“Do you not that a man is not dead, while his name is still being spoken?” – Terry Pratchett.

•••

Anjola let herself into the living room, quite stridently, without caring for the loud fuss her sneakers, was making—as its sole, kissed the terrazzo tiles. Since the house was empty and no one was home, she wasn’t racking up a ruckus by disturbing anyone and was free to be as rebellious and seditious as she wished, before her folks arrived from work.

After dumping her heavy back-pack onto the center rug, she slumped into the nearest couch—which was the two-seater sofa—and fully relaxed her back into the cushion, letting the comfy foam massage her worn out back. One of these days, she feared her backbone was going to crack under the weight of her bag, reducing her to a hunchback.

She had plans. Shower, eat brunch, play loud deafening music and dance in the carefree, blithe way she couldn’t back at school, because she believed decency was defined by being civilized and cultured, unlike her mates that had descended to the pits of animalistic, primal behavior intoxicated by alcohol—and reduced to smashed, irrational versions of themselves. Some of them had the courage to do what they did while drunk, in their clearest heads—but some would regret their actions deeply and wish they could take them back. Not her, she wasn’t going to be under that statistic of people and that was why she refrained from drinking, and had bolted from the scene, the moment the party ended.

She wasn’t a wallflower—some people did view her as one, but she was no pariah that was ignorant to the numerous pleasures characteristic of such wild, feral life. The reason why she abstained from such practices weren’t because she was the reincarnation of the holy Mary, who had a pure and untainted soul.

She didn’t know if she could claim such title since she had seen and knew things, but refused to practice because she knew how incapacitating it could be, how debilitating the effect could be to one’s sanity, how it had the power to derail her from the logical path, she had been treading all her life. The price was too costly to pay, and at the end of the day—it wasn’t worth it. People who usually went down such path, hardly ended well. She couldn’t afford not to end well. She was the only one, her parents had and were bargaining on to be the—

“You’re back early,” A baritone startled her, that she shot to her feet and scanned her surroundings, furtively as if there was a chance of a breaking and entering. Her palpitating heart slowed down, when she realized it was only her dad—Mofe, clad in his grey sleeping robe, holding a saucer filled with groundnuts, he was eating from.

From the look of things—his puffy cheeks, and his wobbly stance—she could infer he had been in bed all day. She had automatically assumed he had gone to work, like every other normal day. It was a good thing, she hadn’t progressed with her plan to play loud music yet.

“The type of noise you made while coming in, I was almost afraid you weren’t moving of your own free will, and that someone was probably maybe dragging you, and you were wrestling with them. Matter of fact, it was pretty much what woke me up.”

“Oh, about that.” Anjola bit her lower lip, and shrunk back into her seat while Mofe lowered himself onto the seat, by her right. She bought time, trying to calibrate her thoughts to come up with an explanation worthwhile to explain her earlier lousiness. Kicking off her mud-stained Adidas, she flexed her toes and sighed. “Yeah, the class party has ended so I’m here. Although, it hasn’t ended technically anyway, as there is still stuff going on, but its stuff I’d rather not be around to watch.”

“Stuff you’d rather not be around to watch?” Mofe’s brows creased, and he gave her a curious look, while throwing a handful of groundnuts into his mouth. His next words were accompanied by the crunchy sound, of the nuts being grinded by his teeth. “Nobody came with a pornography film or something, did they?”

“No, of course not.” She shook her head. “It’s not as intense as porn, but well it’s still pretty intense. Most of them are just drunk, dad, and they’ve transformed the class to a club. They’re probably going to get into trouble with the school, for bringing in alcohol. I’m not sure, really, since other classes have done it and they got away with it but I wasn’t willing to risk that. So I left.”

“I see,” Mofe scooped even more groundnuts into his mouth, and stretched his legs—yawning a bit. “So that’s why you left the class? Because you didn’t want to get into trouble? If drinking alcohol in school was alright, then you’d stay and drink?”

“Of course not dad, I don’t drink.” She frowned, giving him an incredulous look. The man knew she was a nonalcoholic, as he was the one who pushed her to imbibe said trait, but was interrogating her anyway to make sure her head was still in the right place. “I’d have stayed, since everyone in the class wasn’t wasted. Some of my friends were just chilling in a corner, and watching a movie from a laptop. So I could have just hung with them, and not drink.”

“Makes sense,” Mofe said, and finally put the saucer aside on the nearest stool—which was wedged in between their chairs. “But then staying to hang behind with your friends, is that the best decision you could have taken at that moment? I mean, you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t afraid you could get into trouble.”

“I’m not going to do anything, Dad. I’m just staying behind to hang with my friends.” She replied, in a careful manner, so as not to trip off any unfavorable reaction.

“I trust you, Anjola but that’s not the point of my question. The question is, can you trust your friends while some of them are drunk?” He folded his arms, and gave her such a penetrating look—that pierced through her and bared her soul. There was no one she knew that was as intuitive or perceptive like her dad. He had the ability to see through her, when it came to matters related to her in one way or the other.

“I was once a student before, and I’ve been at parties where a lot of people get drunk and high. Seventy five percent of the people willingly get high, the other twenty five percent? Not so much. Some of them have their drinks swapped, some eat party food flavored with drugs, some are swayed by their friends to grow a pair and demonstrate courage. Fact is, no matter how strong your willpower is, you can always falter eventually. The best thing to do is to always…” He trailed off, so she could finish his sentence.

“Always abstain,” She swallowed, as the truth sunk and weighed in on her. “But just so you know, all we had for food was canned drinks, cake and other snacks. Nothing was being mixed or prepared there. I’m definitely not that gullible.”

“Doesn’t matter still, never overestimate your willpower. Don’t you forget that.” He reiterated. “Are we clear on that?”

“Roger, sire.” She sprung to her feet, and did an elaborate salute before they both broke into a hearty laughter. The lesson he taught her that day remained engraved in the pages of her memory, never to get blown or torn off by the winds of time, no matter how tumultuous. Even now, when she felt like a walking dead, a hologram, whose essence and core had been yanked from—she remembered the lesson and couldn’t help but shrug it off.

You told me not to overestimate my willpower, but you did—Dad. You’ve abandoned me willingly, assuming that I’d move on just fine.

Anjola was tired of crying. She had been crying since she received the news that her dad slumped and fell, and was now in critical condition at the hospital—likely not to make it. She had cried halfway through the journey, and it had taken such a toll on her that she could hardly speak, as her voice had been reduced to fractured fragments, that required great strain in her throat, before she could piece words together and form lucid sentences. And so, she remained mute. Keeping mum, and letting her thoughts break out of their cages and run amok in her mind. No one in the car hassled her to speak or inquired of her state, while she remained as stationary and pokerfaced, like a glass sculpture built to embody an apocalypse.

They spoke to each other though.

Dayo and Lekan in the front seats were in contact with Aunt Bukunmi, who was helping them navigate their way to the hospital. While Tiolu on the other hand, seated by her right—was pensive, looking conflicted as to what she could do. This wrenched her heart further, as she felt guilty for her friend’s dilemma. She apparently didn’t know the appropriate thing to do or say, that would offer comfort and provide a solace in this time when there was a dire need for one. On impulse, Anjola reached out to hold Tiolu’s closest hand—and she tensed upon this contact, astonished that Anjola reached out, but quickly gathered her hand closer and squeezed it tightly, while giving her a small smile.

“We’re only a couple of streets away from the hospital now,” Lekan was the one to speak this time around, and although he sounded pretty neutral she could sense that same unease and caution in his voice, that implied that he was conscious of her pain and was treading a path filled with landmines, careful not to trigger an explosion that would be harmful to her. “Um, Anjola…your aunt didn’t exactly comment on the state of your dad, but I could call her back and ask—”

“Please don’t.” Anjola said, fast. Too fast, that something ghastly showed up in Lekan’s eyes, which she saw through the front mirror wedged in front, between him and Dayo. She cleared her throat, and summoned energy to speak louder because her voice had faded that much. “I—if he’s going to die, he’s going to die anyway. I think it’d be best for me to find out at the hospital, not here…when I still have hope or something, I don’t know. I just…let me find out at the hospital, okay? Let me prepare myself.”

Lekan’s Adam apple, bobbed and he nodded with a solemn look. “Of course, Anjola. Anything you want.”

Then a grueling silence, descended. Everyone remained stiff in their seats, unmoving as if they were latched to time bombs, and the slightest movements would set it off. Anjola shook her head, running her free hand through her curls. This wasn’t what she wanted. She didn’t want to be a ghost—who haunted her friends, especially when they weren’t the one who killed her. It was unfair on them to bear such cross, when they weren’t the ones who crucified her. Her dad was at fault, because he had deliberately refused to take his treatment seriously and had compromised his health in the process. And no matter how hard, she tried to conjure spiteful feelings for him, she just couldn’t. Because it was his fault.

His fault for being blasé and indifferent about his health. His fault that her being alive, wasn’t enough prize for him to wage war with his ailment. His fault for the pain eating up her insides, like deadly microbes. His fault that she was born in the first place, and had to be put through the trauma of being dazed with the fists of sorrow, all over and over again as if she were in a boxing match with tragedy.

Every part of her body was sore with pain, and she was so dizzy with aching that she felt totally lifeless. When she thought about the dystopian future ahead, her chest would contract to the point that it would make her breathing ragged and labored, and her heart rate would escalate to the point that she feared her lungs would explode and her chest would tear open.

Maybe, that was what she needed. Things would surely be easier, if she didn’t have to face this alone. She didn’t have the courage to take her own life, but if she let fate have its way—perhaps, she could get lucky, and it would spare her from having to climb out of another bottomless pit of grief—which she was previously struggling to survive in, but the new development had slashed the rope that was her ticket out of the abyss, leaving her back at square one but this time it was different from when her mom died. That time she had the willpower to battle with her grief, because there was someone who needed her—her dad, but now he was on a one-way route to his death.

There were still other people that mattered, that was worth living for but did they need her that much? Her bond with Tiolu hadn’t been severed yet, but her best friend was married now and her position in her heart had been relegated, since Dayo was now in the picture. There was Lekan, who had come about to occupy a very dear place in her heart, but she couldn’t quite declare if their beta-test relationship was as important as a legitimate one, or if she truly mattered to him since there was a chance that his feelings for her could be short lived also. Adaure and Ehize? They had themselves. Her absence wasn’t going to leave a huge, unfixable hole in the life of anyone she knew.

Perhaps, it was for the best.

“Anjola, we’re here.” Anjola had been so deep in her thoughts, that she hadn’t taken cognizant of the fact that the car had not only stopped—but was now parked in the premises of the hospital, it would seem. She gazed out of the opera window by her side, and the white-painted, skyscraper-esque hospital came into view.

Her vision became blurry, as the tears pooled in her lids again but she sniffled hard, and blinked them back. Not because she cared for appearing strong, as there was no need for that and these people had seen her break down already. But because she was just too tired, to use up little of the energy she had left, to weep, when she still had to walk through the doors of the hospital and go on to find out if Mofe was truly dead.

“Do you need some time—” Tiolu started again, but she shook her head vigorously, and inhaled hard.

“Nope, let’s get this over with.” She disengaged the lock, and stepped out of the car. The trio followed suit and alighted immediately. Tiolu came up by her side, and looped her hand with hers again—and together they headed for the entrance of the building. Lekan and Dayo walked quietly behind, putting reasonable space between them.

No more words were exchanged, until they finally arrived inside—making their way through the corridor, and heading to the reception of the patients. The moment she walked in, her eyes landed on the slumped figure of her aunt—Bukunmi on the front row of seats, and for that nanosecond, she dared hope that when the woman lifted her head up, to look at her—on her face would be nothing but a rainbow of smiles, thus implying that Mofe hadn’t left them yet.

But of course, that wasn’t what transpired.

When Anjola’s and Bukunmi’s gazes locked, she saw her reflection in the woman’s eyes. She saw sorrow that rivaled hers. At that moment, her world tilted and she’d have crashed to the floor—if not for the firm grip of Tiolu, that steadied her, and pulled her wounded self across the room to met her aunt, who finally confirmed the ugly reality, she didn’t want to face.

“He’s dead, Anjola.” Bukunmi said in a small voice, as she rose to her feet and pulled her in for a crushing hug. “He passed away about fifteen minutes ago. He really wanted to see you before he left, I’m so sorry. You’d be fine, I promise.”

“I didn’t want to see him!” She broke out again, and the tears rushed out like it were an angry waterfall, that she had inhibited from flowing. “I wanted to spite him a bit for not fighting harder, what sort of a person am I, auntie? How could I want to pick qualms with someone on his death bed, that’s my father for that matter? I’m such a horrible person.”

“No, you’re not. You’re just a daughter who’s hurt and angry, that everything is falling apart.” Bukunmi’s sobbing seemed to die down, while she feared hers was going to intensify till the point that she was drained off all bodily fluids. “You’d pick yourself up again and fight. It’s something you’ve done before, and it’s something you’d do again. I know my words aren’t doing much to soothe your pain, but nothing can soothe your pain. That’s the first step you take to recovering, realizing that you have to process it and pass through it. Okay?”

“Okay, auntie.” She hiccupped, in the middle of her tears and finally pulled away—Lekan stepping behind her, and Tiolu rounding up to her side instantly. Her friends’ barricade was as a result of the fact, that they saw the probability of her passing out anytime soon which was very viable, since she was so lightheaded that she wondered if someone had replaced her head with a basket.

“Do you want to see him before he’s taken to the morgue?” Bukunmi wiped at her own tears with a white handkerchief, and she couldn’t help but feel angry at Mofe, for putting his sister through such painful ordeal, at the same time feeling rotten inside for harboring feelings of resentment for her dead father.

Dead father.

Gone and never to return. Never to discuss with her anymore, on life’s numerous plagues. Never to offer brilliant advice on complicated situations, that she found herself in. Never to be her pillar, never to be anything to her anymore. Gone.

It was probably best that she moved on and accept that reality, quick.

“I don’t think I want to see him,” Anjola shook her head, and turned around—stalking out of the room and leaving everyone in puzzlement, including herself as to the exact state she was in.

***

Lekan watched Anjola—through the panes of the car’s side windows—seated in the backseat, with her head duck low, as she studied her fingers. She had concluded her second episode of intense sobbing, some minutes ago and had expressed interest in getting fresh air, which she felt would be curative for her. Dayo had then gone on to open the car, so she could sit in it and enjoy a measure of solitude.

Dayo was in the hospital, consulting on behalf of Anjola and taking care of business relating to the man’s death—like the implementation of his birth certificate and expenses affiliated with the burial proceedings—alongside Anjola’s aunt, while Lekan and Tiolu waited outside by Anjola’s side, in case she needed anything. They were at loss for both action and words, and simply leaned over the next car—monitoring Anjola, like devout parents, who didn’t want her to wander astray.

“Are we just going to stay here all day, though?” Tiolu asked from beside him, her hands pocketed into her jean trousers. The volume of her voice was so low, that it was almost a whisper “I just feel standing here and giving her space isn’t necessarily going to do anything. At the same time, what do you say to someone whose father just died? Gawd! I hate situations like this, where I don’t know what’s appropriate and what’s not. Even standing here and talking to you, makes me feel guilty. Like what right do we have to talk, when she’s over there—dealing with all sorts of pain that can’t be expressed in words?”

“How would you know what’s appropriate? It’s not like anyone has experience in this area.” He sighed, his gaze on Anjola—unwavering. “But I know if the person sitting inside that car, is still the same Anjola that we both know and love, then she surely understands our dilemma and can’t blame us for looking like the biggest fools in the world, currently.”

“You’re right, Lekan and that’s even more reason why we shouldn’t stand immobile here and watch her.” Tiolu pushed herself off the car they were leaning on, and faced him. “She’s Anjola, she’d understand. Even if we walk up to her now and accidentally say the most insensitive of things, she’d eventually be able to see beyond that and see our intent? Even if she’d hate us, it’d be for the moment till someday, when she recovers? Right? She just has to recover. She needs us, and we need to be there for her.”

“Alright, then.” Lekan pushed himself off the car also, and dusted the back of his cape that was probably stained by the dusty surface. “So what’s your plan then? What do we lead with?”

“I don’t know, shouldn’t this be your expertise? You’re her boyfriend, right?” Tiolu asked.

“Oh, wow. Now I’m the boyfriend, when there is a need for someone to take the lead but earlier on in the house and every other time, you didn’t want to accept that fact? How convenient of you, Tiolu.” He said, bitterly and shook his head.

Tiolu paled at this, and recoiled—taking a step back and he immediately felt guilty. He had almost forgotten about the deep conversation they had, back at the bungalow and the truth it had unveiled. Over the past few years, it had been nothing but misunderstanding between them that had sowed the seeds of their estranged relationship. Although it was quite farfetched, to think things could be salvaged but still he couldn’t go about, acting in the same cold capacity, he had for the past few years.

“Let’s just do this together, okay?” Tiolu said, before rounding the corner and heading over to Anjola’s side. Lekan sighed and followed suit, as he couldn’t exactly abandon his sister and hang her out to dry, especially in the face of a nemesis that was so formidable. Tiolu slid into the car through the right, and sidled next to Anjola—draping her arm through her shoulder, which she accepted with a sigh and Lekan came up by her left.

“Anjola, we need you to know that we’re here for you.” Lekan started, unsure of his destination—but having the zeal to press on and assure Anjola of his support. “Honestly, I came here without having what to say but I know I needed to say something. So I’d share a story with you, you know the story already, but you haven’t heard it from this perspective yet.”

Anjola looked up at this—numerous handwritings of weariness, scrawled all over her face. She didn’t give him a verbal go ahead, but he figured that her head movement sufficed.

“Many years ago, when I was thirteen, my mom passed out and went into this long-ass coma. We all thought she was going to wake up soon, but after about a couple of months, I lost all hope and accepted the reality that way. Things were already incredibly hard enough for me. My friends in school couldn’t of course relate with my pain, and sort off grew distant because they didn’t know how they could offer support. Tiolu, well…who was in the same dilemma wasn’t on talking terms with me, because we had grown apart by then.” Lekan paused at this, and dared look at his sister—whose glum look matched the one on his face.

“I used to feel like I didn’t matter much to anyone, with the constant scrutiny that I got everywhere I went, about the type of person, I was. I knew people cared about me, or maybe I wasn’t so sure sometimes but mom was the only person that reminded me of that fact constantly through her words and actions, also. So it was really painful, when she left. I can’t liken it to death, I mean…she eventually returned after a really long time, but at that moment I thought she was dead and gone, because she actually was for that time.

“Mom’s death alongside a couple of many other things, contributed to me becoming this person that hardly shows his feelings. This person that usually doesn’t consider the needs of others, and acts as he wishes. It did make me a very selfish person, because I had the conviction that no one really cared anymore and that I was all on my own.

“I embraced the darkness within, and became the worst version of myself. Why? Because I didn’t process my pain. It was like your aunt said earlier, you need to process your pain to get through it and I’m here rambling about my past trauma, in a way that doesn’t necessarily relate to yours…risking the chance of worsening your mood, all of these just to show you, that there are people who love and care about you and that you’re not alone in this.”

Anjola nodded once again, and replied this time in a hoarse, husky voice. “Thank you, Lekan and no you’re not worsening things. I mean, your words aren’t having some miraculous effect on me or something, but I can see the intent. It’s the thought behind the action that counts, right?”

Oh, I love you so much Anjola.

Her words warmed his heart, and took him back down memory lane to the multiple times they had exchanged those words in a jesting manner. The strong feeling that gripped him at that moment, that made him laden with pain as he watched her, it couldn’t be anything other than love. He had never felt more compelled, more obligated to be the best version of himself and he wished and hoped, that the love was sufficient fuel to drive his mission. He hoped the power was potent enough, to lift the spell that made him thirst for his old, wild life.

“For what it’s worth, I wasn’t like this big head here and I did process my pain.” Tiolu was saying now, and her flippant remark was enough to put a smile on Anjola’s face, even if the life span of said smile was just the fraction of a second. “I cried, I cried a whole lot. Not like at once, but at intervals. I initially cried at the fear of losing her, but then I stopped because I was optimistic she was going to return. Then some days I would cry, because I needed my mom and it was only my mom that could understand what I was going through. While some days, I just cried because of  the fact that I don’t see her around anymore and even though I’m optimistic she’d return, I don’t want to move on and get used to the fact that she’s not in my life anymore, because it felt like I was betraying her in some way.”

A lone tear escaped Anjola’s right eye lid, and Tiolu paused her speech to wipe it off with her index finger. Lekan knew they were best friends, and had nothing but platonic love for each other but it didn’t stop the twinge of envy he felt in his heart. Hopefully, after his transformation into the ideal man was complete—they’d have something that precious.

“I talked to my friends, and I made sure they didn’t pull away from me just because they couldn’t understand what I was feeling. Sometimes, it’s not the right words you need to hear from people. Sometimes, you just need a listening ear that would assure you that someone cares. That worked for me, or at least it kept me sane. And I did make effort to move on, and not wallow in my pain. Yes, I tended to it but I also didn’t leave my mind too idle so the sad thoughts wouldn’t run rampant. Anyhoo, Anjola…we just need you to lean on us when you can. That’s the bottom-line of all what we came here to say.”

Silence prevailed once again, before Anjola broke it. “You know, somewhere in my naïve head, I thought that it wouldn’t hurt so much this time around. I lost my mom before, so yeah I assumed it was pain I had faced before. Even if the stakes are higher now, I still wanted to believe it wouldn’t sting so bad, but it does. It really does…” Her mildly steady voice, fell again—as incoming tears attempted to strangle it, but she sniffed hard and exhaled. “I don’t know where to start from. This is becoming too much for me to handle. I know, I’d be okay eventually because I have no other choice and I want to be okay, and it also helps knowing that you guys are here but still when I think of it all, it’s still a really long, difficult journey to go from here to there and I’m too tired to make the walk.”

It was a cough that interrupted her next, forcing her to clear her throat.

“But then again, I do not have a choice. Besides, if I do get over this, I have nothing left to lose, right? The rest of the people I care for are young people that are in great health, so it’s not like they’re likely to die. Right? Sorry, if I sound diabolical—I’m just trying my best to put a positive spin on this.”

“Its okay, Jay.” Lekan said, finally daring to reach out to touch her, by placing a hand on her shoulder. To his relief, she didn’t flinch or appear repulsed by his action. Instead she placed a hand over his and gave it a light squeeze, before giving him a forced smile.

“I love you guys,” She said, looking from him to Tiolu. “Thanks for your display of support. Tiolu, do express my gratitude to Dayo. I know he is taking care of stuff inside that I should, but my head is in about twenty places right now. So I can’t think straight. If you guys don’t mind, I’d like some more solitude? I need some more space to put myself in order, before we have to leave here.”

“That’s okay,” Tiolu withdrew her hand, and pressed a kiss to her friend’s cheek before sliding out from the other side of the car. Lekan simply took backward strides, until his strides were in sync with Tiolu’s. They decided to head back into the hospital to check up on Dayo, and the status of things. His mind however, pondered on Anjola’s last words. It wasn’t the love confession he dreamt of, but he could make do with a collective declaration until she was back in good spirits.

They got back inside to meet Dayo where they left him, at the helm of things—pulling the necessary strings. The author complained his wife looked too fatigued, and clamored that she take a break and rest also. Lekan was going to sit in the reception, and distract himself with something on his phone but Tiolu requested that he followed her to the tuck shop, at the east wing of the hospital to get something light for dinner. At the mention of food, his stomach growled and he realized he hadn’t eaten since afternoon—as their bonfire dinner was cut short by the arrival of the tragic news. He was indeed famished, and grateful that his sister had noticed that enough to invite him to tag along.

They ate quietly—sharing a box of glazed donuts and a liter of Coke—before heading back outside. Tiolu bought a second box of donuts on their way out, for Dayo to eat and Anjola also, if she got hit with the hankering to eat. Instead of heading back to the car, they took a detour, usurping the opportunity to take a walk round the hospital premises, since they still wanted to give Anjola space. The hike was suggested by Tiolu who he was sure missed her previous profession as a doctor, even though she didn’t say it. Sometime along the walk, he found his sister encasing him in a tight hug, her head nestled on his shoulder.

“Um, what are you doing?” He glanced surreptitiously around, to see if they were being watched by anyone in the compound but the moon was well high in the clouds now, and the hospital headlamps were the only light illuminating the compound.

“Hugging you, it’s been a stressful day.” She replied, in a tired voice and tightened her grip on his back. He reluctantly placed a hand on the small of her back, and eased into the hug.

“Yeah, but you know we don’t hug, right? Even back then we were close and all. These elaborate displays of affection was never our thing.”

“Just because I’m hugging you now, doesn’t mean I’m going to make it a permanent thing, oga.” Tiolu sneered, and she finally pulled away to meet his gaze. “The conversation we had back at the house, opened my eyes to the glaring truth. You said it’s too late for us to make amends, but it really isn’t. The only time it’s late to make amends, is when there isn’t life and well…the person is lost.”

“Really,” He said.

“Really. You’re still alive, I’m still alive. There is still a lot of time. I mean, it’s like Anjola said. None of us will die an untimely death, hopefully. I don’t want to be stricken with grief like my best friend, and wishing that we had a better relationship when one of us passes away in the future. Yes, Anjola’s dad was old but he died of a heart disease. That happens to pretty much anyone these days.”

“And your point is that? One of us could be next?”

“No, of course not.” Tiolu tittered, and shook her head. “I’m just saying that time isn’t on our side, and that death can come knocking on our door anytime. God forbid though, but still we shouldn’t assume we have all the time left in the world. Let’s make use of what we have now.”

Lekan smiled. “I agree. Well, since we’re doing one-time display of affection things…” He trailed off, and planted a kiss on Tiolu’s forehead. “I’m happy we talked stuff out.”

“Me too,” She replied, and right as that moment—a ringing phone interrupted their moment. It was Tiolu’s, and she reached into her flap bag to retrieve it  and answer the call. “It’s mom,” She informed him, before swiping and picking up the call. “Hey mom, yeah I’m fine. Yeah, Lekan is here. Having fun? Not so much. Um…actually something came up.

“You know my best friend? Anjola? Yeah, her dad died so we’re in the hospital with her. Me, Lekan and Dayo. Uhun, it’s really sad. She’s so broken, but she’d be fine. Yeah, we’re heading home once we’ve handled all the necessary business. I’d probably be sleeping over at her apartment, this night. I’d have loved to stay there for a couple of days, but you know…I have a husband now and I just returned from my honeymoon. But I know how I’d juggle it. God is on the throne. You want to speak with Lekan?”

Tiolu held out the phone and he plucked it out of her hand, before draping an arm through her shoulder and setting course for them to walk back to the car. “Hey Mom, I’m okay. Are you okay? Please be okay, and stay alive because I don’t know what I’d do with myself, if you leave abruptly.”

***

“You called for me, dad?”

Anjola announced her presence, as she poked her head through the archway of her parents’ room to see Mofe, seated on the edge of the bed, reading a newspaper through his black rimmed glasses. His face beamed up, upon realizing her presence and he nodded, motioning with his hands that she step into the room.

“Draw out that stool and sit,” Mofe ordered, and she did as she was told—as her mind started to calculate and deliberate on what wrong she had done, to be summoned to the bedroom. Anytime she was called to his room, it was always to discuss something crucial or to reprimand her.

The holidays had commenced since about a week ago, and she hadn’t stepped out of the house for the entire time frame and had done nothing but watch TV, read novels and listen to music—all the while being on her best behavior and staying out of his crosshairs. Ever since her mom had died about a year ago, she didn’t like to cause him ache of any form no matter how atomic. She had become the poster kid of a well mannered teenager.

Nevertheless she did as she was ordered, and dragged out the vacant nightstand to the edge of the bed—in front of Mofe and sat on it, with vigilance enveloping her composure, as if Mofe could capitalize on catching her unaware and cause her great harm. He noticed her slouched posture, and frowned.

“Why are you sitting like that? Sit upright. Are you afraid? Did you do anything wrong?” He asked.

“No, of course not, Dad.” She replied, and forced herself to be more relaxed. “Is anything wrong?”

“Nothing actually, just wanted to discuss with my daughter.” Mofe said, rising to his feet and circling her to head for a three-tiered shelf by the wall, behind her. He opened the lowest compartment, and retrieved something he held tight in his grasp before returning back to face her on the bed. “This ring in my hand, belonged to your paternal grand-mom.” Mofe’s fingers parted, to reveal a silver rimmed ring, with a rhombic stone. For an old ring, it glistened and was ingeniously beautiful. “I know right? You’re wondering that oh, that stuff I see in American and British romance movies also happens in Nigeria, where a ring is passed down from one generation to the other?”

Anjola chuckled at this and nodded her head, before opening her clenched fist to receive the ring.

“Well, I don’t know if it’s common here but it does happen.” Mofe continued, his eyes glowing even brighter than the ring. “It was of course, the ring my dad bought to propose to her. When she was old, she handed it over to me which I also used to propose to your mom. Naturally, I’m supposed to give my own son, but I’m giving you anyway. Not because I don’t have a son, but because of the sentiment it holds. I need you to always remember this.”

“Remember what, dad?” Her eyes sought his for answers.

“Marriage is one of God’s greatest gifts to man, if not the greatest because of the fulfillment it brings. It is however getting ridiculed these days, because a lot of immature people are rushing into it, without being ready for it. Do you know what’s hell on earth? A bad marriage. A bad marriage would totally derail you and destroy you, ending everything you could have ever achieved and everything you could be, and eventually it would leave you with nothing, returning you back to square one after wasting your time.

“You’ve come a long way after all these years to let a bad marriage derail you in life. You’ve disciplined yourself, and abstained from many sexual practices that your mates have been indulging in, just so you could focus on what matters at the moment, and be ready for a proper relationship when it’s time. Not marrying won’t kill anyone. Your purpose in life isn’t to come and marry someone and have kids.

“You decide what your purpose in life is going to be, and you chase it hard. The society is extremely patriarchic and it might try and undermine whatever prospects you have, prioritizing marriage over other achievements. I’m not saying other achievements should be placed over marriage either, it’s neither way. It should be relative to the likes and preference of anyone.

“I want you to take that ring and keep it. Wear it on your hand, or as a necklace or whatever. Anytime you look at it, it should serve as a constant reminder that you’re a Queen in your own right, and that you don’t need a man to propose to you or marry you, to make you a Queen because you are one already. You are everything you need, Anjola. Some man isn’t going to come along to complete you. You are complete, you should only get married because of the chance that you could make a great team with someone else, and because companionship is a primal need and it’s not good to be alone. You are a Queen, get that loud and clear. Say it after me, I’m a Queen.”

“I’m a Queen,” Anjola blinked back another tear, as her finger traced the contour of the ring in her hand. Like her dad had instructed her, nine years back—she had kept the ring as a constant reminder, a symbol of her royalty and prestige.

She wished he was still alive, so she could tell him that she cherished a family, of her own more than anything else in the world. She wished he was alive, so that someday—he could see her settle down, in that fulfilling future that he helped her realize because of his astute words. It was too late for that, and so she could only hope that he was watching from heaven, because she planned to strive for that perfect future that he wanted for her.

-----------------------------------------

Phew! That was quite heart wrenching, wasn't it? I swear I'm not one of those writers that derive pleasures, in killing characters off. But that was needed.

So what's next for Anjola? And her relationship with Lekan? Read on, in the third and final phase of five chapters, to find out.

Tell me what you think in the comments, and tap that star.