10 DAYS - Episode 1

At last I won the battle with my flesh to sit my slothful ass down and get back to writing stories. I’m making you no promise to complete this story, which is going to be posted here in short episodes. I’m rather challenging myself to become useful to you, dear readers. This episode is dedicated to all of us born in December. Cheers!

DAY 1

Edisemi Thompson

Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birthday Happy Birth… Fuck!

“What?” The Cake lady on the other end of the line asks.

“Did I just say fuck?” I ask.

There’s brief laughter from her, the sound like voices from the shell of a conch.

“I was trying to tell myself you didn’t say that.”

“Well…”

“Happy Birthday!” Temi screams, startling me from my call.

I turn a scared face his way to discover he’s in a company of four. I know none of the other guys. I don’t like Temi’s persona. He’s always aims to creep me out of my mind, and he gives me this kind of stare that slices through my clothes to my nudity. I’ve always had to endure his presence, which is like eight hours every day.  We’re colleagues a work and share the same office space.

“Thanks dear.” I say to him and continue my search for Butch.

It doesn’t pay to remind Temi and a host of others that it’s actually Butch’s birthday and not mine. My birthday was yesterday, 8^th December. But since Butch and I made that nonverbal concession three years ago to celebrate our birthday together on his day, it has stuck. Two years ago, I tried explaining to one of the guys – that was Captain – how all the birthday wishes should go to Butch and he simply turned his glass of whisky on my hair and yelled Happy Birthday, while grinding his waist to no beat at all. Dude was as drunk as lovers on their first romance.

“Ma, are you there?”

“Shit!” I say and frown.

I rarely curse, but today, my brain is on overdrive. I’ve taken it as a duty to organize the event and I’m as confused as a cornered rat on how to go about it. Friends (and friends of friends) have stolen every space in the house and the cooking is not yet complete. The girls say it’ll take an hour or more to get done. Most of the guys have traced their way to the fridge and made away with the things that interested them there. I’ve taken a mental note to replenish the fridge’s stock, same as the buckets of ice.

I’m still figuring out the agenda for the event, and if it’s right to be the MC, being that it’s my birthday. Well, Butch’s birthday in the real sense.

“Fuck!”

“Ma, you must be in the middle of something. How about?”

“No, please hang on. Where were we?”

“You wanted two chocolate cakes, hexagonal, butter icing, 5kg…”

Oh, chocolate cakes. It’s always been chocolate cakes for every of my birthday. My mom said her love for chocolates led her to making me a chocolate cake for my ‘One Year’ birthday. When I turned three and a vanilla cake was brought to my school to celebrate with my classmates, I had cried and asked for a brown cake when it was cut. Butch doesn’t fancy chocolate cakes, but what choice does he have?

And where on Earth was Butch?

“What do you say about this new suggestion, ma?”

“What suggestion, please?”

“I was suggesting that the second cake be Banana flavoured. There’s this special recipe we use in making our Banana cakes that has become our trademark. These cakes are on high demand. You’ll surely…”

“No, let’s stick to the plan!”

“Okay, ma… but this special cake is even cheaper…”

“My cakes arrive in thirty minutes, right?”

I don’t wait for her to reply. I end the call. I don’t get why people think cost is the only consideration to buyers’ purchase. I’m not rich to that point where I use the Naira notes to wipe grease off my plates, but I’m rich enough to purchase anything I want. I take another mental note: This is the last time I’ll use Jo’s Cakes. Madam Jo can beg me all the way to the cross, I’m done with her cakes. Next time, she’ll learn to employ suitable salespeople.

My mood is about to be ruined, and Butch’s disappearance is accelerating it. I take a deep breath and wave to a couple of guys seated in a circle, a bottle of Vodka in their centre. They wave back, beaming with smiles – familiar faces but nameless.

I move on and barely escape bumping into Juli. Her wide hip brushes mine and I smack her bum lightly as she chuckles pass. Some of her drink spill to the floor and I take another mental note to get the cleaners to wipe the floors of the whole house again.

Aren’t they supposed to be stationed at every corner with their mopping sticks?

Butch and Juli have been friends since secondary school. The chic got a good sense of humour and is sexier than a cat. She’s a red alert to my relationship, but so far, she’s given me no reason for worry. I know by instinct that she’s Lesbian. The kind of girls you’d always see her hanging out with… and how she sometimes looks at me… like Temi.

The library upstairs is the only place I’ve not checked for Butch. He’s the kind of man that joke on Nigerians was made. Hide vital stuff in a book and you’re sure they’re safe. Butch however is a bookworm. He has every book he needs on his iPad. If that gadget had a vagina and breasts, I’ll swear Butch is cheating on me. He’s always with it.

My phone rings. The caller is Njideka. Igbotic name right? Chic likes it that way. She stayed away from me for a month till I begged, the day she discovered her contact was saved on my phone as ‘Deka Babe’ instead of Njideka. I really had to stoop to beg Njideka to end the malice. I rarely do that, but what is my kitchen without her?

I make a detour to the kitchen, replying coolly to birthday wishes. These people never get tired of wishing.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” The girls bawl.

They’ve done this before… and it’s not really my birthday. I share them my sweetest smile. The smile is meant solely for Njideka, however. I don’t trust the other girls. I barely know them, and they look like the sort of girls that’ll hold conference calls late at night to discuss women they can never equal in this life.

“We’re done.” Njideka announces.

“Where are they, the stuff you guys prepared?” I’m thinking small chops and chips and…

“That’s not why we called you.” One of the girls says. I know this one, her name is Kemi. Right name for a bitch.

I want to smack her right in the centre of her face. The first opportunity she gets to ever talk to me and she’s already forming familiarity. I bless her with a sweet smile and turn a questioning brow at Njideka. She gets the message and takes me aside.

“I want to make you something special. It’s your day.” Chic is wise to avoid a ‘We.’

“Oh dear.” I gather her in a bear hug and leave a kiss on her cheek.

“AWWWWWNNNN!” The girls coo.

“Keep some hugs for us too. Don’t give them all to Njideka.” Kemi again.

“Why this bitch?” I whisper to Njideka.

“She’s second best in here.”

I sigh as we break from the embrace. I’m undergoing a one-year culinary training under Njideka’s tutelage. We’re eight months gone and I’ve learnt very little. My interest for cooking just runs thin. I’m glad Njideka is not disappointed. She’s in fact offering to extend the contract for another year. I wouldn’t be needing the likes of Kemi if I knew my way around the kitchen.

I sigh again.

“So, what’s your special meal request.”

“Chicken and chips.”

“For reals?” But Njideka is smiling. She knows how addicted I am to the combination. “Even on your birthday?”

“Serve it with more than enough ketchup and that makes it special.”

“You want to see how to go about this?”

I nod my head briskly. “I’ve got a more serious concern.”

“What’s it?” Njideka’s face contorts into a concerned frown.

“I can’t find birthday boy anywhere.”

“I saw him an hour ago heading upstairs. Go check him there.”

“Thanks, Njideka.” I almost call her Deka. “You’re always a sweetheart.”

I wave at the girls and turn to exit the door.

“Our own hug nko?”

I turn back to behold the sulking face of Kemi and it’s God’s grace that prevents me from giving the chic a piece of my mind. He knows it’s my birthday and I shouldn’t be mean.

“You guys are staying for the party, right?”

“YES!” They coo again. To theses girls, it’s all about cooing.

“Alright then. You’ll all get something special from me before you leave.”

I rush out before they blast my ears with shouts of joy and rush into an excited Captain.

“Cheers, babe.” He lifts his glass of whisky to my face. It’s always whiskey for this man.

“I’ve got no glass.” I smile at him, though I wish to push through him and get upstairs to Butch. I’m not even certain he’s there.

“Raise a fist and hit this damn baby.” He says, his face unsmiling and mean.

I act as instructed and flee before he says another word. My best guess is that he’ll empty the glass on my hair in remembrance of my birthday two years ago. Just like Juli, Captain and Butch goes way back to Secondary School. I don’t have to wonder why Captain was that close to the kitchen, he’s got a huge crush on Njideka. He’s been throwing unconcealed passes her way but the chic keeps rebuffing him. I would do so in her shoes. Captain is not a nice guy – a guy that smokes and drinks isn’t.

I take the steps in twos and consciously neglect a merry wisher. The only thing on my mind is to meet Butch in the library. Something crazy comes to my mind and I smile: What if Butch went to the Library to wank? I’ve caught him doing that several times, mostly when we’re in bed together and he thinks I’m fast asleep. Once, I made him wank looking at my nakedness. I had one of the loveliest feelings that day.

God, I’m feeling hot and lovely already. I silently walk into the library, really hoping to catch Butch pressed in a corner (possibly in between bookshelves), hands moving rapidly over his member, mouth hanging ajar, eyes rolling in pleasure in anticipation of the spasm that’ll rock him to ecstasy.

The library is empty. Not a single sound. The air conditioner freezing the books. I grow unsettled and struggle not to scream his name. I pick a book at random. It’s Chim Newton’s Under the Cherry Tree. The events that took place in the book makes me shake my head, a nostalgic smile twitching my lips.

I head straight to the closet, it’s the only section of the library and the whole house left to search for Butch. If he isn’t here, he’ll have a lot of explanation to…

“Jesus, Butch!”

In his shock, Butch dumps whatever he’s holding into the toilet bowl and turns the metal handle of the flusher. The roar of blue water spiralling its way done fills the air, but it doesn’t clear the cloud of smoke fogging the closet. I wonder why nobody thought of installing a fire alarm in here. On the tail of that thought is how someone could survive is such mass of smoke.

Irony baby, Butch your man was drawing in huge sips of those into his system. Into his damned lungs. Blackening it like firewood in elongated contact with fire.

“Baby.” Butch says then sniffs, then shakes his head, then tries to smile.

“Buchi Agwu, you smoke?” I can’t contain my shock. I want to run away like Cinderella by midnight, Butch being the single shoe I’ll forget.

“Happy birthday, baby.” He slaps down the toilet lid and grabs his lighter from the window.

“It never was my birthday. Get your ass out there right now and celebrate with your well-wishers.”

I slam the door and stomp out of the library, my body rocking with fright and anger and some other emotion I can’t explain. I’m going to try to avoid taking a rash action. I’m really going to fight picking up the microphone and screaming: LADIES AND GENTLEMEN, THANK YOU FOR YOUR TIME. THE BIRTHDAY PARTY IS OVER! I JUST BROKE UP WITH THE CELEBRANT!!