“Our perception could either be our path to nirvana, or an invisible cage that bottles us up.” – Pawan Mishra.
•••
“Damn, I’d say I’m proud of you because I indeed nudged you in this direction, but you’re not my son or anything, and I feel bad for anyone that’s related to you, so…we’d get back to that.”
Sultan snickered, as he paced round Lekan’s office—taking in the entire scenery. Lekan hadn’t gotten a forewarning, his friend would be showing up or else he’d have prepared his mind to tolerate an endless stream of jibes and slurs, but currently he wasn’t exactly in the mood. As Sultan paced round the room, he remained on his feet behind his desk, with his arms folded, monitoring his visitor as if he was a toddler, that could wreak serious damage on the orderliness and things in the room, if not scrutinized.
Sultan was dressed casually in a pale green turtle neck sweater, black slim jeans and gladiator sandals. It was a Friday, so it made sense for the man not to be in his usual corporate kit-up, and since he ran a business—a club that was usually bursting to the seams with activity mostly on the weekends, it made sense for him to look less authoritative, and more casual. His dreads also fell freely to his shoulders, and weren’t packed into a bun as they usually were. If Sultan was any fairer in complexion than he was, he’d look like a half-caste.
“What the hell are you doing here, anyway?” Lekan growled, stepping out of his desk and descending the stairwell to meet his friend on level ground. “We both know you’re not here to provide moral support, or check up on me or something. If your mission, is to come all the way here just to say you were right, and I was wrong—then we might as well get it over with, or postpone it. I have to close up shop soon, because I have somewhere to be.”
“Tsk, Tsk, Tsk. You underestimate the love I have for you.” Sultan replied, his voiced dripping all over in sarcasm. He was now inspecting the wine cabinet, wedged into the wall—behind the left wicker chair in the room. He then attempted to unlock it, causing a smug grin to smear Lekan’s face. There was indeed a pass-code, needed to access the cupboard like a vault. It brought him joy, that his friend wouldn’t be able to have his way with it.
“Really? You lock up the wine in your office?” Sultan shook his head, as he struggled with the handle of the furniture. “What’s the point of having Wine in your office, when you’re hoarding it to yourself and your visitors can’t roam around freely to entertain themselves. It doesn’t help a casual setting, if you make potential business partners that you have over, believe that they have to go through you to get the wine, man.”
Lekan shrugged. “Leave it like that, I’m not complaining. This is an office, not a bar.”
“I feared this would happen. Business has made you less fun.” Sultan sighed, letting his grip dissolve on the shelf, before retracing his steps back to the center table, where Lekan was standing. “God knows that I’d kill for this type of office space in the club, though. And damn, look at this ceiling…”
His friend trailed off, admiring the aesthetic design integrated into the ceiling. “It’s like we’re underwater, as in an underwater world. Atlantis ish.” He paused, and made another 360-degree turn, with his gaze halting on Naade’s station—situated at the entrance. “That’s the desk of the fair chick, that directed me here right? She’s your secretary?”
Lekan shook his head. “Nope, my partner actually. She was doing my job before I got here, and now we’re doing it together. She’d go back to doing it herself, when my dad retires and I take over from him.”
Sultan nodded, and then faced him again. “I’m sure you’re screwing her brains out, already. How many times have you guys gone at it?”
Lekan grunted. “Sultan, please—”
“Don’t even lie, Lekan. You just can’t resist having sex with the nearest willing person next to you, can you?” Sultan chastised, and for the first time since he had arrived—he wasn’t being sarcastic or snide. He meant his words. “I’m not one to caution your excesses, but mixing business with pleasure? Never ends well. My own secretary is about three years younger than I am, and a very beautiful woman, but I’d never touch her, because I believe in maintaining professionalism at work. Before I give order, and someone is questioning me because we were in bed the previous night.”
Sultan’s words had essence and depth in them, but of course he wasn’t about that life anymore and so they were nothing but misplaced. Although, he wondered if the consequence of mixing business with pleasure, was indeed grave like his friend implied.
He knew if Anjola wasn’t in his life, and their relationship wasn’t in motion, he would see no harm with having a great time with Naade, on the sidelines. It was then he realized his dormant vulnerability. Now that he was in a position that was paramount, and had a great power vestige—that everyone could see, he couldn’t afford to be careless in his dealings with women.
“Wow, someone who runs a night club where the murkiest of things in the world happen—is giving me moral advice.” Lekan said, as he jammed his hands together for a clap. “Anyway for your information, no I’m not screwing her brains out. We had gotten together twice, before I resumed work here and realized she was going to be my partner. And since, then we’ve been nothing but professional. And as a matter of fact, I’m trying to put that type of life behind me. You should try it, and an advice of that nature makes sense coming from someone who works in an actual, formal setting and not a club.”
“I’m guessing you know that there are people in church that have premarital sex, right?” Sultan’s rebound was strong, as a smirk grazed his face before he sunk into the wicker chair by his right. “Because by your standard, you should take an advice seriously judging from where it’s coming from literally, as in where the advisor lives. And their type of person, doesn’t factor into it all.
“And what do you mean by you’re trying to put that sort of life behind you? Is that some business men language I don’t understand? Like if a project fails and doesn’t fall through, is that what you tell your colleagues in a bid to move on? That you’re trying to put the life behind you?”
Lekan knew he was going to be pulling one heck of a stunt, in breaking the news to his friend that he was in a relationship now, and doing his best to be committed. It was like speaking in a whole new language, that his friend didn’t understand. It wasn’t a part of his life, he could hide for so long—but he didn’t feel like disclosing the technicalities at the moment.
“I’m not in the mood, Sultan. If you’re done here, you should be taking your leave now.” He sighed, raking his hand through his hair and wearing a nonplussed look.
“Fine, fine.” Sultan rose abruptly, knowing he had overstayed his welcome. When he thought the man was going to turn around and leave, he dipped his hands into his jeans pocket and brought out a tract, before handing it over to Lekan. Lekan took the card with much skepticism, and after inspection—was able to deduce that it was an invitation to an orgy. He shook his head, and handed the card back to his friend who looked absolutely shocked.
“I can’t come to this, man. Sorry but I’m really not about this life anymore.” Lekan said tersely, before whirling around and heading back to his desk. Sultan was motionless for a couple of seconds, before ascending the stairwell to join him by his desk.
“I still don’t understand this entire, you’re not about this life anymore. Care to actually explain?” Sultan queried him, with his hands braced on the desk separating them. Lekan had originally decided to hoard the reason and information to himself, but realized he had no choice than to explain himself in the current moment.
Besides, if he didn’t—Sultan was just going to keep on inviting him to more of such parties in the future, and the same inexplicable chain of rejection would ensue. Might as well deal with at the moment, and discourage advances of such nature in the coming future.
“Okay, I’d tell you the truth.” Lekan sat up on his swivel chair, and placed his chin into his clasped hands—propped by its elbows on the table. “I am currently in a relationship, okay? And as absurd and strange as it sounds, I’m actually trying to make efforts so it would work out.
“Someone in a relationship doesn’t go to orgies, and does nonsense with other women. So yeah, I’m not going to the party, and please—do refrain from inviting me to such in the future. Unless, you like getting rejected then alright, I’m game. You might be bored with all the women in your life, agreeing to your wishes, that you might need some little rejection in your life.”
Sultan’s lower jaw dropped so low, that Lekan feared it was going to drop and clatter to the floor. His friend seemed so dazed, that his weight seemed to wobble, causing him to sink into the seats across him. “You? Lekan? In a relationship? Wow, that’s heavy. Who is the lady? I’d say unlucky lady on a normal day, because you’re no prize Lekan, but you actually seem serious about this whole thing, so you probably won’t be scum about it. And at the same time I can’t say lucky either, because even though you’re trying to make an effort here, we both know it’s not going to end well. Eventually, you’d revert back to your old self.”
Lekan chuckled in defiance. “I don’t think so—”
“Oh, but I know so.” Something evil twinkled in his friend’s eyes. “There comes a time in every playboy’s life, where he meets someone that is more interesting to him, than the average woman and he goes out of his way, to try his possible best to change and be the person she needs him to be, and he eventually does change.
“But that only happens in fiction, brother. In reality, he never changes and he eventually hurts the woman in question and then relapses. You my friend is going through this phase. I once went through it also. It’s no big deal. Just don’t throw away your friends during it, because you’re going to need us afterwards when you come out of the other side of the tunnel.”
“It’s not a tunnel,” Lekan growled, his fists—clenching in fury. He refused to accept that it was impossible to change. He refused to accept that he couldn’t be the man, Anjola needed him to be. He refused to accept that the vicious cycle would end up repeating itself, and he’d find himself in the same place he was—a month ago, in a matter of time.
Just because some people, or everyone failed in the past to transition, didn’t mean that there was no hope for him. Perhaps, they didn’t have sufficient willpower. Or maybe it was the fact that the person they met, wasn’t precious enough to motivate them. Whatever it was, it didn’t automatically set him up for failure.
He believed he could do it.
“Look, I don’t want to spend time arguing back and forth with you, so let’s just leave it at this. You believe I can’t leave this life behind, cool. But I’m going to try my best to, and it’s my conviction. Now, if you would excuse me…” Lekan rose to his feet. “I really have somewhere to go.”
Sultan didn’t press further in protest, and simply excused himself from Lekan’s workspace. Before he left however, he left Lekan with a word that boggled him.
“I’m happy though, that you’re growing. You don’t seem to be that same, immature, entitled brat that I was arguing with a few weeks back. But changing the essence of who you are? Deviating from a lifestyle, you’ve been living all your life? I’m not saying it’s impossible. I don’t even know what I’m saying really, because I don’t think its possible to just stop it totally. But if you fail, don’t beat yourself too much about it. Growth is important, and it shows that you are willing to grow.”
***
Anjola yawned and stretched out her hands to full length, before crashing her back into the plump, cushion of her swivel chair.
Closing time was upon them, and she had concluded just in time for it. She spun around in her chair, checking out her office workmates—to confirm if they were both ready to head out to the KFC, across the street since it was their ritual, after every work day to grab a light snack, but only Adaure seemed to be rounding up with her work—as indicated, by her edging close to her desk and tapping away at her keyboard, in such a frantic, furious hasty manner that one knew she wanted to get it over with. Ehize on the other hand, was well relaxed into his chair, working on his computer, and not looking the bit prepared for their break.
“Come on, nerds!” Anjola said, jestingly—pounding her desk with her balled fist, that of course succeeded in drawing the attention of Ehize and Adaure. “Let’s go home. Its six P.M. already. Or are you going to risk working overtime, and soil your already bad reputation and let the jocks come bully you? When they stuff you into your lockers, I’m not going to pull you guys out.”
Ehize simply smirked, and growled before whirling his chair around to face his desk. “I’m afraid, I won’t be going home early today. I have to finish up with the financial report. But if you could get me a burger and liter of Coke, before departing, then I’d be really grateful.”
From her peripheral vision, Anjola could see Adaure’s wounded glare—after the utterance of Ehize’s words, but the girl did well to mask it before she turned to face her, for an answer.
“Sure, in a bit.” Adaure replied, before fixating her stare on the computer again. After about half a minute, she rose to her feet—picked her jean jacket, off where it was draped on her chair—and snaked it through her arms. Adaure also retrieved her handbag also, and Anjola found herself, involuntarily running a thumb through the strap of her own bag, already snaked through her right shoulder.
She knocked Ehize on the head gently, as a gesture of goodbye but Adaure, remained in her nonchalant façade—passing him by, like he wasn’t in the room. Anjola couldn’t help but wonder, what the new conflict had stemmed from. The relationship between the girl and Ehize was just too constrained for her liking.
“So what’s up with you guys, this time? Did you tell him, one of the engineers in the building asked you out? Or you saw a woman flirting with him in the hallway or something?” Anjola asked, immediately they stepped out of the room, into the large hallway, that was booming with chatter and activity, as usual.
Adaure rolled her eyes, like she had said the most obscene thing. “Of course, not. I’d rather not talk about that. Can we talk about something else?”
“Right,” Anjola sized her up, with contrition in her eyes. “Sure, bitch about the fact that I don’t tell you stuff, and I’m not open about my private life. But do the exact same thing, and expect to get a free pass. That’s totally how friendship works. It’s not two ways or anything.”
Anjola regretted her emotional blackmail instantly, due to the morbid look that fell on Adaure’s face. But it was nothing but the truth. Adaure loved throwing her weight around, invoking intimacy clauses in friendship—without being requited about it. Relationships weren’t built on such convenient grounds. If one wanted ingenuousness, then they had to be ready to pay its price, which was mutuality. It was as simple as that.
“Fine,” Adaure groaned, and rolled her eyes as they boarded the elevator. “It’s just…nothing significant happened, actually. Today is one of those days, where he turns up at the office and acts all professional and business-like, as if we aren’t…” Her friend trailed off, apparently without knowledge of how best to frame her words.
“As if you aren’t crazily in love with each other, huh?” Anjola concluded for her, and got a seething glare in return.
“It’s not that intense, but we’re friends at least.” Adaure rolled her eyes. “So he shouldn’t act like, all we have between us is a work place relationship. It’s so annoying, that he doesn’t even seem affected by it. I’m here, with my mood all sour, and he’s back at the office, working without seeming to have a care in the world. And I guess tomorrow, he’d just decide he wants to talk to me again, and I’m just supposed to go along with that? Like it’s all cool?”
Anjola shook her head, when the elevator doors parted to let them out. “You guys aren’t even in a relationship, and you’re having so many issues already. Ada, there is only so long that I can keep on saying this. You and Ehize, should just sit down and talk about the way you feel for each other, and know where to go from there. That might make stuff complicated, but stuff is already complicated. It’s better for you to have a complicated, that you understand and know the origin of, than one that suddenly pops out of the blues. You would have no way of handling it.”
For the first time, since she chastised Adaure’s attitude towards her relationship with Ehize—her friend seemed to contemplate, and listen to her and not just wear her usual stoic, impassive look and then shrug it off. Adaure looked conflicted and divided on what exactly to do, but Anjola trusted her to figure it all out. She didn’t reply until they heading out of the building premises, and heading out of the compound.
“It’s just going to be so awkward, like…” Adaure started, her voice booming with anxiety. “Maybe, I do like him in that way but I’ve never for once hinted at it. Neither as he. I don’t know if my pride can take being rejected. I’d not be able to look at his face anymore. I might just resign, because I won’t be able to deal with the embarrassment—”
“Yeah, right but if it’s the other way round, it’s totally okay.” Anjola scoffed, and Adaure seemed lost as to the point she was making, so she went on to clarify. “It’s okay for guys to be rejected by women, and go on to live with it. But if it’s the other way round, and women are in the position to do something crucial, they simply wouldn’t do it because they can’t stand being rejected. But the guy is supposed to be okay with getting rejected, and moving on with his life. Honestly, if ‘embarrassment’ is going to be a determinant of you talking to him or not, I wonder why we are even wasting time on this conversation.”
Anjola was a bit surprised at her blunt tone, and of course Adaure also. It wasn’t a symbolic characteristic of her, as she was mostly empathetic and sensitive to a fault. But there came a time in every situation, where one had to tank it off with the warm coating of words, and relay things the way they were. Adaure wasn’t one of those women, who conformed to society’s norms and stereotypes as to what gender roles and expectations were, so it was befuddling that she was talking like some…damsel in distress, that couldn’t woman up and fight her own battles.
“Yeesh, did you recently become an ambassador for Razor Blade?” Adaure stared her down, as they approached the gates—the food outlet, in sight. “Your mouth is so unusually sharp, today. We both know something is up.”
Before Anjola could reply however, a familiar black SUV entered into the compound, through the humongous gates—and pulled up by their side. Adaure’s gaze remained fixated on the path ahead, however her focus had been distorted upon the arrival of the car. Adaure sensed her distraction, and turned to face her. “What is it?”
“I think I know this person…” Her speech trailed off, as she realized her suspicion was correct. Dressed in a black corduroy jacket, on a black checkered shirt, black khakis and Moccasins—was no other person than Lekan. He seemed to be in high spirits, as connoted by the electric aura he was shrouded in, and an infectious, charming smile glued to his face. He strode over to them, with his hands pocketed and Anjola felt her friend freeze, practically. “Lekan?”
“Hey, Anjola. Hey, there.” He beamed at her, before extending a hand to Adaure for a handshake, with such a charismatic, grandeur that Anjola couldn’t help but wonder how he was able to constantly pull off and remain consistent in. His hair, was combed to its full length and matted into a flat top, with the layers of waves by his temples and his partings, looking more prominent. It would seem that he had recently paid a visit to the barbershop. “How’s it going?”
Adaure’s brows were now creased, and she looked from Anjola to Lekan. “Who is he?”
“Oh, I’m…” Lekan jumped right to clarify, but paused midway to look at her before proceeding. “Anjola why don’t you answer that question for your friend? I figure, you are in a better position to tell her that.”
Of course sentiment hadn’t clouded his speech. He had kept quiet for a more logical reason. By passing over the baton of discussion to her, he had handed her over the right—to reveal to her friend, whether or not she wanted to be known as his girlfriend.
It was a tough call to make, but then it was of no use hiding the fact away from Adaure. The girl knew of his existence, so might as well chip in the identity card.
“Adaure, meet Lekan.” Anjola gestured to him, exaggeratedly like he was some prize trophy she had acquired during a contest. “Lekan meet Adaure. She’s my closest friend here at work—”
“Oh, for Christ sake, could you stop rubbing it in? I get it. I really do. Tiolu is the love of your life.” Adaure snapped, and malice seemed to brim all over her. Anjola wanted to believe it was anything but jealousy, because it would not bode well for her. “So you guys are like…dating, right?”
“Right.” Lekan folded his arms, and bit his lower lip. “I didn’t of course know, if it was okay to relay that to you. So I gave her center stage. But judging by the way you mentioned boyfriend out of the blues, I’m guessing it’s not just a wild guess. Surely, you’ve heard something about me, perhaps?”
Anjola snorted, and rolled her eyes—while Adaure gave her a scathing look. “I’ve heard about you, but I’ve not heard about you. I knew she had someone, but I didn’t exactly know who the person is. Because well, she’s a very private person about her personal life, and doesn’t really talk much about the people closest to her. That’s probably why you don’t exist.”
“Oh really, people dear to her heart? But she talks a lot about you. Adaure this, Adaure that. Are we to say then that you aren’t dear to her heart?” Anjola sprung into action, and whisked Lekan away to the other side of the car, after signaling to Adaure that she’d be awhile. When they were standing by the door on the other end of the car, she queried him.
“What exactly are you doing here, though?”
“Here to see you obviously,” Lekan rolled his eyes, and braced a hand on an opera window of his car. “Or did I come here to plant business seeds, and harvest in the next month when all the crops are all grown and healthy? Obviously not. Plus, I wanted to make sure I had the last say on the surprise thingy. You don’t get to surprise me, and pull it off and come as a winner. I’m the boss here, and I’d be the one to make the final stand.”
Anjola couldn’t help but smile, and shake her head. “So, what do you want from me then?”
“You. You’re closed for the day, aren’t you? Let’s hang out. We could grab dinner together in a few hours, or buy a pizza or a cake. I miss you.”
That warmed her heart, and despite appearing unmoved—she couldn’t stop her flood gates from jerking open, and emotions from billowing in. “Yeah, I’m done for the day. The thing is, I’m actually not going home straight away. I’m going home rather, as in where my dad lives—to check up on him. Ada and I, were just going to walk over to the bus stop and go our respective ways. So If you’d give me a moment, I’d just clear up stuff with Ada and we’d go from here.”
“Alright.” Lekan seemed immensely gratified, before unlocking his car and climbing into it. After bidding Adaure goodbye, and reminding her not to forget Ehize’s request of a burger snack—she departed with Lekan, en route to her dad’s apartment. There was comfortable silence for the first couple of minutes, as a result of Lekan not being his usual chatty self. When she looked at him however, to detect if something was wrong—she realized, he had his mind occupied with driving, and nothing seemed amiss. She then took it upon herself to initiate the conversation.
“You sure you want to take me to dad’s house?” Her askance, drew his attention but only a cursory glance, as he didn’t let his focus on the road, wane. “The last time you and I talked about him, I think the memory should do justice in painting the image of what my mood is always like, when it comes to him. His health is very fragile, and he might not have a lot of years left in him. I’m not ready for that, no matter how unrealistic that might be on my part. Usually after paying him visits, my moods always undergoes a heavy dip.”
Another silence followed, before Lekan replied. He seemed to have put in a reasonable amount of thought into his words. “I don’t really care for that, if you’re in the mood or not.” This earned him a scornful look. “Wait, hold up—don’t get me wrong. Of course, I wouldn’t want you to be in a bad place, but if you were—it wouldn’t exactly drive me away, you know. If after you’re done visiting your dad, and all you want to do is cry, I’d happily provide a shoulder for which, you can cry on. If you’re happy on the other hand, we could do something else. So, both situations are pretty much, win-win for me, as long as you’re involved.”
“Thank you, Lekan. That’s a very thoughtful, sensitive thing to say.” She studied him from the corner of her eye, wondering how a shallow, puerile man had morphed into such a thoughtful, sensitive person who could be sympathetic and consider the feelings of others? Place other’s needs before his? Perhaps, he wasn’t beyond redemption after all and was already on the path to changing? She couldn’t help but hope such would be the case.
With precise directions, they eventually pulled over at her dad’s place and she pleaded with Lekan to stay in the car, despite his vociferous protests that he wished to see her dad. The man was old, and she didn’t want to lodge up a notion into his head, where he assumed Lekan was his son-in-law to be. She wasn’t fully convinced, if Lekan could indeed change—so it wasn’t exactly a rational choice, to unveil his identity to the rest. Eventually he caved in, and she alighted and headed up.
A couple of minutes after, she was seated with Aunt Bukunmi and her dad, Mofetoluwa—who were having dinner of her favorite meal, Amala and Ewedu soup. They had urged her to delve in, but she had expressed distaste for such delicacy early in the evening. She iterated that she had some tedious work, to attend do before going to bed, and couldn’t risk the overwhelming nature of such heavyweight meal.
Mofe seemed well, happy even—but more frail and sickly. His veins—especially the ones on his arms, neck—bulged out so thickly, that it was impossible to miss even from a far distance. Her worry for him, wasn’t subsiding and was only escalating upon every subsequent day. He didn’t seem to be making an effort to recover, which was reminiscent of the fact that he wasn’t putting up resistance, in a bid to fight his terminal disease, and she didn’t know what else to do. She had tried direct verbal confrontation before, but it was all to no avail. She had to strategize now and seek the counsel of others.
Shuffling out of her seat, she politely asked Bukunmi to join her for a word in the kitchen—but Mofe’s words stopped them in their tracks.
“If it’s me, you guys want to go discuss about—might as well do it, right in my face. I’m not a child, and you are not my parents, that I need to be excused.”
Bukunmi sighed, and sunk back into her seat. Anjola on the other hand, wasn’t caving in so early. “What do you want me to say to you, dad? Over the past few months, I’ve begged you over and over and over again, that you should at least try and make an effort to recover, but you seem less interested with life…upon each passing day. What else do you want me to do? Who should I talk to?”
“Nobody, Anjola. Let it be.” Mofe said, dryly as he rinsed his hands into a wash-hand basin. Anjola was so infuriated at the fact that he was taking his treatment with levity, like it was some meager thing without significance. And she was also infuriated by the fact, that he kept on acting so casually and fluid, as if his life wasn’t at stake.
“I should let it be?” Her pent up frustration, began to seep out of her being—as she stood, arms folded, towering over his seated figure by her side on the table. “My dad is dying, and I can help him live more, but I should let it be. He’s endangering his own life, by not taking his treatment seriously and I should let it be. I’m about to lose the only family I have left in this world, and I should let it be!” Her voice thundered unexpectedly, followed by the impact of tears. Bukunmi reacted with a look of dismay, while Mofe’s equanimity remained the same. “
“See, Anjola.” Mofe looked up at her, while wiping his hands with his napkin. “You heard the doctor the other day. I’m going to die soon, okay? It’s inevitable. I’m not going to waste my daughter’s hard earned money—”
“I’m not complaining—” She huffed out, wiping off droplets of tears trickling down her cheeks. It was then she made it a conscious effort not to raise her voice at her dad. It was totally wrong and intolerable.
“Me too, Anjola. I’m not complaining that life wants to take me now.” Mofe sighed, placing his elbows on the table and peering at the empty surface. Bukunmi had cleared out his plates, and cutleries already. “I don’t know how else to tell you this, but I’m bored. I’m tired. There is no friend around, nothing of appeal—nothing, okay? There is just nothing around that’s motivating me enough to stay!”
“Wow,” Anjola felt her heart rate cease. Like someone had ripped it from her chest, and now she was some lifeless, hollow vessel that was numb with pain. “I see then.”
Mofe shook his head. “Don’t take this the wrong way, Anjola. You know I love you, so much. But you’re my daughter, and you’d always be my daughter. You’re not my friend who is my age mate, that understands the type of life I lived then. You’re not a show on TV or some fun activity, that an elderly man like me can partake in. You’re not my wife either. The one person that I cared for as much as you, that I thought was going to spend the rest of my life with me. You’re not those things, and you can’t fill in this void I’m feeling, this loneliness. It’s suffocating and choking me on the inside, okay?”
“Okay,” Anjola sniffled, blinked back newly surfacing tears and wiped her eyes with the back of her palms. “It’s not that I don’t understand, I just…I agree to disagree, but you’re right. I can’t fill that emptiness you feel, and it’s not fair keeping you around when there is nothing of appeal to you, and everything is bland. It just sucks so much, that you wouldn’t be able to see me grow into my full potential, and become that person that I had always envisioned would make you and mom, totally proud of me. It’s just not fair.”
At that point, Mofe stood up from his chair and pulled her in for a hug. Bukunmi joined them not so long after, and they remained that way for a while—purging and cleansing their hearts free of a tank of pain, by sobbing. Before she left, Bukunmi said a solemn prayer of intercession, and pleaded to God to have the final say over the matter. As anticipated, when she joined Lekan back outside—most of her energy was far spent, and she was drained of essence.
Lekan who was leaning over the door of the passengers’ seat, straightened up when his eyes landed on her. At that moment, she was surrounded with absolute darkness—crawling out of an haunted tunnel, and Lekan who stood in the distance, highlighted by the street headlamps that illuminated the streets—appeared like her light out of the tunnel. Before she could stop herself, she was in his arms—crying, and penning a sequel to her bout of tears.
Lekan cradled her gently in his arms, like releasing her would trigger a nuclear explosion. Much to her relief, he didn’t question or make inquiries that would do no help to her debilitated state. He simply remained silent, understanding her need to nurse her wounds. When she was sane enough to a good extent, she pulled away from his arms and looked up to his eyes.
“So, we should definitely do something this weekend.” Her voice came out in a lazy, croaky voice and she had to clear it, so as to remove its hoarse attribute. Lekan on the other hand, seemed grief-stricken.
“Are you sure? We don’t have to do anything, since you’re—”
“Lekan, please.” She held an hand up, and shook her hand. “What will happen to my dad will happen. It’s in God’s hands now, and he’d do what’s best. I don’t want to over concentrate on that, and let it ruin my joy, okay? I want to take my mind off it, and in order to do that—I want to spend quality time with you. So, once again, what should we do this weekend?”
“Alright,” His concerned look, got replaced by a nervous, divided one. “Um, our first two dates, were pretty over the top. No pun intended for the second one, though.” That drew laughter from her. “We should do something low-key. Maybe you should come over to my place, and we should spend the evening?”
Anjola gnashed her teeth, and thought of the implication of such privacy. As far as their relationship was concerned, she still had a firm grip on its reins—and so she wasn’t exactly sure, heading to Lekan’s house was a logical thing to do. A kiss from him, was powerful enough to hypnotize her into some, mindless zombie, and so being exclusively private with him, was surely courting disaster. As if reading her thoughts, Lekan went further to lay out undisputable reasons why she shouldn’t back out.
“We kissed already, and we already established there wouldn’t be more than kissing in this relationship.” Lekan started. “You really don’t have to be nervous, Anjola. Even if you don’t trust me, trust yourself. You never let things get out of hand. Plus…you know what? Why don’t I come over to your place then? During the day, in fact. That way, I’d be on your turf and you’d be in control of what’s happening mostly. Plus, it would be during the day. Come on, it’d be great.”
She went with his plan, and agreed to host him. The situation did have its downsides, but it was a closed, indoors date and it sparked more appeal than a conventional, outdoors one since she was a hermit. However, just like Adaure—Lekan had spoken a particular stream of words, she didn’t think was quite true anymore. She guessed she’d find out in their next date.
“….Even if you don’t trust me, trust yourself. You never let things get out of hand.”
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