It’s happened again.
I try, you know? I actually try to not give in to the tiny voice in my head, but at the end of the day, it happens. I fight it, deny it, shove it down to the deepest parts of me, yet, I still end up back here. Sometimes, I actually black out. I don’t remember doing anything. When I eventually come to, the deed has already been done.
Maybe I secretly like it. You know, scratch that. I love it!
My serotonin and dopamine levels go through the roof. My nerves and synapses are on fire! The butterflies in my stomach are unending. My heartbeat is a rock drummer’s foot pedal. My veins throb from the pressure of the blood pumping.
If I go to a therapist, I’m sure they’ll say something about my parents’ early divorce causing my unnatural, irregular emotional connections, or rather, disconnections.
A load of bull, obviously.
I am who I am today in spite of my parents’ chaotic separation.
I’m not crazy, I promise. I’m just a romantic. My step dad understands that, and supports me wholeheartedly.
That word is thrown around quite a lot: romantic. It irks me, because no one’s willing to back it up with their actions. How can you truly love someone and not be willing to go to any lengths for them, consequences be damned? All bark, no bite.
I guess it makes sense, since no one really cares about the proper end of a love story. They settle for ‘happily ever after.’ They don’t want to smear the perfect picture they’ve painted in their heads.
Not me.
I’ve never believed in ‘happily ever after,’ so whenever I acknowledge my emotions and feelings, I go in one hundred percent. I don’t shy away from the messiness. I embrace it. It’s what makes me know it’s real. But not everyone feels the same way. Not everyone wants to put in the work. Not everyone is willing. Hence, my not-so-great track record with relationships.
First was Atinuke, when I was only ten. We kissed behind the swings of our primary school’s sandy playground. I thought we had something. Her missing teeth when she smiled was my first definition of beauty. I even bought her packs of candy with my pocket money AKA bribe from Pops for me to choose him as my guardian. Atinuke and I talked about writing the same common entrance examination, so we’d go to the same secondary school.
She was the one!
Imagine my surprise when I found ‘the one’ at our spot behind the swing set, locking lips with Ifeanyi.
I hold my hands up. I was less than graceful about the whole thing. I was distraught, heartbroken and highly volatile. Safe to say, we didn’t end up in the same secondary school. We didn’t even graduate from the same primary school. I had to be transferred after Ifeanyi mysteriously got stabbed in the neck with a pen during the general assembly.
As if that wasn’t enough, Atinuke fell down the stairs two days after. She broke her neck and died on the spot.
Mother thought it best for me to have a change of scenery. Dear old dad would’ve wanted me to continue slumming it in that school. Good thing he never got custody of me. I’d have turned out to be a wreck.
My step dad came into my life, and showed me real love and affection. I was privy to watch firsthand how he showered my mother with said powerful feelings, even when she didn’t want it. I still remember her yelling “No,” and screaming in pain on some nights. Other nights, it was just tears, all because of little playful slaps. The neighbours didn’t understand they were tears of joy. Mother didn’t understand sometimes too.
I did. I understood! I still understand. Stepdad was treating her like a princess and more. He was hopelessly devoted to her and her alone. It’s a shame she wasn’t able to handle it. It was just too much for her in the end. She had been starved of good loving; she didn’t know what to do with it. May her soul rest in peace. I hope she’s resting peacefully, knowing she left me in good hands.
That’s why on the 18th anniversary of my kiss with Atinuke, I ring the doorbell before me and adjust the bouquet of flowers in my grasp. My phone vibrates in my pocket and I bring it out to read the message. It’s from my stepdad.
Go get her, son.
It’s good to know he has my back no matter what. He’s always rooting for me. The road wasn’t always smooth. Mother feared my continual heartbreaks would burden him, but he assumed responsibility from my mother.
After Atinuke, there was Veronica in JS1. That lasted for a month before I found out she had a boyfriend in another school.
Coincidentally, it was around that time stepdad got a job in another state, so we had to move. It had nothing to do with Veronica drowning in the school’s pool. Us changing our names was for my stepdad’s work, of course.
NINE schools, ELEVEN names, SIX girls later, and I finally feel ready.
Atinuke, Veronica, Maeve, Ada, Fareedah, Kira, you’ve all prepared me for this very moment. You have my eternal gratitude.
What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, and I feel like I can crush a boulder, thanks to all these experiences with all these women.
I take a deep breath as the door opens slowly. My definition of beauty has evolved over the years. From Atinuke’s carefree smile, to Maeve’s curious eyebrow raise, I believe it’s now her dimples. They’re so deep, I want nothing more than to swim in them.
Her face brightens when she notices the white roses I’m holding. It’s her favourite. She loves it. My smiling eyes travel beyond her, into her apartment kitchen. I immediately notice the stack of varying knives on her counter. She did mention she loves cooking.
Hopefully, there wouldn’t be a need for me to use those knives. I’m not that great in the kitchen.
Maybe it’s you, Gloria.
Maybe you’re the one…
Read – Shattered Dreams – A Short Story by Florence Moma, Cameroon
Such a beautiful story
This is lovely and so captivating❤👏