MJ didn't think of himself as ‘troubled’.
What the fuck did that word even mean?
His father spat it at him like it was a curse, like the word was too dirty to keep lingering in the air for too long. His mother whispered it, her voice shaky and tearful as she begged him to bring her son back because ‘this broken boy is not him.’
So what did it even mean?
It was hard for him to remember who he was before he became a disappointment to his parents. Hard for him to recall the innocent, wide eyed boy they missed. It was just as hard to remember who he was before Simi died even though that past was so close that it felt more like a dream than a memory.
He didn’t want to admit that he had issues. Didn’t want to ask for help. What did it matter? It wasn’t like he was totally unhinged. Sure, he was becoming more and more dependent on weed and cheap beer to keep him happy, but he could definitely stop any time he wanted. It wasn’t that bad and he didn’t touch the stronger stuff even when they turned up at his parties— white powder on the brown coffee table, blue pills on his PS4— brought by people whose faces he didn’t know.
Maybe he was depressed, but he wasn’t suicidal. Sure, there were some days where he didn’t want to be alive-- that he didn’t want to exist but didn’t know how to go about it without dying. That didn’t really mean anything. Everyone had days where they just wanted to not be, right? He wondered what it would feel like to disappear but wanting to die, really wanting it, was strong stuff. He'd already lost his best friend and their individual grief had almost torn their group apart. He didn't want to be the next person they'd mourn over. He didn't want to cause them anymore pain.
But, God, what he would give to just disappear.
And that didn’t mean he was troubled.
MJ knew that he constantly smoked because being high made him feel like he was disappearing. He liked how his body felt light and his thoughts slipped like mist between his fingers. He liked how it felt to smile when he couldn’t remember all the reasons he shouldn’t be smiling.
And, when Ada looked at him with so much sorrow in her eyes it threatened to tear him apart, he smoked some more. Smoked so that he’d have a smile just for her.
MJ had built paradise in his head and, as long as he had weed and booze, he was fine.
Perfectly fine.
▪️▪️▪️
By the time Nosa saw Irekanmi again, it was Friday evening and he was taking a walk.
Friday evening was the one time a week that Nosa voluntarily went somewhere other than school or church. He took a short walk from his house to a field in his area where the neighborhood guys gathered to play football.
He noticed Irekanmi because what the fuck was he doing in his neighbourhood… and because he looked out of place in his obviously new jersey and soccer boots when others were playing in worn jerseys and ratty old sneakers. Nosa watched him do some warm up exercises on the sidelines before he decided he was mature enough to walk up and say hello.
“Longest time,” he said before he could think about it.
Nosa cringed. He’d spent a long time convincing Kome that ‘long time no see’ was reserved for friends separated by time and long distance and here he was greeting Irekanmi like the guy had just returned from war.
Irekanmi froze on the spot-- the spot being butt in the air, fingers on toes—then straightened up and turned to Nosa.
“Nosa,” His face split into an easy smile. “How far? How’s it going? Here to play?” He fired the questions rapidly, asking another before Nosa’s brain could process one.
Unlike everyone hanging around the field who obviously looked like they were there to participate in the ritual of kicking balls into nets, in his black hoodie, jeans and scuffed converses, Nosa looked more like he was on his way to an emo’s anonymous meeting but had lost his way.
“Nah,” He replied, hooking a thumb behind him in the general direction of his house. "I live around so I come here sometimes."
“To watch the game?” Irekanmi asked.
Nosa opened his mouth to reply but the 'yes' he should have said died on his tongue. Standing here in this place he had been coming to for over ten years now-- first with his Dad when he was still young enough to play football with youths and then alone when he got old enough to wander on his own— this was the first time he realized that he had never actually watched a game.
Nosa knew almost everyone warming up by face and even some by name. He knew they only played a handful of times during the raining season because the wet grass grew long and no one had the time to cut it. He knew when Brother Stephen had to stop playing for a few months because of a leg injury. But he didn't know what positions they played. He didn't know if they sometimes played even with the grass at their shins. He didn't know what move had caused Stephen's injury.
So why did he come here every Friday evening when he could be home taking a well deserved nap?
"To be, I guess."
Irekanmi blinked once, then again, like he couldn't quite believe what Nosa said.
Nosa changed the subject before Irekanmi’s brain could attempt to process his answer more.
“What about you?” He asked politely.
Irekanmi gave him a pointed look then gestured down to his clothing as if to say ‘I am here to play. Obviously.’
Nosa bit back a laugh, shaking his head. “I mean, I’ve never seen you around here before. What brought you to this area?”
Irekanmi bent down to lace his shoes. Nosa noticed that they were already laced.
“I moved here recently,” he said. “Well, not here—” his shoulders lifted and fell as he chuckled. “I mean, my family moved into a house in this neighbourhood. He looked up and grinned at Nosa, “I guess that makes us neighbours.”
Nosa’s heart did that weird thing where it stuttered again and, although Google had told him he was totally going to die and he should visit a doctor, he ignored it.
“Cool,” he said.
Irekanmi straightened up and looked across the field. “What anime are you watching now?”
Nosa's mind drifted back their first conversation (if he could even call the one sided event that), to Irekanmi's shock at the fact that he didn't rate anime. Last week Monday seemed like ages ago.
Nosa shrugged. “I haven't started.”
“Irekan!” Someone on the field called.
“I dey come!” Irekanmi shouted back.
Again, that slight lilt in his pidgin made Nosa cringe.
“How about we meet here tomorrow morning?” Irekanmi suggested. “We could go to my place and chill.”
He shouldn’t have been considering it, being mature and polite didn’t mean he liked Irekanmi. What the hell was he looking for in the den of his enemy?
Aside for a way to take him down.
Nosa shook his head to clear the thought. This wasn’t a movie. Irekanmi didn’t have a body in his closet… or at least he hoped he didn’t.
Nosa pulled up his schedule. He had to wash his dad's car, mop the house after Egho swept it and do his laundry.
"Sure," he heard himself replying.
No, not sure! He had to make lunch and pick beans for dinner then babysit Ehi for the rest of the day.
Irekan smiled kindly then went off running to his position, tossing a “See you tomorrow,” over his shoulder.
Nosa took a walk around the field over and over again, until the feeling of grass underneath the soles of his shoes began to irritate him.
Then he walked back home.
▪️▪️▪️
Eghosa was sitting on a bench outside the house when Nosa got back home. Her hair was only half braided but she didn’t look like she was in a hurry to finish it as her eyes scanned through something on her phone.
Nosa slammed the gate shut and she jerked up, like she’d just been caught doing something wrong. Nosa eyed her skeptically.
Egho relaxed when she saw that it was only Nosa and placed her phone down on the bench beside her.
“Hi,” Nosa greeted.
Egho nodded her hello and went to parting a segment of her hair to braid.
When they were little, Mum used to make Egho’s hair on Saturday evenings like this one. She’d take her time washing Egho’s thick hair, after which she would sit her down on the small wooden stool that belonged to his grandmother and was older than both his parents, and go to work making the school’s regulation hairstyle of the week.
Whenever he got tired of napping through his Saturday evenings, he’d go to watch his Mum make his sisters hair. He started looking at the hairstyles pinned up on their primary school’s notice board and relay them to his mother; love come down, two chuku, C & O. That was his contribution to the work and, if he was feeling especially generous, he’d hand his mum combs and Shea butter when she needed it.
This was before his mother got too busy for to make Egho’s hair. After braving hair salons for a few years, Egho learnt to make it herself and he had too many other things to deal with to check the notice board.
Nosa sat down at the opposite end of the bench and watched the agama lizards in their compound chase each other while Eghosa worked. Her phone began to vibrate, an incoming call, but she didn’t move to get it and he didn’t ask her if she wanted to.
“Are you busy tomorrow?” Nosa asked, breaking the silence.
“Maybe,” she replied without looking at him.
“Could you please stay with Ehi?”
Egho's fingers froze in her hair and she turned to take in the look on his face. For a minute, Nosa thought she was going to give him her usual sarcastic reply, or remind him that it was his turn to take care of their little sister.
Eghosa was older than him and she’d always had a better social life than he did, even though she acted like she hated that she had friends who thought she was amazing. She probably had places to be tomorrow. People to see. Things to do.
“Okay then,” Eghosa said.
“Okay?”
She rolled her eyes. “I just said okay.”
“But—”
“Do you want me to change my mind, Nosa?” That immediately shut him up.
Nosa stood up, leaving her alone to braid her hair.
He had to get started on his chores.