10 DAYS - Episode 10

Buchi Agwu

Julie had asked to spend the night at my place as we’d left Njideka’s very late and her house was in a mess. As always, I said Yes. I usually can’t say no to a lady’s request, except one for sex, that is. But last night, Julie hadn’t asked for sex. She’d asked for the opposite, in fact.

When we got to the house, my parents were already asleep, but mom, inquisitive as ever, had still shuffled into the sitting room dopey-eyed to check who it was breaking into the house. I’ve warned her several times to be stealthy about these checks and to always take along with her an object for protection. There’s the heavy store padlock, now useless like the store itself, lying idle on the old fridge in the kitchen, the pestle behind the kitchen door, knives on their rack, and even the mopping stick, if she doesn’t want to hurt someone’s son. She seems to have grown certain that no intruder will break into her house. She smiled at seeing Julie and even hugged her, but that was about all. Sleep had her in its grip, drawing her back into its confines, until she was almost shuffling back to their room with her eyes closed.

My parent’s apartment is a two-bedroom flat. They take one of the rooms, I have the other to myself. Njideka should know this as she’s been to my place many times, but she’s never stayed late enough to have to spend the night. I switched on the lights to my tidy room decorated with frames of nature paintings and a real life drawing of Edsiemi, all done by myself.

“I think the only addition to this room is that drawing of Edisemi.” Julie had pointed. “Room is as prim as ever and just the way it has always has been.”

True enough, the artworks had been done several years ago, they were some of my first set of paintings. The bed, the wardrobe, the curtains, the foot mat and even the standing mirror were the ones that’d always been there since I was a teenager. The knowledge that the room would someday be vacated for a bigger place where I’d create new memories with a wife and kids and the compelling need to preserve my boyhood must’ve prevented me from making modifications.

“This place is so Butchy. I’m suffering enough by thinking almost constantly of you, I cannot come and kill myself by sleeping in your room. Please show me the guest room.”

“Well,” I’d said smiling at the revelation I already know. “We don’t have a guest room. The only other room is where my parents are.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. It’s always been that way.”

“Sitting room, here I come.” She picked a pillow and started for the door.

I stopped her halfway and was going to tell her that she shouldn’t sleep in the sitting room while I slept like a king on my bed. It’d show what a bad host I am and my mom would be on my case when she wakes up to discover her sleeping in a couch. I was also going to tell her that to really get over me (as if we ever were romantic lovers), she’d need to confront a flood of me, which my room provided. I was going to take the pillow from her and excuse her to sleep in the sitting room.

I did take the pillow from her but wouldn’t let go of her. I flung the pillow back to the bed and peered into her eyes. Into her caramel brown iris. Into her soul. She was beautiful, ever was and ever will be, in that aching way that was unbearable now. I’d always wanted her but thought she was trouble. Maybe it was something in the way she carried herself; maybe it was something about her fearless nature that sometimes transfigured into disrespect; maybe it was something about her disregard for religion; or just maybe loving her too senselessly was what I dreaded.

I knew I shouldn’t be doing this. I knew this was going to ruin the plan more than it was already ruined. The underlying purpose of the plan would be defeated and I’d just be another sinner expecting a saint as soulmate. I’ll be the kettle calling the pot back. Oh God…

There were lots of thoughts for consideration but sadly no room for thoughts. My whole being was shrinking into a small ball, merging every thought into one – longing. Squeezing Julie’s tender hands and communicating our throbbing desires through our eyes, we knew we were pressed for time.

Without a word of consent, our lips met. They ravaged each other like thirsty pirates breaking into freshwater stream. We smack, smack, smacked with our lips while our frenzied hands travelled everywhere on our skins till they were completely bare and rid of clothes. Before I reached and turned off the light, I saw the both of us resplendently naked, her soft curves and slopes against my rigid contours. We were the black silhouette of lovers making out by the seashore with frothy waves crashing around our ankles and the sunken sun bathing us in its golden light. That moment to me was golden and etched in my mind with the clarity of even the minutest detail. I knew I’d have to paint it on canvass.

The alarm for 5.30 am shrieks and I realise I’ve been sitting on the edge of the bed for thirty minutes. I’d woken up by 5a.m for my morning prayer but couldn’t see why God would care to listen to me. I have Julie in my bed and hardly regretting a thing that’d transpired between. I pick up the alarm clock and silence it. The damage has been done, Julie is awake. She drags herself towards me and is soon embracing me from behind. Her breasts flatten on my back and I feel the thump of her heartbeat. Her hands find my nipples and her fingers begin to work on them. She kisses me on the shoulder and then on the neck. Her breath is hot and the whole thing is arousing a tingling sensation in my member. I’m getting a morning boner and a morning boner converted to sex is about the best thing in the world.

“Last night was nothing short of what I’d always fantasised about. It was every shade of lovely. It’s one memory I can go get a diary for so I can always visit it.”

My moans are caught in my mouth. Julie’s words are doing as good a job as her hands. I’m mesmerised. Edisemi is a very sexual person, but she doesn’t invest in words during romance. She gets right into action, gets it done professionally and redo it again for good measures, and it’s lovely. But this is another grade of loveliness. I feel like I’m being given a chance to start life over and I’m making sure to do it better than before. This, is better.

“I sometimes think of dying. I usually get disquieted by that thought because I wouldn’t agree to have explored life to its fullest without ever having to get into your pants.” She chuckles.

I chuckle too. I’ve had thoughts of death too and my fear for it is massive. I think of hell, I think of things I should’ve done better. I think of people I should’ve loved enough. I think of not making enough impact in this world. I think… I think I haven’t loved Julie enough. Yes, I feel sad that a lady would love me so badly and I can only love her back to a certain degree. I know I’d feel terrible if she stops loving me altogether and goes her way. I try to keep her close because I still want her. I don’t want to lose her to another man. I tell myself I’m acting like a selfish father intensely in love with his little girl and that is the only way I permit myself to see it…

“Did you regret last night?” She turns my head and nibbles my lower lip. “Tell me the truth.”

I turn to sit facing her. I draw her closer so her breasts touch my chest and she wraps her legs around my waist. I take away the awry sheet hanging from her waist and get a perfect view of her body. I study her in her nakedness for long and she studies mine. I think of Jack in Titanic drawing Rose in her nudity. I register Julie’s body and wonder if I should ask to draw her with what dim light streaming from the orange overhead bulb.

“I know we shouldn’t have done what we did last night, but I don’t regret it.” I say.

“And I should be satisfied with what you already gave, you didn’t want to give it all these years. In fact, if I don’t ever get to have sex with you again in this life, Butch, I’d be contented. But I can’t help being an Oliver Twist. Would it be out of place to ask for more?” She says and I see the amount of struggle the demand takes. It’s totally unlike her to finetune words the way she’s done.

“I think it’ll be wicked if you don’t ask for more because I do want more.”

“Really?” It’s almost a scream so I cover her mouth, thinking my mom must be passing by and decide to check what’s worth screaming about. I’m quite sure she’s awake.

Julie presses herself into me and kisses me desperately and passionately. I wonder how a kiss could be very frantic and at the same time sensual. 

I part her lips and slide my tongue in her mouth. She takes it and suckle on it. The heat of her lion is immense and stimulating. My penis grows huge and hard against her bum. She rubs her bum on it and the sensation is wild. I take a breast in my mouth and she arches her back. I exchange a breast for another and suckle and massage thoroughly. Julie’s moan starts to build, and just a few thrusts moments later, I take her mouth in mine to silence her gabble of sweet nothings.

_____

It’s 6.48 am when we both head out of the room – Julie refreshed and wearing her clothes; me, my mouth washed, my hair combed and wearing shorts and white tee-shirt. Julie has to go to work. She manages an Advertising Agency her father helped her set up. Nobody will question her absence from work, but Julie has good personal work ethics. A manger is the role model, so, she doesn’t expect her workers to always be at work on workdays and early if she doesn’t set an example for them.

We meet mom setting the dining for breakfast and my stomach churn at the smell of fried eggs and plantain. I know meeting Julie last night would make my mom restless. By this time on a normal day, my dad and I will still be in bed and mom will be contemplating whether to wake us up for morning devotion or to do it alone in the sitting room. Now, I wonder if we’d been loud enough for her to pick and reckon what’s we were at, for at some point, our mouths fell free and Julie’s sounds of pleasure had been uninhibited. It doesn’t matter if she heard, I’m a grown man and expected to have sex, but I can’t seem to outgrow the feeling of the wrongness of sex with my folks around.

Julie goes over to my mom, greets and hugs her then starts to leave.

“You’re not going to stay for breakfast?” Mom asks as if surprised. It’s a tactic of hers I’m familiar with.

“I’m trying not to be late for work, ma.”

“You’re going to work dressed this way?”

Julie looks herself over and smiles. It’s a smile that says ‘times have changed, ma’. “There’s a jacket in my car and good office heels. I’ll get them on once I’m parked at the office.”

“Well, I’m old right?”

“Ha, mommy. You like to worry about your age ehn, and you’re not even old.” I say, walking up to them.

“Allow her tell me if I’m old or not. It’s old women that worry so much about breakfast before leaving for work.”

“I think that’s a general woman thing.” Julie corrects with a smile, then adds, “a caring woman.”

We take our seats while mom pour hot water into our cups and dishes fried eggs and plantains into a flat, round dish for us. I don’t wonder why mom doesn’t dish it separately for us. She’s all about love and unity and she hate to have plenty of dishes to wash. She’d gripe when the sink is filled with unwashed dishes but will never let me or dad give her a helping hand. Mom disappears into the Kitchen and comes back with a loaf of bread. Julie stares at it wide-eyed.

“Don’t worry, it’s not for you.” I inform her and she shakes her head.

We finish our meal in seven minutes. Julie says her thanks and hugs mom for the last time. Julie is such a hugger and I’m sure mom enjoys it. It’s a woman thing, I guess, and having just a male (or two, the few times I’m around) who don’t give them often, she surely must be starved of hugs.

I see Julie off to her car. She gets in, wind down her glass, and leans out with pouted lips. I bend forward for the kiss, which turns out to be one kiss too long for a departing kiss. I watch her drive out of our small parking space and into the street. I watch till her car is completely out of view before getting back in.

My mom is waiting at the door when I get there.

“Julie is a nice girl.” She says.

“And so am I a nice boy.” I peck her. She loves those pecks so much that we quarrel if she doesn’t get at least one from me in a day.

“A nice boy settles in with a nice girl…” She starts to say.

I know the lecture. I’ve had it many times and can recite it word by word if you care to listen. Me, I don’t care for it now. I’m inside my head right now and Julie is there with me. She’s the only think I can think of at the moment. I escape into my room and close the door. The place is dim but for the bright white light of my phone. I pick it up and see three missed calls. Edisemi is the caller. A feel a pang of guilt, and I reason I can’t call her back feeling this way. I turn off the phone and crash into the bed. I’ll call her later in the day. Right now, I’ve got to decide what I want with Julie.

Temitayo Agbaje

This is one of those days I hate my job (or an aspect of my job). I wonder what’s keeping Edisemi at home or wherever she is at the moment. She hardly arrives late for work. I can only think of one time she’d really shown up late and that day, there was blood on her blouse. She’d had a motor accident and had still shown up at the office. Management had asked her to take the week off to treat herself and advised her to call whenever there were such inconveniences. She’d called some other times after then to complain that she wasn’t feeling well enough for work. These times are very rare. I can remember just two, the last being a very disturbing menstrual period.

I wouldn’t be having this conversation that is fast becoming an argument and getting out of control with this Jegede fellow if she were here. She’s the one with the human relation skill. She manages these inept Jerks far better than I do and this particular one wouldn’t have come to me if she were here. He prefers submitting his news stories to her.

“Jegede, I don’t get this. Where are you whenever these news stories are happening?”

“I don’t get, Temi.”

Imagine, he calls me by my name, no Sir attached. Call it an insult and there’ll be a lot of people here telling you he’s old enough to be your father and has been in the business long before you came in.

“I read this story last night on Linda Ikeji’s blog.”

“That’s because it happened last night.”

“Then for God’s sake, what makes the story hot?”

“Because it’s hot. It’s trending.”

I slam the papers on my desk and restrain myself from folding them into balls. In the state I am right now, I can chew the papers and spit it to his face, older than me or not. Old age is no excuse for incompetence. In fact, being an old timer in this job should sharpen you up. Your instincts should be sharper than a blade and your hound sense to smell fresh news should be honed. That paper sales are declining daily is as a result of Jerks like Jegede.

“And you didn’t submit it last night as it’s hot so we can be seen as trendy?”

“Blame it on logistics.”

“You don’t know anything. You sleep while an event is happening and when all the blogs and papers have it, you bring your foolish version for editing.” I’m almost yelling.

“Don’t raise your voice at me. You don’t drive one of the broadcasting vans, so you don’t have to always explain why the fuel finishes in a day when it’s supposed to last for three days. You sit here and edit whatever we bring to you. You don’t even know the competition out there amongst reporters. You should be grateful when you get something from us and do your job.”

“Stale stories get us nowhere. I’m asking you to buckle up. If there’s any complaint about the equipment, take it to the management. Now where are the pictures for these?”

Jegede fumbles into his waist pack and gets out a memory card.

“Slot this thing somewhere?”

“What? You haven’t printed out the pictures?”

“How could I have. This is a story that happened last night. It’s still fresh and hot.”

“And blogs had them since last night, Jegede. Do you still know your job?”

“Okay, teach me. We are the print media, would you have printed the story if I’d submitted it last night? Would you have retracted yesterday daily already sitting in people’s houses and on organisations’ reception tables and added this to it just so people know it’s fresh and hot?”

“Yes, I’d be in today’s daily already in newsstands because the paper is printed by midnight. And no, it happened last night and should be captured today. It’s got nothing to do with yesterday’s paper. Don’t try to play smart with me in your ignorance. Plus, we’ve got our site running. The story would be up there minutes after submission. Nothing is as old and as inflexible as you.”

“Ogbeni, do whatever you have to do with the story.” He drops the memory card on my desk. “When am I coming back for it?”

I begin to say something that will get us both queried when Edisemi walks in. Her face is swollen and her hair lumpy. She looks deprived of sleep and I think she’s been crying. Her makeup does very little at concealment. She manages a smile as she greets us and takes her seat.

“Ose Oluwa.” Jegede presses his palms together in prayer and snatches his story and memmory card from my desk.

I feel relieved and well, pained. I’m pained because he’s transferring the burden to Edisemi who looks like she’s been through a heavy storm. I want to tell him to just get out of the office already and try not to bring in a stale story again, but Edisemi is giving him the attention already. He’s commenting on her looks and suggesting she takes a rest. She’s smiling and nodding and taking the papers from him without questioning. She even takes the card and slots into her PC.

I’m just going to mind my business. But no, I can’t. This story is not going to be published today, Today’s paper is already out there and we don’t have it in it. By tomorrow, when we eventually capture it, people would’ve gotten everything they wanted from other papers and we’ll look silly and slow and incompetent.

“Edisemi, that story isn’t going to make it. It’s a waste.”

Jegede shoots me a reproachful glance. It is venomous in its intensity but it can’t kill me.

“There are ways to go about it. It’s not too late to have it on the site, for one, it’s just some minutes past 9 am, and if Jegede’s story is better and more detailed, people won’t mind reading it tomorrow on the paper.”

Edisemi is analytical. She’s an editor like no one else I’ve met. I’m surprised I’d not thought about these all the while I was lashing out at Jegede. You know, when you concentrate on the log in another man’s eyes, you don’t ever get to see the one in your eyes.

Edisemi discharges Jegede and charges him to submit twenty fresh stories before the day ends. The gratitude in his eyes is massive. He shoots me another venomous stare before leaving the office. I pray he always get to meet Edisemi whenever he brings his stories. I leave my seat the moment the door is shut and go sit on Edisemi’s desk.

“Talk to me, what’s happening?”

“Nothing that concerns you, Temi.”

“You fought with your boyfriend? You guys broke up?”

“Isn’t that your wish?” She almost screams at me. I recoil.

“Edisemi, I want you to be happy, that’s all.”

“Well, I can’t be happy with you always undressing me with your eyes and looking for the slimmest chance to jump me.”

“Come on, Eddy.” I mean to say more but have nothing to say actually. I just lick my lips.

“Don’t you ever call me that. Do I look like a guy to you?”

“You’ve never objected to that name.”

“Doesn’t mean I’ve been enjoying it. Let me have peace this morning, Temi.”

“You need peace. You’re in a bad mood this morning. I’ll let you be.”

“Thank you.” She says and reads through Jegede’s story.

I remain on her desk until she’s done. A bright smile transforms her face the moment she’s done and I marvel at her beauty. I think I won’t rest until this woman is mine. She goes through the pictures she’d saved from the memory card.

“This is amazing!”

“What is?”

“Jegede just answered all the nagging questions on my mind after reading what I saw on the internet. We’re still on point. I never doubted that man.”

I jump down her desk and move in close to her.

The shots are amazing and the story… I never got to read it. I take in a lungful of Edisemi’s perfume and am overcome by nostalgia. Ebiere (Ebby) used to wear the same perfume. My bed always smelt this way whenever she left. Images of moments we shared together flickers past my eyes like burst shots. There’s one where we both are singing in the night almost drunk; another, of us making love in the rain; yet another, of us planning our wedding in between kisses, and finally the one where her white gown is soaked with blood and her head mashed like corned beef. I couldn’t have recognised her if she hadn’t just left my place that night wearing that gown, and the gold ring on her middle finger…

I slam Edisemi’s desk with both my palms and she scream. I don’t mean to frighten her but I can’t help it. At the moment I can’t see her but my Ebby whose life was cut short by the reckless truck driver who’d been sleeping behind his big wheel. I lift Edisemi’s face and say with clenched teeth:

“I’m not going to see you get hurt again. I promise you, nobody’d going to hurt you ever again.”

Copyright: Storyestate 2017.

Image Credits:

sankofaonline.com

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