Ruthanne Georgeson High

💎 •A Letter from Ruthanne•

          Nike had been diagnosed seven months ago with Lou Gehrig's disease and she had become paralyzed, being confined to the bed in the last two months. The symptoms had been rearing for a year with bitter complaints from her about pains in her throat and mouth. The pains had become unbearable; she could hardly sleep or chew, and eventually was taken to a General hospital in the developed part of town many miles away. It was all on David's expense.

Demisola sat next to her on the bed and took her hand in hers. "Hey."

Nike, glad Demi was sitting at the foot of the bed and so facing her, smiled as her frail fingers squeezed her sister's own. She tried to utter a word but could only slobber; speeches are just hard to make sometimes.

"Hey now. It's okay, it's okay..." Leaning forward, Demi cooed and shushed her, grabbing a napkin off the bed's headboard. She dabbed at her sister's chin and lip.

Nike took the napkin from her with her free hand and pressed it next to her mouth. She managed to slur a 'thank you' out.

Demi nodded, her eyes glistened with care and an unfathomable love.

Nike said she wanted to go out and Demi got up on her feet, circled the bed to where a wheelchair was placed and brought it back to Nike's side. It took some effort and grunting, she finally lifted her sister onto the chair, head lolling on shoulder, and pushed her out of the bland room.

She stopped the chair by the entrance to the sitting room and came around it to enter the equally tasteless palor. She went over to the sack bags by the wall and bent over it, rummaging through the pile of clothes and looking for a wrapper. She pulled out an Ankara wrapper and walked back to one of the sofa seats. She spread the material over it, covering up the torn seat of the chair and the foams sticking out. She straightened up to go wheel Nike in but her Mom was already wheeling the chair in and stopped by the sofa seat. Demisola stood back, hovering next to her Mom as she watched her lift Nike onto the sofa, gently placing her head on its arm.

Her Mom crouched beside Nike, cradling her and brought her ear closer to the girl's mouth. "Hm? water?"

"What?" Demi perked.

"Water." Romoke turned to her. "Help her get a cup of water, please."

"Oh, okay." She half-jogged, half-dashed out of the room, pulling her grey sweater off on the way.

---

It was late into the night when she finally left the apartment, after helping her Mom make dinner, gave Nike her drugs, cleaned her up and washed the plates they'd used since morning. She trudged down, on heavy feet, the slimy greenish path she'd taken earlier, getting bumped in all directions by the throng of people influxing the bustling nightlife.

Her arms were sore, a pulsating pain pounding against her skull and her eyes could barely keep open amidst the choking mash of flesh. She wished for nothing more than to crawl into bed, snuggled in a blanket and sleep for the next few hours but she'd be lucky if she made it out of the hell alley in one piece.

And in one piece did she make it out, the noise and the frenzy fading away behind her.

She turned onto the empty main road and stopped by a lamp post. Leaning on it for support, she squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, trying to clear her vision. She peeled them opened after a while and looked long at lone moon hanging solemnly in the night sky. It was small, a little more than a tennis ball and it was in some ways inciting melancholic thoughts in her. Very melancholic thoughts she hated. She's not allowing her mind venture anywhere close to that territory. But flashes of the sad moon had etched itself onto her mental screen and a feeling of something happening. Something... bad, that she couldn't seem to shake off.

She pushed away from the post and started walking home.

It wasn't like her life hasn't had its fair share of bad things anyway.

Her walk home was a whizz and she was stepping inside their three-room apartment a quarter after ten. Not bothering to spare a glance at the girls 'gisting' in hushed tones on the couch to her left, she headed for the room.

"Demisola!"

Her steps came to a slow halt, her mind already whirring with thoughts, questions, guesses, and replies, looking for something to latch on to. Anything, a shield or an encounter that'd happened in the morning.

It all happened within a split second, her body tensing and already turning, against her will, to face whomever it is that had call her. Her mind had pretty much guessed who it was thought by the voice she'd heard.

Ayomiposi.

She stood some feet away from her, in all her haughty stance and plump self with her arms akimbo. "Shey o gbo mi? Abi o mo mo ma dahun?"

Demisola was silent as her eyes darted everywhere but her step sister's face. She fiddled with the hand of her sweater as her heartbeat picked up a tiny pace but she remained calm on the outside. She'd be saving herself a whole lot of complications if she just kept quiet.

Posi continued staring her down, mincing her into bits with her gaze and daring her to meet eyes or say a word. "Leta yii wa fun e." Her voice was slicing as she raised up a folded white paper.

Demisola's mind came up blank. Her face mirrored it as she stared impassively at the piece of paper.

"Lati Ruthanne Georgeson."

Now her face did a mighty flip and was splattered in utter shock.

-
*Translations of Yoruba words used:
¹Shey o gbo mi? Abi o mo mo ma dahun? → did you hear me? Or you deliberately ignored?
²Leta yii wa fun e → this letter came for you
³Lati Ruthanne Georgeson → from Ruthanne Georgeson