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AT 5PM CEST, it’s been fifteen hours since Boma was admitted. I had them transfer her to a private ward after which I went back to the hotel, showered, ate breakfast, arranged for the flight, packed up her suitcases and mine, before returning to the hospital.

Since then, I’ve been in and out of sleep, painful silence, off and on calls from Mother, also Tee and Boma’s mom. They’re all expecting us back home by tomorrow and she hasn’t woken up even though Dr. Salvadore has checked on her more times than I can count.

Jolts course through me as my phone rings. The caller is her mom again. I stand up and walk across the small room.

Just outside the window, I admire the canal briefly, how small fallen leaves speckle the water; an old man with grey hairs softly paddles his boat through the archway, a serene moment. I pick up the call.

“Is she awake yet?”

“Still waiting, ma.”

“Hmm, how are her vitals?”

“Uhmm,” I look back at the bed where the green digitalized numbers blink on the small screen. “Her heart rate is now at eighty-two, it moved from ninety-seven and has been like this for almost three hours. Her blood pressure has been constant, the doctor says she’ll be awake probably in the next couple hours.”

She sighs a deep broken sigh. “Uhm... we just arrived Lagos and we’re booking a flight home now.”

“We’ll just take a straight flight from here once she’s awake, give or take, we should be home by tomorrow.” I say. She’s quiet on the other end, just taking deep shaky breaths.

“Ivan,” she says.

“Yes mom,”

“Thank you.”

I nod like she can see me. “We’ll see you soon mom.”

“Alright,” she hangs up. I rest my head on the blinds for a second.

The whole world seems to be crashing in on me. In the silence, from wall to wall, my own breaths become shaky. I still hear her voice in the distance, I still see her hands on my shoulder, I still feel our wet bodies submerged under azure waters while little waves pull us even closer. I don't like fairy tales...

“Ivan?” I turn around and fire towards the bed. She opens her eyes slowly, it looks like a struggle, like she doesn't know what she's doing. I'm just frozen looking, until she starts removing the oxygen mask. I steady her hands and hold her face.

“My head,” she says, pain struggling with strength as her squeezed face glows red.

“It’s okay, you’re okay.” I place her back in the bed and dial the nurse.

While waiting for her to come, I soak myself in Boma’s eyes, wondering how it is that someday I’ll never see them again. With time she seems to settle, her gaze is steady and I can read her questions.

“Thank you for not dying.” I say. She manages a weak smile but it's long enough to make me beam brightly just as the nurse walks in.

She says hello to me and smiles before proceeding to putting her palm on Boma’s forehead. She pulls out a stethoscope. “Doctor Salvadore will be with you soon.” She says while adjusting the oxygen flow and the drip line. “In the meantime, would you like some water?” she asks Boma. After Boma nods, the nurse arranges the blanket and squeezes her knees before leaving.

“How’s the headache?” I ask.

“It’s better now I know I didn’t die.”

“What happened, do you remember?”

She grimaces and closes her eyes. I’m guessing she’s feeling pain somewhere. “I had a bad cough then. . . my whole chest sort of locked up, no breath was going in or coming out. I tried to call you but it was switched off so I called the front desk.”

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have switched off my phone.”

“You still came so. . . thank you.” She says, “How bad have I gotten?”

"Hard question."

I barely hear it but I know she's laughing.

"I'm no stranger to bad news. Spill." She smiles, I'm lost in her glowing eyes until she rolls them away from me.

I force a smile. “Uhmm. Pretty bad, lungs are barely functioning.”

She nods as tears roll out the corner of eye, dampening the light blue pillowcase.

“Bo, at least you’re still here.”

“It doesn’t get easier. I wish it did though." She sniffs, "let me guess, Mom and Tee are on their way home, because I know you called them already.”

I chuckle. “They just arrived Lagos on the next flight to Port Harcourt.”

“Did she freak out?”

“She was quite chill actually.” I reply. She smiles then pulls the oxygen mask back over her nose to take a deep breath. I watch the green rubber become misty when she exhales. She takes another breath and pulls the mask to her chin again.

“Is it difficult to breathe without it?” I ask.

She nods. “It feels exhausting, like I’m choking, but,” she looks into my eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”

I know it’s a big deal but I don’t pry. “We’re going back home though, in a few hours.”

She nods again, more tears run down her face, I wipe them before they hit the pillow. “At least you turned eighteen and we aren’t going back the same, it’s been one hell of a trip.”

I laugh, reminiscing the memories. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to see all the sunsets.”

“That’s okay,” she says. “Everything I saw was perfect. Come, help me sit up."

Tears gather around my eyes as I move up to the bed. I help her up and hold her to my chest. I know she doesn’t want to go home, but she doesn’t want to fight it. “It’s okay.” I tell her. She nods against my chest. “Everyday I’m able to spend with you is a blessing,” I say.

She turns her head up and smiles, “Me too.”

.........................

#EndSars❗
#EndPoliceBrutality❗
#SarsMustEnd❗