Chinelo came alone, she didn’t bother to let her husband in on the party. They lived like two strangers under the same roof,they went out and came home at will.
It was as though someone suddenly opened the door, and a gust of cold wind rushed into the room. They all felt it at once, but not the Head of Department who had called them to a meeting.
The Final Verdict
The clock above his head idly ticked, despite the fact that a terrible verdict had just been passed. Chinelo held on tightly to the edges of her seat, until her dark knuckles turned a shade darker. She had nothing to hold on to, no, certainly not the hands of her husband; he had his in between his thighs, head to his black leather shoes, whose new polish made her eyes itchy. It was as though they were all trapped in a rolling cyclone. The words rang in their heads like a school bell:
“He has been advised to leave school.”
‘And go where?’ Chinelo asked in her mind. Was her son some kind of plague? The way the man said it, it was obviously not open to negotiation. He shut the door to their face. She shut her eyes because they spun. She could recall Emeka as a little boy on the beach, running his heart out. She opened her eyes and turned her head to her husband’s direction.
Chinelo opened her mouth to talk, but the words felt like big rocks in-between her tongue: they weighed down her tongue and her mind. It was of no use; nothing worked and will obviously never work. Chinelo reached for her bag, got up, and stepped right through the office door.
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At the Supermarket
Chinelo busily pushed her cart, picking stuffs off the shelves. She needed to stock the house up, against that weekend. Her hand reached for a tin of milk, but unfortunately, a hand busily reached for the same on a shelf. She got to the tin first, but the hand seemed persistent that it wrapped itself around hers.
Chinelo drew back; her eyes fell on a far much younger face that smiled back at her. She smiled back and instead, the hand unwrapped itself around hers and stretched out before her for a shake. Chinelo looked at the outstretched hand, and looked at the face that offered it; she looked for a sign of familiarity, but couldn’t recall when and how they met. She didn’t know if it was to take the hand or just walk away. The young man offered a name:
“Hi! Am Harry.”
Chinelo still didn’t get his drift, and it was written all over her face.
“You work in the same department with my mum, Mrs Wealth?”
That was when she remembered her colleague with a chocolate look; she always wore her hair low. Chinelo remembered her saying that she had a son who was in his thirties.
“Oh! So, you are the one she once told me about?”
At that point, the civility in her unwrapped itself; she took his hand in hers and he held on tightly. Too tightly that she wanted to let go. The heat from his palm burned hers.
“Yes ma. You are here for weekend shopping? Can I help you with anything?”
“No, not at all. I am already done.”
She took her hands away from his and to her surprise; he smiled at her even as she sped off in her car.
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End of the Year Party
The hall was filled with so many people at once: guests, employees, board chairmen, managers, and waiters who went around serving the finest of cocktails in the room. Chinelo came alone; she didn’t bother to let her husband in on the party. They lived like two strangers under the same roof; they went out and came home at will. Asika had travelled to France, on one of his trips, and she, all alone decided to get out and get some fresh air.
Askia, her husband, had kicked their son out of the house, after the university rusticated him for getting involved in cultism: there was a cult clash on campus, and their son was among those who stirred it up. His father literally disowned him, and she was left to cater for his wellbeing, all alone.
He never asks of him: their son was dead to him. The last time she saw him, their son, he was already knee-deep into drugs, and he wouldn’t let her come any close; he just took the bag of grocery and money, and then left.
Chinel made her way to the buffet table, her favourite was prawn and she couldn’t wait to feed fat on them and sleep into Christmas, all alone. She dipped a spoon into the shrimp bowl and scooped as much as she could get her hands on. Chinelo went ahead to scoop some jollof rice into her plate, and finished up with a salad.
“It seems you love prawns a lot? My father used to love them before he left my mother.”
The familiar voice made her shrink. She spawned around and their eyes locked. It was as though he now trailed her anywhere she went.
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“I never knew your mother is a single mum?”
He gave her his usual smile, just like he did the other day, when they had lunch together, and their hands melted into each other’s. He reminded her so much about her son. He came closer and stood beside her:
“Yes, she is.”
“Does he ever call?”
He looked away and shrugged. He started filling his plate with prawns; he didn’t look at her when he answered the question:
“When she allows him.”
Chinelo felt so sorry for him. He filled his plate and joined her, but she was uncomfortable, because she knew that eyes would certainly talk.
The Morning After
The little sun bird didn’t quit; it sang all the way to the skies. Chinelo gave Harry a good look; he had spent the night beside her, and it was wonderful, holding his hands while he poured out all the bitterness of a boy in search of a father. He was the son she wished for; she had called his mother, and taken permission to have him under her roof, and at the end of their discussion, she knew that it was time to set out for her son.
Written by Oluoma Udemezue.