CHRISTMAS DATING
Episode 5
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I prayed for it not to happen. I cried many nights, on my knees, begging God to keep this one sweet thing, begging that this sweetness lasts me a long time, forever.
But Jojo changed. My Sweet Jojo changed. He stopped calling me Sugar. He stopped playing around with my hair. That chemistry between him and my hair sank in the mud. He stopped being my hero, the king he used to be, the Shakespeare I admired so much.
It began the night I returned from Abuja. His fingers were cuddling another woman’s hair. Those fine guitar fingers that made me reach the climax of pleasure, that once belonged to my body. They were on another woman’s body, drawing lines of betrayal, lines that ended our chemistry.
It didn’t just happen. It began like a gentle breeze, like a flowing concert music. Then it became a wind. It blew really hard and long. It was only a breeze before I left Lagos for Abuja. It was only a breeze when he kissed me goodbye at the Muritala Mohammed Airport, Ikeja, Lagos.
I didn’t want to let him go. I wanted to stick to him like a dirt on a white shirt. I wanted to put him in my bag. I wanted to take him with me to Abuja. One week was too long a time for me not to sleep in his long, hairy arms.
He knew better than to plant a kiss on my lips. He knew I would yearn for more. He knew I wouldn’t let go easily. So when he kissed, he did it on my forehead. And hurried me on.
I had taken a few more looks at my Jojo as I walked aimlessly to the plane. You can say I am not normal. But I was in love with the only one person that truly mattered to me. The only man that really showed me true love. I didn’t know things would change so quickly, from just a gentle breeze, to a mighty rushing wind.
I couldn’t wait for the plane to land in Abuja already. One hour seemed like a thousand years. He was waiting at the other end when I called. The phone had hardly rang when he picked.
He knew I would call. We were on the phone until I checked into my room at the hotel, until I was in the bathroom to take a shower, until I tucked myself into the thick, white blanket, his baby-boy voice being cool as always. Refreshing.
All these while, it was all breeze. A gentle breeze. It was a gentle breeze all the nights when I told him how the training went each day. It was still a gentle breeze when he told me the long story of Romeo and Juliet.
I had listened with rapt attention. His detailed storytelling skill was satisfying. It had seemed he was the original author. He was still my Shakespeare. The absolute best. It was all gentle, cooing breeze until I left Abuja on Saturday evening.
I landed in Lagos and it was still a gentle breeze. I had lied to him that our meeting was extended by one week. I wanted to surprise him. He moaned in displeasure. Deceitful displeasure. It was still a gentle breeze when I sneaked into his house with his spare key.
And then, the tempo began to rise, and rise, and rise, until it was like an opera note on a Mozartian music score. Then it became a mighty wind. A hush. It went straight into my heart, heavy as it was. I was surprised. Instead of being the one to orchestrate the surprise.
My Sweet Jojo was cuddling another woman. Playing with her hair. Drawing imaginary lines on her skin. I stood and watched. My spirit sank into my belly. And a flood of hot tears descended on my face. I covered my mouth with my hand so I wouldn’t chuckle.
The pack of strawberry ice cream I bought for him fell off my hand, and they leaped off the sofa. Both of them. Surprised. He had words to say. The lady was unperturbed. The eyes I looked into with my tears pouring out belonged to Joseph Adewale. It wasn’t Jojo’s eyes anymore.
He had words in his mouth. I heard him call me Linda. That was not my name. Not Sugar? Not Esomchi — I choose God, my original name? Who was Linda? Did I seem whomever that was to him?
He had words in his mouth. But I ran. The wind carried me. The tempo kept rising higher and higher, like a Mozartian note played as fortissimo. Like a grand piano playing the final dopaminergic notes in a concert. I ran as fast as I could. I was not sure if out of his life at the moment. But I was sure I ran out of his sight.
I sank into my bed in tears. It had happened again. It would be the what time again? The fourth? No. The fifth. What I prayed shouldn’t happen had happened.
All my fear materialized. They used to be buried in a valley subdued by Jojo’s love. But they were right before me again. In my embrace. In my bed. Jojo opened the gates again. And I knew, this time, it was going to rain heavily, like the forty days and forty nights rain of Noah’s day.
I waited for Jojo to call. To tell me that it was all lies. That it was a prank. Or, maybe, that it was a dream. I hoped that my phone would beep and it would be Jojo’s message telling me how sorry he was, begging me to run back into his arms. But he didn’t call. He didn’t send me a message.
I waited every night. I missed him. I dreamt of him cuddling my hair. Drawing those unseen lines on my skin. Around my bellybutton. But my Jojo was far away from reach. Farther than I could even imagine.
To be continued. . .
— Michael Ituma
