BRIEF AUTHOR’S NOTE:

I WANT TO THANK YOU GUYS FOR THE READS. Wish I could send a text to each of you, but that is not possible since I do not have your usernames. Send me your username in the comment section so I can send my appreciation.

Thanks once again for the reads, I honestly appreciate it!!

********

Maama’s complexion has become darker and she looks significantly thinner and wearier. It is a far cry from what she used to look like five months ago when I was home during the school break.

I don’t have the heart to mention this so I hug her real tight and tell her she smells nice, as we make our way to my dinky-rickety Toyota Camry car parked across the garage at which she arrived.

“My dear,” screams Maama above the traffic noise as we make our way back to my apartment on the campus.

“How have you been?” she asks turning in her passenger seat to face me.

“I’ve been good Maama. It’s really nice to see you again,” I reply. Quite happily, if I may add.

Honestly, I do not know how much I need her here till she is here, no pun intended.

My car is filled with her citrusy perfume which has always been her classic smell ever since I was born.

Her silver chain still rests on her neck and her sweater is thick enough to fight the Eskimo cold.

Her wedding ring still adorns her finger and I swear mentally at that.

Her devotion to her one-sided, abusive marriage never cease to amaze me.

“How are you Maama?” I ask worriedly, “You’ve lost weight,” I add.

Swerving to the left corner with my hands on the steering wheel, I take on the high way that leads directly to my uni.

“I’ve been…good,” she stutters, “Actually I have something that I have to tell you. But that will be later,” she concludes, twisting her ring.

Worry is an understatement of how I feel this moment. I am hoping and praying that nothing terrible will be dropped later.

“How is your friend Adisa?”

“She’s fine Maama. She asked of you.”

“*Eh yah! She’s such a nice girl. Very beautiful also.”

I hum in support.

Before reaching my apartment, I have to turn to a left out of the busy main road, which is stuffy with the traffic of mini buses and tricycles.

Maama is cooing at the beautiful campus and how tall the buildings are.

She gossips sweet tidbits of our neighbors back home and how their daughter eloped with the carpenter’s son only for them to be discovered weeks later in the neighboring community.

This information takes me by surprise as our neighbor’s family are strict Christians who raised their children in a religious environment.

We finally walk along a short narrow path to my apartment after I parked my car in the garage.

“Your apartment is so beautiful,” Maama gush, looking quite impressed.

“Thanks Maama.”

“I would like to know what’s happening,” I ask smoothly.

Maama’s tired eyes are now really accentuated in the bright light filtering in from the curtain as she sits on the plastic chair right next to my bed. And indeed she is frail.

“Your father—he raped me. Well, he forced me to have sex with him, and I think that counts as rape, married or not,” she delivers in a weary tone, “So, last week, he beat the hell out of me because I didn’t bring him water on time. I lost the pregnancy,” she finishes quietly.

While she was speaking, her eyes were looking into a faraway place, glistening with unshed tears, there is a slight quaver to her shoulder and her hands rest on her lap. She looks terrified and sad.

“Your father scared me that very day. I’ve decided to file for divorce. I just can’t carry on anymore,” she whispers into the thick air.

I glance in the direction of the window calmly. I absorb every word that fell from her mouth.

I don’t know who to be angry at—myself for not realizing that, Maama for keeping it to herself or father for the disgusting soul that he is.

“Why didn’t you tell me all this before now?” I demand, looking straight into her eyes.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is to tell you all of that? I failed you Jade. I didn’t lay a good example by staying with your abusive father. I kept hoping he would change but he didn’t,” she pauses.

“Do you know he has another wife? She lives in the next town. I think that was part of the reason why I decided to finally leave him,” she continues with a contemptuous wave of her hand.

“So, if you didn’t find out about the other wife you wouldn’t have left him,” I ask, my arms akimbo as I rest on the lavender painted wall, glaring at Maama.

The guilty look on her face makes me realize she would not have left him if the other woman didn’t enter the picture.

It dawns on me how toxic the love she has for father is. I also get to know how different we are.

“Is that why you came to see me?” I question, now walking back and forth on my hearthrug.

“Partly. I just wanted to leave that house. It was stifling and choking me,” she mumbles, looking up at me from her position on the chair.

I am tiffed at Maama, but at the same time there is nothing I can do about it, now. She has no living blood asides me. Besides, she traveled a long journey to get here.

The air is quite tense as I mull over this scenario. The day is sunny, but this situation has succeeded in dampening my already deteriorating mood.

“When do you plan to file the divorce?”

“On Monday since courtrooms don’t work during the weekend.”

I nod my affirmation at that and sit on my bed.

“Honestly, I have so many things to say to you and I am quite angry, but I’ll rather do that when you are well rested,” I say with as much calmness I could muster.

“Probably tomorrow.”

I don’t waste time in plugging my ears as Maama lies on the bed, beside me and doze off, definitely tired from the seven hours journey.    
                         
*

“Jade!!”

That is Maama and her scream jolts me out of my induced trance-like state making me bolt out of bed.

Trudging lazily across the floor, I finally get to the kitchen where Maama is, cooking up some dish.

The kitchen is filled with a sweet aroma and I add another reason to the ‘I’m glad Maama is here’ list.

“Good morning Maama,” I croak, my voice pretty messed up from my night rest.

Undoubtedly, she looks a bit fresher and well rested with her hair bound tightly in a bonnet and her silk pink pajamas covering her lithe body.

“**Kaaro, Jade. How was your night?” she smiles, turning to glance at me from her position besides the kitchen slab. She is currently stirring the soup to prevent it from burning.

“It was as good as this sweet smelling noodle soup,” I affirm.

She chuckles at this.

I have this love-hate relationship with Maama. I love her because of her cheerful mind state regardless of the situation and that intrigues me.

However, I do not condone her lackadaisical attitude with father’s abuse towards her.

I truly love Maama but I do not wish to be like her.

Quietly, we munch on our noodles and sip our soup for a much needed warmth as the weather is deathly cold this morning.

“So what are you doing this morning?” I ask Maama as I polish my plate clean.

“Connect with my friends on Facebook and sleep,” she informs, looking happy.

Sitting at my majestic desk, I go through the course load for this semester.

After a long meeting with myself, my post notes and my highlighter pens, I finally decide to head to the library for some intensive studying, as I need to graduate with a strong GPA.

Moreover, I do not want to be retracted by dear father if I unfortunately fail.

My muddy brown eyes, small nose and cupid lips reflect back at me as I apply my charcoal face mask.

Moments later, I bundle up in a thick cardigan, thick jeans and ankle boot as I need that much protection against the terrible harmattan.

“I’m off, Maama!”

I feel a sense of reverence in the library as I study in the gravely silent atmosphere.

It is exactly what I require to battle four courses in a span of five hours before I finally decide that I have done enough.

But I recall that I have to buy a particular textbook for my ‘AMT 404’ class.

On my way to the bookshop, I reflect bitterly on my ‘Timi issue’, however I strengthen my heart with ‘Forget about him’ chants and count 50-1, all in an unsuccessful bid to stop thinking about him.

It is also terrible to remember that I have fallen for him. When will I stop thinking about him? And when I ask myself that question it is with fear. Fear that it might not happen. That time might never come.

I admit that my act of shutting him off is indeed socially unacceptable and immature.

However, it still got the job done.

My sole hit the sidewalk with a ‘tap-tap’ sound, the street is quite empty save for one or two humans walking to the ATM stand on the opposite road, definitely to carry out financial transactions.

The air is indeed fresh unlike the dying flower plants besides the sidewalk. The harmattan season is definitely here.

I sight a placard with ‘THE BOOKSHOP’ sitting on the over-head board of the shop two miles away.

Walking across the tarred road with a fast pace, I get to the shop with my bag jostling behind me.

I push the front door open, and I am greeted by a gust of air-conditioned air.

I fight down the unpleasant reaction I had to it as it makes me shiver.

Joining the not too long queue, I look around the bookshop, it is stacked with books and books and just books.

The shelves are simply tall, taller than my 5ft6 height. There is a grey haired woman in my front and it isn’t quite long before my turn comes.

Indeed! It comes.

And again I am in for a big shock of my life.

The clerk at the desk is Timi.

Of all humans!! I cry out.

Mentally of course.

“Good afternoon,” I greet with as much cheerfulness-—if my tightly caked smile could count-—I can muster.

This must be Karma.

I reflect on my past sins-—from the stolen meat during Christmas when I was 10 to the unfair revoke of Timi.

I guess this is the best way for Karma to pay me back.

Undoubtedly, Karma is a bitch.

He has grown finer and hotter as he is now spotting side beards and his thick Afro is pulled back in a man bun.

He looks disheveled and handsome and it is quite difficult to take my eyes off him. His thick sweater hugs his broad shoulder cozily.

And it feels like my walls never existed.

The reinforcements are not strong enough for this encounter.

However, the blank look on his face when he saw me broke my heart and walls into shattering pieces.

I need to skedaddle out of here.

When did the temperature get hot?

“I want to get these books,” I continue, presenting to him a list of the books I had in mind.

“Alright Ma’am. I’ll be right back.”

I have never felt so much contempt my whole life for the word ‘Ma’am’.

I’m twenty two years six months old, folks!!! I’m not a Ma’am.

I am bursting with the need to do something or say something as I overflow with a nervous energy.

My heart is pumping all kind of wrong.

I wait with as much patience as that of a hungry bull dog.

My whole being is itching to flee away from this place.

I am definitely in my flight mode.

If only I knew he works here, I never would have step foot.

My blasting phone brings me back from my state of dishevel and worry. It is an incoming call from Adisa.

Just what I need at the moment now.

Hallelujah!

“He’s here Adisa,” I whisper-yell, fearing anyone might hear.

“Babe! Why are you whispering?” she whispers too.

“I feel like I’m sharing top secret or something,” I reply.

We laugh wearily at this.

“Timi is here.” I repeat quietly.

“What????!!”

I explain everything to Adisa.

“What do you want to do now?”
I roll my eyes.

“If I know it, I wouldn’t have called you.”

“Oh wait!! You called me!!!”

We laugh at this again.

“I will say that you have a talk with him. You are a bitch. Bitches don’t get scared. Like ever.”

“Not even of a fit guy they’ve shared a bed with? A guy she is probably half in lov—like with?”

“So you still think he is cute??? Hehehe!!”

“Fuck you Ady!!!”

She laughs again.

“Do you feel better now?”

“Yeah I do. Thank you.”

“Good.”

“Since you have refused to be a bitch, keep your calm. Don’t start any unnecessary conversation with him and you’ll be fine,” she reassures as I take deep calming breaths with her.

“But I will really be glad if you man up and talk to him about it. It is high time you face your fears, Jade.”

I am in a somewhat better mood after talking to Adisa and my worry is dissipating.

However, am I bold enough to face my fears?

Can I do that?

“These are your books Ma’am.”

It is Timi and he is back with the packaged books.

Glancing everywhere but him, I pay for my books and snatch the damn receipts from his outstretched hands.

“Thanks for your service Ma’am.”

“It’s Jade.” I whisper.

“Excuse me?” he asks in a strangely distant tone.

So, I shake my head in a ‘never bother’ manner, speeding out of his presence.

Standing at the front of the bookstore, I kick at shiny pebbles still pretty shaken from the previous moment.

I am waiting for the campus bus to arrive so I can leave this bone chilling environment.

Then I feel is presence. What now?

“Do you need a hand?”

His musky cologne permeate the air and I feel the urgent need to press my nose to his body to inhale as much as possible.

I shift towards him, shifting on my toes with my books in hands.

“Thanks but you don’t have to,” I mutter since my mouth is too heavy to pronounce a word.

He gives a curt nod.

The air is heavy and uncomfortably awkward. My heart keeps chanting his name as blood rushes through my veins and arteries too.

I feel like a school girl who finally gets to see her Styl Plus crush.

I wish the ground can open and swallow me that moment.

Moreover, I feel profound embarrassment as he stands beside me.

I can feel his stare on the side of my face.

I don’t bother to find out if it is true.

“Are you waiting for the bus?” he inquires.

“Yea,” I replied not bothering to look at me.

“Well, it takes quite some time before the bus gets to this part of the campus.”

“Can I talk to you?” he asks.

Now, I turn to look at him.

“But you are,” I respond finally looking into his iris.

It is a fatal mistake.

His cocoa brown holds so much sadness I am thrown aback. I find it difficult to shut him out when he says his next words.

I feel guilty as I know I am highly responsible for all of that.

“You are a coward Jade. You care about me, a lot if I may add but you are too chicken to admit it or act on it. You let your fears hold you back from seeking out that which you truly want,” he mutters with his hands clenched in his pockets, he continues, “I really like you Jade and when you shut me out I realized how deep my feelings for you are. So, I have decided to not give up on you, to not give up on the love that I have for you. So here I am, at the front of my dad’s bookshop”—-he waves at the bookshop-—“confessing my feelings for you, because I do not know if I will ever have this opportunity of seeing you again,” he finishes, his eyes shining suspiciously.

“Timi….” I whisper, my eyes glistening with unshed tears as I hold my book to my chest like it can help ward off this confession.
Truth to say, I realize how much I need to hear this from a non-family.

His confession gives me a surreal feeling. I deign to smile. It is obviously the right thing to say that my heart is delighted.

He loves me, I realize.

He loves me just as I love him.

So, what is holding me back?

My fears are.

I am scared of turning out like Maama or of him turning into father.

I am really scared.

“So I’ll give you three days Jade. I need to know if you feel the same way about me. As much as I love you Jade, I can’t bear one-sided love. My soul can’t bear it,” he says dejectedly, his voice breaking at the end.

It hurt every inch of me not to reach out and hold him and be close to him again.

“I love you,” I stutter.

“I love you too Timi,” I repeat again confidently. His eyes looks even sadder at this.

“I feel an incoming ‘but’,” he replies, quoting and un-quoting with his large hands, smiling sadly.

Does he realize how sexy he is? I finally decide to refrain from looking into his eyes.

They are my weakness.

Ice cream and cookies come second now.

And one night stands seem off the list.

“But I’m scared. I’m scared of you turning into a monster like my father. He’s a really bad man,” I whisper, my voice breaking, tears leaking from my eyes.

“What did he do to you?” he asks ferociously.

So I pour out my secret to him.
On the couch of his office, in his father’s bookshop, with my packaged books and bag pack on the blue-carpeted floor.

I tell of how father used to undress me and play with my private parts when I was eight, bribing me with sweet and telling me to tell no one and how these events did not stop till I was twelve.

I talk of how he turned his devilish treatment to Maama, how he abuses her—physically and emotionally, how he raped her and caused her to lose that pregnancy by turning her into a punching bag.

I tell him of how this caused me to lose all trust in masculine-hood as I stuck to my theory that they were only good for pleasure—my one night toys.

I can feel tears flooding my eyes, clouding my vision as I struggled to wipe them away. My attempts are unsuccessful. I hiccup terribly with snot coming from my nose.

I ache all over and I desperately want to sleep this moment away.

Suddenly, I am enveloped by his cologne as he hugs me tight like he will not let me go.

I have never felt more complete in that moment.

I feel a sense of belonging that I have always chased my whole life. I feel whole with him holding me as such.

I inhale his smell which slowly but definitely brings me back to the present, away from those horrible memories that I have always buried.

“I am here, I am here Jade, if you will have me,” he whispers.

I burrow my head tighter into his chest and hold on for survival.

For the companionship that I never knew I will need in a male.

**********

*Eh yah—a form of exclamation in Yoruba language. It’s just like “Oh yeah!”
**Kaaro—Good morning!

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

One real fact about me: I use glasses, and it’s been five years now!!!!

Tell me one real fact about you. I want to know. Thanks!! ^-^

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