Stories About Women

DEAR JOHN LETTER

By the time you read this letter, I would be long gone.

You probably have noticed my deserted room before seeing this letter. You might have seen that my bed sheet was peeled off and rolled like ball on the bed. My wardrobe, desk and safe are empty. Maybe you haven't seen it, but I left that tiger-shaped figurine on the nightstand. I want you to have it. Keep it at the depths of your travelling bag anytime you go on those business trips-those extra stretched business trips.

I never told you but many years ago, I followed you, wearing cowboy hats and deep dark shades. I bought that figurine from that antic shop. The one with the bell above the door. The one that smelt like roasted beef and ginger. The one that Georgia, the dark woman with grey hair gives a tour, telling the origin of every sculpture in the shop. The one you entered with your hand around Jessica's waist, smiling ear to ear.

Your heart might leap at the fact that I know Jessica. Well, she was the first girl I saw you with. That was many years ago, can't remember the exact month; my brain is weak, but it was on this same day. 14th February.

What put me off was that after you left the shop, I entered. Just after Georgia informed me about the history of the tiger-shaped figurine, you called my phone. If I didn't just see you with a girl, I would have believed you leaned on the balcony watching the stars like you told me. I would have believed the board meeting went well, only that so and so didn't appreciate your presentation.

Where did you get all those stories from? Did you take your time to formulate them or did you speak by heart?

Well, I didn't leave you because of your travelling lifestyle. I didn't leave you because of how comfortable you were lying to me either.

When you were not home, I had my flings too, mostly young men. And this one time with Ikechukwu, your best friend.

But yours was more hurtful. Maybe because of how casual you act around me; how you pecked my forehead and hit the right spot every morning. The way you served me breakfast on bed. You did it all without any hint of scandal written on your face. Maybe because I had seen proof that you were actually cheating. At least my sheet was clean, you never caught me.

Maybe you would have if, beneath that smile you always had, you weren't paranoid; You weren't always feeling guilty. Oh, I know you were. For birds of the same feather flock together. I was paranoid around you. I had that look of a teenage girl who just had sex in the toilet. But, you didn't notice because you were doing the same thing.

Especially that day I wore that your red satin nightwear. How you laughed and said, it was oversized. How you lifted me off my feet and kissed my forehead. How we ended up not reaching the bedroom, and making love by the stairs. How you laid beside me, breathing heavily after you made sure you deeply buried your fluids in me. Even the way you made love, you inadvertently reminded me that I had no child for you.

But this is not about that. This is about everything. This isn't about that question you asked me that day. Why are you wearing my nightwear? The guilt was plastered on my face, but of course, you didn't see it because you were also drowning in your own guilt.

Didn't you see the tension that widened in my eyes? Didn't you notice that I didn't really hit my feet at the edge of that chair? That I was pretending...Instead, you rushed to me and cuddled me. You never spoke of the nightwear again, or why it had a masculine fragrance. You must have thought it was one of yours. But I could tell from your expression that the fragrance didn't really register. You said nothing.

You might remember the exact scent if I tell you it was ikechukwu's rub off. That he was in the house a few hours ago. You knew it was familiar but you couldn't really place it. Was it because of your drug use? Did you forget things then too? Because I do now...