you mean?” she asks, grabbing a pillow and hugging it against her breasts. “What happened?”

  “What do you think happened?” His eyes hover over her face like a mosquito trying to decide where to land as he looks at her directly for the first time since he started talking. “I didn’t kill her o – I don’t have the energy for that kind of wahala. I just let her go.”

  “I didn’t think you would kill her – “ she stops talking as he stands up, droplets of sweat gleaming on his nude torso. He crushes the cigarette in the used Kiwi polish tin she’d placed on the table for that purpose; flicking grains of ash off his fingers in distaste – as he suddenly rubs his left eye with his free unoccupied right hand.

  Then he reaches for his shirt.

  “How old are you?”

  He finishes his dressing ritual – shirt, boxers, socks, trousers, shoes, wrist watch – in that order – before acknowledging her question. “I’m forty-two,” he says in the same emotionless voice he has been speaking with all evening. “Why?”

  “You don’t look it,” she says as she rises from the bed, naked as the back of his hand. She walks towards him, straightens his shirt collar and reaches for her bra. “You don’t look it, and you definitely don’t act like it.”

  She snaps the undergarment in place and lifts her face to smile at him. “I like your style.”

  Turning away, she continues her own version of the same ritual he finished some minutes earlier, aware that he is watching. But his eyes don’t scare her or make her shiver in fear like she’s used to; no – rather his eyes make her feel warm.

  Beautiful. A feeling she’s not used to.

  He watches like someone looking at something he has seen before; a favorite goal or movie, but is still excited by it.

  He steps up and helps pull the zipper of the little red dress up to her neck – softly brushing her braids out of the way.

  “Thank you,” she mutters, slightly disconcerted by his nearness. He nods and steps back as she smoothens the dress over her round hips. Adding a little blush to her cheeks, she observes herself in a small mirror – before turning to face him.

  His facial muscles contort – and then lend themselves to a smile. “Let me buy you a drink,” he says.

  She stiffens, feeling out of place. That is not the usual way nights like this end. “I am not the kind of girl you buy a drink for,” she retorts, banter gone from her voice.

  His face smoothens out. “Oh,” he says, unable to hide the disappointment flowing in his voice. “Forgive me.” He turns and makes his way towards the door – something heavy in his footsteps.

  “Orijin,” she says suddenly – in a singsong voice quite unlike her.

  “What?” He is standing at the door, one hand holding the doorframe, the other in a fist. He refuses to turn and look at her.

  She steps up to him. “I drink Orijin,” she says again, something in his eyes making her heart flutter. It seems to be her day of feelings she is not used to.

  “Women drink that stuff?” he asks, amazement on his face.

  Tinkling laughter makes its way around the room. “What is it to you?”

  He raises his hands in surrender. “Nothing, nothing. I just…”

  Their voices fade as they step out.

  Brave – Some Guy and Khadija

  My daddy used to tell me “Run away when you see any of these two things: a man without a conscience, and a woman with love in her eyes”.

  The first I understood immediately.

  The second made no sense to me till two nights ago when I was walking Khadija home from night class.

  I like her.

  She is small, really pretty with eyes that can look like saucers – or a dog’s – depending on what she wants from you, and a nose that is…well…

  A nose that is cute.

  Her mouth is something else. It constantly makes me think of a hard day on campus, without food, thinking about Seyi’s Shawarma.

  The best shawarma anywhere. Quote me.

  So – imagine I’ve been waiting for the shawarma, mouth releasing juices inspired by the aroma of cooking dough and chicken and various sauces.

  And then finally. It is ready.

  So I grab the hot meal, unwrap it – and take a first look at what I’ve been waiting for.

  Khadija’s mouth is like that. But I digress.

  She is beautiful. And I know that. And her friends know that. And my friends know that.

  And they think we should be together. And our course mates have been championing that cause since we gained admission.

  Now that I think about it, I can say I wasn’t exactly averse to the idea. I just didn’t think someone like her would want to be with someone like me.


  She wanted to be friends. I was thankful for that at least.

  It was enough. Then.

  And then.

  Two nights ago, we had just finished reading a particularly tricky handout – the man was fond of hiding stuff in his notes and then basing test/exam questions on the hidden stuff. We cracked a cipher to the rest of the class – and they were hailing us as geeks, telling us to get married and raise a family of geeks – that the world needed our children.

  We laughed with the rest and said our goodnights.

  Now I live off campus – in a hostel opposite school, to be exact while she lived on campus, but the two hostels weren’t far from each other so I walked with her to hers, leading the way through dense bush paths that would have seemed daunting but for the lights that blazed along the trail. NEPA had been good to us.