A Kind of Tomorrow (Excerpt)

4

The old gods stretched forth their hands

From the bowels of space-time.

They had traveled great distance to greet their beloved.

***

The lights were on in Fin's apartment, as if to welcome them both. He hadn't bothered to turn the switch off before heading out, expecting just as much as the usual bullshit from the power sector. Fortunately, this was a good evening. He knew the Gourd wasn't that far from where he lived, but time seemed to be in an unusual hurry as he and Amina sat in the taxi, their hips squished against each other by the mass of two other passengers in a backseat built for three. It was as if the universe itself was acknowledging their haste to explore this strange connection between them.

She sat on the chair next to what served as his working desk, his kitchen, his ironing board and his dressing table, often concurrently. He sat on the bed. They stared at each other for a long moment, saying nothing, each still trying to wrap their head around the fact that this was actually happening. Alone together at last, they could stare at each other as long as they liked. The night was young.

"Do you have any food?" said Amina, after the moment passed. There were worse ways to break a silence.

"There's some boiled yam in the blue flask over there. Stew in the gray one. Do you like chicken?"

"Nope. I'm vegan."

He raised an eyebrow, and she giggled. Clearly, she wanted to lighten the mood. At least she had made an effort.

"Guy," she said. "I be born and bred Naija babe, O. The only thing that will make me not eat chicken is if there is goat."

Another fair attempt. He chucked accordingly, as she reached for the flasks on his all-purpose table, picked up a dish by the side, and helped herself to a generous portion of the dietary embodiment of mediocrity he had concocted. At least, that was what it seemed to him. She, on the other hand, not so much ate as inhaled the food, as if it was the best thing she had ever tasted in her life. He concluded that she was probably just really hungry. Hunger had a magical way of transforming anything remotely edible into a feast fit for kings.

"God!" she said, finally pausing to breathe air. "I haven't eaten since morning."

"Obviously," said Fin. "If you enjoyed that."

"It's not that bad, naw," she said, standing up with her empty dish in hand and looking around herself, searching for something.

"Just put them in the sink in the bathroom," said Fin.

"Oh."

She did as advised, and when she emerged, he was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

"You know, I used to do that all the time when I was in secondary school."

"Sorry?" He hadn't noticed her come out.

"You're looking at the roof. I used to do that in secondary school. Things were... different for me in those days."

"How?"

She turned to the window beside his bed and laughed. It was a sad laugh.

"I thought the world made sense," she said, the words an echo of Fin's own long lost naiveté.

"Everyone thinks the world makes sense," he said. "And then they actually start to know things."

"Growing up is a bitch. We couldn't wait to be adults. Now look at us. Just fucking look at us."