TAG: FICTION
ADAEZE
Walking across the reception, the salutations from the
workers are almost pushing me off my high-heels.
“Good morning ma!”
“You are welcome, ma’am”
“Morning Madam!”
My response to each
personnel is “Hi, morning!”
This is my twentieth
response from inside the elevator, thirteen floors down. And occasionally, I spice
my greetings with a teeth-flashing smile, after waving my hand.
“Ugh!”
Getting to the office
at last…
I open the door with
a long sigh. I settle on the swivel chair, rotating myself on it as though to
confirm if the wheel is working perfectly.
The office is coated in white. The desk stands in the middle,
surrounded by a space enough to build a football field. A circle of three sofas and a glass-top table situated
a bit far away. Through the full glass wall, the third mainland bridge and
cities beyond could be seen clearly from here. Looking at the glazed wooden floor
and desk, one can easily mistake them for a bronze, for I can see my plain image
on each of them, and yet they are made from timbers.
How long will I keep camouflaging for my parents about this marriage
issue? I hope Frances would tell his father about our false engagement.
Frances is my school friend, a course mate in the university.
We became intimate friends the day we realized we both hail from Umuogwu
village in Abia state. Sometimes we’d communicate in our dialect, like brother
and sister. He would tutor me on any challenging course. Back then, most of my
friends believed we were dating. On the contrary, I knew her girlfriend and he
was acquainted with my guys. I finished before him because he had some references.
Ever since I finished
my NYSC over a year back, my parents had been bothering me about marriage, just
because I remain the only child. My parents lost my elder brother and sister in
a motor accident when I was 17. It was on their way to school. I would have
been a victim if I had not pretended to be sick. Alongside the driver, a total
of three lives were lost on that fateful day. The incident happened three
months after Dad won a big contract that made us a millionaire, from
nothingness. Some of our kinsmen in the village rumored that Dad had used them
as a boost for his money ritual.
I really understand
my parents’ feelings. But I don’t want to fall into the wrong hand. I had
series of heartbreaks while in school and the scar in my heart is yet to heal. I nearly lost Mum about five months ago. She was
admitted for high BP, until I asked Frances to follow me to the hospital, to
pretend as my fiancé.
Now Frances is assigning me to a position in his father’s advertising
firm until he returns from South Africa. His younger ones reside in France.
I begin to hunt
through the files submitted on my desk yesterday. THE STAFF PROFILE FORMS.
I didn’t scan their
faces well at the meeting we had three days ago, except for this particular
face that gave me a “pang.”
Yap, I have seen his profile.
Oh my goodness!
“Handsome” is an understatement for this dude. “Perfect” is
better.
Look at him, even in
a passport photograph…I feel like seeking refuge in the depth of his oceanic
blue eyes, shaped like almond fruits. His pink lips are daintily apart, as if
created solely for the opposite sex. His angular cheekbones and concrete jaw appear so chiseled as though
modeled to perfection by a skillful artist.
It normally grips me when I see a tanned skin African fella, with a semi
Roman nose and bushy eyebrows. While observing his look at the meeting, I was
wondering why he had not been making a living from his modeling physique, very smart
on his shirt and trousers.
A man has never thrilled me like this before, or rather if I
would lessen his features to that of a boy of 14 or 15, I might say a boy had
done before.
Back to my childhood, when I was fourteen or so, I had
developed a sense of admiration for opposite sex. Mum was taking me to school
on a Tuesday morning. I saw this boy on a bus. He had a very cute face that set
my innocent soul on fire. I could not resist looking at him. But each time our
eyes met, I would avoid his eyes. It was as if my heart had become a timed
bomb, ready to explode. When I saw him laugh at some passenger’s quarrel, I
seized the opportunity to smile in his direction, so he could notice I’m so
pretty. The boy seemed to have fallen for me too. I could see the glint in his
eyes. I was close to tears when he was getting off, and I couldn’t do but peep
at him through the window. I finally let my river burst and immediately wiped my
tears before Mum could see my face.
The memory of this boy is still etched on my mind because “He
remains the first and the last to pull my passionate tears.” Only God knows
where he is today. He must have grown into a very handsome man. I have always
wished we could meet again, so he could say a word to me. Maybe he would
confess his love to me and I would confess mine. Gosh! Childhood affection is a
fiction.
My mind flips over the nostalgia only for my eyes to rest on
this wonderful guy. Some of his details read:
Name: Badmus
Mathew Adeyinka
Residential address:
37, Apapa Oworonshoki express way, Lagos.
Division: Media department
Relationship status:
Married
He is already
married? Perhaps he has kids too. The worst of all is his tribe. I would only
worsen the situation if my parents heard I wanted have a relationship with a
Yoruba tribe. They’ve always been warning me against that. One of our kinsmen
who married the tribe was knifed to death by her husband during a tussle. That
was many decades ago. It has now become a taboo among our kinsfolk. I remembered
one of my cousins who was mistakenly impregnated by a Yoruba man. It was her
parent that sponsored the abortion
I feel a fire of frustration burn
inside me
“What do I do?”
****
Two weeks later.
I’m still pondering over what to
do. Each time I set my eyes on him, I always feel as if there is a deep hole in
my soul waiting to be filled. Over the weeks, I have called him to attend to
some files that are not his duty, just to see him. There was a moment I stared
him in the eye, he directed his eyes at the ceiling. Each time my gaze had
stolen his comfort he would frown as if to say: “Let me leave here on time and
settle with my work!”
Another occasion, I wanted to ask him
out, but couldn’t. I feared he would disappoint me. I must have lacked the confidence
as a result of his marital status. Perhaps he loves his wife so dearly that he
couldn’t think about any other woman. His
department doesn’t give a room for me to have much relationship with him. He works with two other directors, the media director
and the creative. I’m in charge of the production.
*
I’m done for the day, walking out
of the office around 7.15pm. As usual, greetings attack my ears as I walk
across the reception.
Not again! What is going on
between this secretary and…….?
I‘ve always seen them together.
This time she is seated close to him, almost kissing his cheek as they discuss.
About twenty workers are hanging around, chatting with their co-workers and
friends. And in the process, laughter strikes in the hall like a thunder.
I need to act fast on this dude.
Married or not. I care not.
I’m now standing about six feet away from them,
delving into my bag for the car key.
“Thank goodness, I have not given
it to the driver.”
YINKA
“Hello, Mr. Mathew!”
That must be Janet, with her thin
voice, as sweet-sounding as the voice of a violin. Her British accent had once
confused me. I used to think she had her tertiary education in the UK, until I
saw: LEAD CITY UNIVERSITY on a document
in her office. I wish I could warn her to stop addressing me by my middle name.
Before turning back I look from
left to right, to confirm if I there is any name-sake around.
“You’re referring to me, ma?”
“Yes, Mr. Badmus Adeyin….” Her voice trails
off.
“I will be right back, Sandra,” I mumble to
the secretary.
I begin to walk towards her. I hope she
doesn’t frown on our group discussion. She is a disciplinarian. She has fired
three workers so far, one female and two males. The female was under the
allegation of non-diligence, and the two others were staring at her in a
seductive manner. Chairman did not
hesitate before granting those dismissal demands. Every staff, including me, wouldn’t
dare look directly at her face. Who can stare a sun in the eye?
Now, I’m standing before her, trying
as much as I can to avoid a direct eye contact.
She says in a tired voice, “I’m
thinking….maybe you could drive me home. I’m feeling kinda dizzy.” She swings
the key in her right hand, resting other palm on her forehead.
“But, ma,” I pause, thinking of
how I could politely offer my excuse, “I saw your driver a few minutes ago. He
must be waiting for you at the park.”
“Really?” She spins her eyeballs, throwing
away her right hand as if to force herself to consciousness, “Ye…Yes…I ‘m
really thinking of getting another driver. That man has started driving
recklessly.” She rumples her face.
I almost get carried away by her forbidden
face, before saying, “Alright, ma’am. You may bring the key.”
I’m no longer surprised about the
dismissed male workers. How could one resist a lady with such a rich round
boobs, curvy figure, and plump build?! She
is just a few inches below my 7 feet height, regardless of her 10” high heels.
For her to become a killer in a mere official dress, I can’t imagine what her
look will cause in a casual wear. While I Study her white shirt and black skirt,
my examination for her loaded butt and slim waist gives a figure “8” result. Mr. Frances is really a blessed man!
Some of my colleagues are winking
at me from afar. One of them mouths the word: “GUY, YOU DON ENTER WAHALA!”
She is asking if I’ve left
anything, since I need to get home from her place.
“Not at all, Madam.”
“Okay, great!”
With that, she walks ahead of me, and
I hurriedly give my colleagues an “OK” sign. I wave at Sandra and she mouths in
response. “Bye dear.”
Janet got to know my driving skill
the day the company driver wasn’t around. So I had to drive the company truck
to a location we had an advert placement.
We are now at the first floor. She
slows her pace to tell me where her residence is located. Thank God it’s still
on the Island.
“It’s just a ten minute drive from
here,” she assures me. And I let her realize I’m not familiar with the road
map.
“Never mind,” says she, “I will
guide you.”
According to rumors at the office, I have come
to realize that her father is a reputable automobile dealer, who also owns several
hotels in the city.
We arrive at the park, a pebbled acre of land
lined with many prestigious cars.
It’s a black jeep. A Land rover 2010 in year
2011 is a big deal. The driver, a
middle-aged man, appears from behind, asking for the key.
“Mr. Mathew!” Janet calls from across
the car.
“Yes, Madam,” I answer from beside
the driver.
She is asking me to hand the key
to him. Surprised, I query her to be certain I heard her right.
“Yeah, you can give him the key and
come to the backseat. Let him drive for now, so you get used to the road map,
in case of next time.”
What does she mean by “in case of
next time?” Is she employing me as her new driver?
“The back seat, ma?” I want to
confirm.
I hope I’m not really in WAHALA, according
to my colleagues. How do I sit beside fire, a whole fiancée of Oga’s son?
My own “dismissal letter” will definitely
be an order from above.
“Yeah, come over,” she affirms.
I begin to hesitate like a child that
has offended his parents, feeling timid to open the door.
When the driver starts the engine,
I take a cautious look around to ascertain that no one is looking. I finally
get in and attach myself to the door, thereby keeping a space I would have left
for a real fire.
“Are you alright?” she turns to me;
a smile swims across her dimpled cheeks, fading to her lips. She seems to be
mocking me. “Please, sit comfortably.”
Her voice is unusually soft, and her eyes seem to glow with pride under
the white shade.
“I’m okay like this, ma’am,” I adjust
further to her side, leaving roughly two-feet space. She throws a glance at me
with smiling eyes, and curls the corner of her lips as she looks ahead.
The whole glass is already wound
up, for the air condition. Through the windscreen, one can see the street
lights as they glow and spark like fireworks in their bright yellow, orange,
blue, and green colours. The car pulls to the left in order to make a U-turn
for the opposite lane. Now the street lights are beginning to speed over us,
like flames of shooting stars. From down here, all the buildings seem to grow
as tall as the sky. Some are carrying large sign boards of company names and
Adverts: PEPSI, T&B INSURANCE COMPANY LTD,
BOOST ENERGY DRINK, EMMA AND JOHNSON COOPERATION, BRITTNEY FASHION AND
MAKE-OVERS. The rest are blurring away as the car breaks into a silent speed.
Fashion and make-overs are really causing a
great war between couples. Last week Friday, Adeola had packed her belongings
before I got home. I called her two telephone lines, she wouldn’t pick up. At
first, I could not fathom why she so acted. I later realized it was because of
the quarrel we had the day before. She demanded twenty thousand naira, for
jewelries, new make-up kits and wears. She thought our previous month’s salary
had been paid since it was 4th of November. I insisted I could only afford fifteen
thousand if I was paid. She didn’t speak a word to me throughout the night, and
I believed it was her normal attitude, until that Friday. On my visit to her
place at Ikeja, I was sad to hear she had travelled to Ibadan, her parents’ new
residence.
My mind is awakened to the shrill horns
of vehicles. At this moment, there is a
terrible traffic ahead, so many vehicles are making music with their horns, as
if it would miraculously clear the way for them. Some desperate motorists have left
their vehicles, trying to figure out the source of the hold-up.
Right here, Janet has drawn close
to me by a few inches gap, dozing off already. Her head is swaying from left to
right. Within just two minutes? She must
have overworked today. Besides, she already complained of dizziness. When I’m
about to shift away, her head drops on my shoulder. Resting there. Not moving. I’m
in trouble. How do I adjust her head?
ADAEZE
To be continued….
YOUR OPINIONS ARE WELCOMED ON THE FACEBOOK LINK, PROVIDED YOU ARE NOT A BLOGGER. THANKS FOR YOUR PATRONAGE
Other posts
Breaking the fear(short story)
