It had been a hectic Saturday morning. Sweat dripped from my body like raindrops, and as the minutes passed, the home sanitation I had only just completed began to take its toll on my waist. As I got my backside to the sofa with difficulty, I realized that home-making was not a laughing matter, and furthermore I realized how much of an asset Bukola had been. Usually she would be the one doing the house-cleaning, but she wasn’t available this weekend, nor would she be on any other weekend. No, not when we had broken up six days earlier. Yes, broken up. Two words which were by no means strange to me. As a matter of fact, my relationship with Bukola had been my third in a space of eleven months, and it had been the longest within that time frame, never mind that it had only lasted for five months. There had been the one with Angie, which lasted for two months, and which I had put to an end because her hygiene left much to be desired. There was also Gbemi, who became past tense the day after she farted in bed, six weeks into the romance. Bukola had been really great, but she needed anger management classes, and I was not prepared to live with that. I had since come to terms with the fact that Commitment was not my strong point, but I was in no mood to dwell on that, so I reached for my photo album, so I could glance through it for the forty-eighth time and relive happier memories. I skipped past the faded pictures quickly, but I found my fingers slowing down when they got to Ruth’s photo. Ruth! I had to breathe deeply. She it was who had loved me madly, had been deflowered by me, had given three years of her life, and had wept when I called it quits on grounds that she was too clingy and was suffocating me with talks of future kids. She had stormed out of my university apartment (five years had passed since that day), screaming “Greg, you will never be happy!” YOU WILL NEVER BE HAPPY! Those words rang so audibly now like they did on that fateful Friday evening. It had all become clear after so long. Her words had been playing out in my life to damning effect. Sure enough, “Hell hath no fury than a woman scorned”. I was prepared to find her, to apologise, to plead with her to get rid of this curse which hung over me like life-size clouds. She had cut off all contact with me, even “unfriending” me on Facebook, so I decided to call Tonia, a mutual friend of ours. After exchanging pleasantries, I inquired about Ruth, and an awkward silence followed, before she said, “Ruth has passed on. She died from tuberculosis two years ago.” I sighed. Those life-size clouds would definitely be around for a long time. - Iron Veils
Posted on: Fri, 21 Nov 2014 05:21:25 +0000
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