harieltaj

[harieltaj]

Your mother has convinced her friends to bring their kids over, "for a get-together," she says. "Give the kids a chance to know themselves."

You listen as she makes the call, the date is set and you pray they get food or get in an accident so you don't have to see or interact with them. You flash her a smile when she tells you you're going to love Nduka, her best friend's son. You pray Nduka gets sick, or falls into a well and isn't rescued until the day after the get-together. You realize you're being mean, so you pray the trailer falls on you instead, or you fall into a well and aren't found until the event is over.

You're a pretty girl with large brown eyes. Emeka the potter said it makes you look cute and that was when he kissed you. Inside his room that smelt of burnt clay, you let him fondle your breast. But then you had to leave because your mom had called. That was the last time you saw or spoke to Emeka. He left for his uncle's place in Onitsha and changed his number.

You're short and your petite height is just an added feature to your overflowing beauty. If only you knew Bankole spent all his time reading poems and trying to write one, maybe you'd have been able to see through his bluff and refuse him the chance to place his warm mouth on your breasts. You didn't know and the next time you saw him, he told you he got a message from the Lord; you're not it for him.

Your small mouth is beautiful and your cocoa-colored skin is a work of art drove you to Hassan's hand. It was the accent he spoke with, your belief that love knew no religion or tribe, and the way he paid attention to your every word that made you fall for him. He had the brightest eyes and all these dreams he wanted you to be part of. But then, he had to go abroad and you broke when he told you not to wait for him.

Your sense of fashion is explicable and enviable, the way you let your skirt stop just before your knee is an art only goddesses can achieve. You are a goddess. Vanessa was the best friend you've ever had. Everyone compared her to pawpaw, so yellow and edible. Same height and you both had a great connection; it would have been weird if you didn't end up as friends. She was your hype woman. She cared about you as you did her. Then you walked into Gideon's house, the boy you were dating, and found them tangled in the sheets, going at it like spent swimmers.

Bose was quite the sympathetic soul. She cursed Vanessa and Gideon on your behalf and shut down any attempt they made to talk to you. You were grateful for her; she was heaven sent. Your money ran out quicker than water in the desert. You had to buy for two. She guilt-tripped you whenever you didn't buy for her or said you were broke. She reminded you, in case you suffered amnesia every now and then, that your parents were well to do whereas hers put the poor in poverty. When you didn't give her the money she had asked for, she called you a bad person and told you to prepare yourself because there was no way hell would pass by you. And when you get to hell, because you would, she won't give you a drop of water even if Father Abraham begs her to. She slammed the door after saying you deserved every heartbreak you got.

Samson was your strength. He told you he admired the way you held your head high. He said you were the strongest person he knew because after having your heart broken and used like that, you still put on a brave front and smiled like you didn't have the weight of the world on your shoulders. He said you were a hero and with so much sincerity in his eyes, he said you reminded him so much of his mom. Boys preferred women who reminded them of their mom, everyone said so. You felt like you've hit a gold mine. He was the one for you, but you held out just in case. You gave it up when he told you he loved you in a way only writers could describe.

It was in his apartment. He had kissed you with so much intensity that shook your knees and the only witness was the blue bulb that tried to light up the tiny room. He had raised you up and placed you on the table which, happily, was wood. Plastic wouldn't have been able to support the wave of intensity that was crashing through you. The way his tongue invaded every corner of your mouth made your body go wild. His lips were on your neck suffocating every reasonable thought you could form. He nibbled dedicatedly on your neck, writers would say he was marking you as his. You could still remember thinking that he was about to turn you to a vampire, a clear sign that he was in it for the long haul.

Then he pulled away and kissed you even harder on the lips if only bulbs could narrate. You felt everything he wanted to say. He was in between your legs and your shirt was hitched really high. Your bodies were pressed together and he had one hand on your cheek, holding your face to him, while the other made miracles on your nipple.

He pulled away and placed his forehead on yours. Both of his hands rested on your face and you exchanged air. You watched his eyes close as he struggled to catch his breath. He swallowed a lot and you knew he was trying to control himself. His eyes opened and you felt trapped in the want and love that resided in them. There was lust, plea, and something else. He opened his mouth to say something and shut it back up. You're breathing heavily, anticipating his words, and then finally, he spoke.

"Somto, I love you. I really do. The thought of you consumes me so much that it actually hurts. I can't function without you; you're invading my thoughts."

Your heartbeat could be featured as drums in punk rock. He kissed you, and by Aphrodite, you couldn't form a thought that didn't involve sex. Romance authors should see you; you finally found your prince charming. He unclasped your bra and you whisper his name.

"Samson."

His hand was out from your shirt and resting on your waist. He brushed his lips against yours.

"I need you. Please, don't make me stop."

How many times have you read those words wishing they'd be said to you? Like the million characters you've read about, you gave your book worthy reply.

"I don't want you to."

Your shirt came off as did his. Soon, you were going at it like cavemen. Not on the table, goodness no, Samson couldn't afford to replace it if you ended up breaking it. On his small bed, you gave yourself to him. Funny, the romance books didn't mention that he would cut all forms of connections from you. Maybe they did and you didn't read that part. You were confused and hurt, even more, when you found out it was all a bet and he didn't know his mother. He grew up in an orphanage.

Your self-esteem gave way for insecurity. There had to be something wrong with you. Maybe a curse that made people want to hurt and abandon you. There was no sunshine in your world and gloom and darkness lead you on. You couldn't trust anyone. You faked and pretended your way through it all. at school, premarital hell was condemned. At church, you were announced a candidate of hell. At home, your mother condemned the girls whose stories came out. You could barely breathe.

You're sitting in the dining room and everywhere is packed. Your mom's friends and their kids have arrived. You're watching them talk and exchange pleasantries. The girls in your age grade are sitting close to you at the dining table chatting, but you don't join in. You have your eyes on your siblings, both boys, watching them play host. They're talking with boys and flirting with girls and being cute with kids. One of the girls says the younger boy, the one you're older than, is cute. You say nothing, you smile. You don't tell her he has plans to be a priest because something about people didn't work well with him. The glass of orange juice feels like royalty as you pay it all your attention.

You hear your name and you find your mother and her best friend beckoning for you. You walk over to them, a fake smile in place. Your mother tells you he's here. She points to the young man standing with your older brother. Your mother hands you a mirror and you stare at your twenty-three-year-old face and wonder when the pimples showed up.

Your mother hurries you to him, her and her friend dishing out instructions. You catch only one.

"Be yourself. Nduka doesn't like pretenders."

As you make your way to him, you know Nduka isn't going to love you so much. You search your head for who you truly are. You push past your demons and personalities and you find her sitting by the corner, her knees to her chest, her hands wrapped tightly around her knees. She's crying and hoping the walls she had built won't crumble. She doesn't want to get hurt again. Your brother smiles as you reach them.

As he introduces you to Nduka, you reach for your charming personality and slip it on. Your brother comes up with an excuse and leave. You see your mothers grinning.

"I'm Nduka," he says even though you just been introduced. You flash him a smile and shake his outstretched hand.

"I'm Somto."

When your hands connect, you see her raise her head. Your personalities are thrilled as they rush around prepping to be slipped on. She shakes her head furiously and your personalities are asking her to shut it. She's refusing the idea of him and in your head, you hear her recite her mantra about how she can't take another hurt. You tell her you understand. She doesn't have to worry.

Nduka smiles at you and you smile back. You already know this is a fruitless venture, this wasn't going to lead anywhere. As Nduka tells you the reason you haven't been seeing him around was that he was abroad. You tell her it's okay.

Not today, not ever.