felt after my father’s accident, something I’ve never mentioned to my mother. My story is my only thing of value so I am sparing with it.
Nothing has happened since the day I kissed her palm. On days when the sun has made me delirious, I imagine she is in love with me. On other days when the rain has turned me cold, I know this is just an experiment. Yet I still hope. Whenever she takes my hand, or laughs at something I have said, despite myself, this deluded feeling flares up and threatens to drive away all common sense.
The first girl I ever told ‘I love you’ was Ego Ofili. We were fourteen, in the same class. Many seniors wanted her chest that was more than twice her age but I did not want Ego just for her stupendous 32J breasts, according to toilet rumours. I also wanted her because when we were paired on a school trip, I discovered that a girl could be more than her bra size. Ego was funny, she laughed confidently, she had opinions on football yet she could still make me feel breathless when her fingers brushed against my arm.
‘I love you,’ I said into her ear one day, after weeks of gathering courage. I waited for the effect my words would have.
None, it turned out, and I have never had occasion to repeat them. I don’t find any of the Mile 12 girls attractive. It is Abikẹ that I want as a girlfriend. I will tell her soon.
Chapter 17
All bad things come to an end is a more comforting maxim than the other one.
The first thing my father said, after he had kissed me and gone through a list of pleasantries, was, ‘Abikẹ, I have warned you about bringing strangers into my house.’
And the next round began.
‘Who?’
‘Your new hawker friend.’
‘He’s not a stranger. You know of him.’
‘“And friend” was the entry in the logbook. I do not want any “and friends” in my house.’
‘So you want to know his name?’
‘I will not have boys you picked off the street in my house.’
‘Where do you think I picked Oritse and Cynthia from?’
The tips of his fingers touched as he studied my face.
‘I see. So you have introduced this boy into the group to antagonise the rest. A friendship with a hawker to make them unsure of their position.’
I said nothing.
‘When am I going to meet this boy?’
‘Whenever. He’s here a lot. ‘
‘Next Wednesday.’
‘He works on weekdays.’
‘And I’m not here on weekends.’
Offer him something.
‘You should see what we do when you’re not around.’
He said nothing.
‘You can meet him if you are so desperate.’
Silence.
‘I’ll throw a party. I’ll make sure he doesn’t leave till he’s seen you. Are you happy?’
‘Write his name next time.’
I was in Cynthia’s car, thankful that she had seen me walking down the driveway and offered me a lift. The day had been spent sparring with Oritse and two replicas of him. I’d been hoping that Abikẹ and I would get a few minutes alone so I could say the I-love-you I’d been practising. The seconds never materialised. Ikenna and Chike were even worse than Oritse when it came to pushing their way into side conversations. In a brief moment I’d had, while the rest were discussing school, I asked if we would be alone the next time I came. She said yes.
‘How come your driver doesn’t come to pick you?’
‘Pardon?’ I’d forgotten Cynthia was in the car.
‘Why doesn’t your driver pick you?’
So Abikẹ had really not told them anything about me. ‘Taking public transport means I’m independent.’ It was close to the truth.
‘Your parents could get you a car.’
‘I want to buy one with my own money.’
‘Oh yes. You said. You work in your father’s business.’
What would she do if she found out I was a hawker? I didn’t care. It made no difference what Cynthia thought of me.
‘So what do you think of Abikẹ?’
‘I really like her. She’s a very nice girl.’
‘What do you think of me?’ I glanced at
Nothing has happened since the day I kissed her palm. On days when the sun has made me delirious, I imagine she is in love with me. On other days when the rain has turned me cold, I know this is just an experiment. Yet I still hope. Whenever she takes my hand, or laughs at something I have said, despite myself, this deluded feeling flares up and threatens to drive away all common sense.
The first girl I ever told ‘I love you’ was Ego Ofili. We were fourteen, in the same class. Many seniors wanted her chest that was more than twice her age but I did not want Ego just for her stupendous 32J breasts, according to toilet rumours. I also wanted her because when we were paired on a school trip, I discovered that a girl could be more than her bra size. Ego was funny, she laughed confidently, she had opinions on football yet she could still make me feel breathless when her fingers brushed against my arm.
‘I love you,’ I said into her ear one day, after weeks of gathering courage. I waited for the effect my words would have.
None, it turned out, and I have never had occasion to repeat them. I don’t find any of the Mile 12 girls attractive. It is Abikẹ that I want as a girlfriend. I will tell her soon.
Chapter 17
All bad things come to an end is a more comforting maxim than the other one.
The first thing my father said, after he had kissed me and gone through a list of pleasantries, was, ‘Abikẹ, I have warned you about bringing strangers into my house.’
And the next round began.
‘Who?’
‘Your new hawker friend.’
‘He’s not a stranger. You know of him.’
‘“And friend” was the entry in the logbook. I do not want any “and friends” in my house.’
‘So you want to know his name?’
‘I will not have boys you picked off the street in my house.’
‘Where do you think I picked Oritse and Cynthia from?’
The tips of his fingers touched as he studied my face.
‘I see. So you have introduced this boy into the group to antagonise the rest. A friendship with a hawker to make them unsure of their position.’
I said nothing.
‘When am I going to meet this boy?’
‘Whenever. He’s here a lot. ‘
‘Next Wednesday.’
‘He works on weekdays.’
‘And I’m not here on weekends.’
Offer him something.
‘You should see what we do when you’re not around.’
He said nothing.
‘You can meet him if you are so desperate.’
Silence.
‘I’ll throw a party. I’ll make sure he doesn’t leave till he’s seen you. Are you happy?’
‘Write his name next time.’
I was in Cynthia’s car, thankful that she had seen me walking down the driveway and offered me a lift. The day had been spent sparring with Oritse and two replicas of him. I’d been hoping that Abikẹ and I would get a few minutes alone so I could say the I-love-you I’d been practising. The seconds never materialised. Ikenna and Chike were even worse than Oritse when it came to pushing their way into side conversations. In a brief moment I’d had, while the rest were discussing school, I asked if we would be alone the next time I came. She said yes.
‘How come your driver doesn’t come to pick you?’
‘Pardon?’ I’d forgotten Cynthia was in the car.
‘Why doesn’t your driver pick you?’
So Abikẹ had really not told them anything about me. ‘Taking public transport means I’m independent.’ It was close to the truth.
‘Your parents could get you a car.’
‘I want to buy one with my own money.’
‘Oh yes. You said. You work in your father’s business.’
What would she do if she found out I was a hawker? I didn’t care. It made no difference what Cynthia thought of me.
‘So what do you think of Abikẹ?’
‘I really like her. She’s a very nice girl.’
‘What do you think of me?’ I glanced at
Similar Books
