Scars (Romola 2)

29: Be A Man

A loud knock on the door of his room jerked him awake. He sat up, allowing the duvet slip from his half naked chest. He drew in a sharp breath, swinging his legs over the side of his bed.

The knock came again.

"Who is it?" He glared over his left shoulder at the door. "Come and open this door, right now."

He groaned, allowing his back to marry the surface of the orthopaedic bed. His eyes strayed to the mirror above his bed. He glared at the man that glared back at him as his fingers groped the bedsheet.

He'd dreamt of her again. Romola. This time, he'd tried to catch her and she had slipped away. He chased her down the beach front and he had almost reached her when the knock interrupted his dreams.

"Do I have to call someone to break down this door?"

Olumide swore, letting the bedsheet fall from his hand as he slipped his feet into his black rubber slippers. He trudged towards the door, opening it and letting the light from the hallway flood his room. He towered over the fair skinned woman at the door. "Mum, what is it?"

"What is what? What are you dwelling like a vampire in the darkness?" His mother reached into the room and punched the light switch.

He squinted as the light penetrated the room, lightening up what had once been hidden. "Why are you here?"

"Close the door."

Olumide's feet dragged like it was tied to an elephant. His mother flittered past him and shut the door.

"You waste time for everything."

"That's not—" He yawned, covering his mouth with the back of his arm. "True."

"Indeed. Can you just see yourself?" His mother eyed him.     "I can when I'm on my bed." Mide muttered.

"When?"

"What?"

Had they been talking about something. How had he missed it? He had only yawned twice. Maybe thrice. He locked his fingers above his head, stretching and enjoying the cracking sound of his joint.

He moved towards the door on the far left of the room. "Do you want anything to drink?"

"I want you to be serious."

Mide scratched his head. "You can't expect that. It's the middle of the night. Shouldn't you be at home? Where is dad?"

"Forget your father. When are you going to stand up and be a man?"

Olumide's hand hovered over the door handle.

He faced his mother with a pointed look. "Ma?"

She turned from him and found a seat on the bed. "Come."

Nothing looked out of the ordinary in her simple flower-patterned English dress. Her long hair was packed in a bun and she looked every bit like the mother he knew. "What is the problem?"

"Come and sit." She tapped the bed.

He strolled to the bed, and sat, keeping a good distance between them while he held his back straight.

"Olumide. Olumide. Olumide. How many times have I called you?"

"What's the problem?"

"Why?" She threw her hands out. "Why do you want to embarrass me?"

"Embarrass you? How?" His mind flashed back to the dream about Romola.

"Here I am." His mother's voice thinned then cracked, the way it always did when she was about to cry. "Here I am helping another woman to make plans for her son to marry the person I want my son to marry."

His mother turned to him, tears pooling at the bottom of her eyes. "Tell me what I have done wrong."

Olumide looked away. If he had known this was the reason for her visit, he would've never opened the door. "I'm happy Vicky and Dami are getting married."

"Happy about your own misfortune? Oh God." His mother looked to the ceiling. "Who did I offend?"

God didn't stare down at his mother from the mirror in the ceiling but her reflection stared back at her. He wished the reflection would speak and tell his mother that he had never stood a chance with Vicky. He could not even consider her a romantic partner.

 "You didn't offend anyone, mum."

"Then if that is the case, why aren't you married? Twenty six and no woman in sight. Tell me, if it were-?

"Olumide gritted his teeth, knowing fully well that he could not wrangle his way out of the card his mother was about to play.

"-Muyi..." His mother's voice trailed. Then her hand came to his back, caressing it in a slow upward motion. "You are not Muyi. I understand that. I know that. But if Muyiwa were here, I would've had a grandchild a long time ago."

"You have Jumoke's son."

"Please." His mother waved at him. "That is Tomiwa's son. Nobody to carry on our family name. This is how we will perish."

Olumide tsked. Why had his mother not sought a career in Nollywood? "We will not perish. I am here."

"You? You don't come home. You don't live in your house or Muyi's house but you are perfectly comfortable in this godforsaken hotel." His mother's eyes rotated around the room. "Get a wife. Get a house. Settle down...."

"You worry too much."

"Why shouldn't I? Did I think I was going to lose my first son at 21? Who knows how long you have?"

Olumide's face calcified in a frown. Muyiwa. It was always about Muyiwa. Muyi was the standard but no one seemed to remember that he had been a drug addict before that unfortunate incident. "I don't like this conversation."

"Do you think I like it, knowing my shining star will never smile again? Is it my fault? If he were alive, he would have given me a child. Maybe two." His mother rubbed the tears from her cheeks. 

Her cries were soft and posh, as always, with light sniffing here and there while the tears fell freely. "A child that looks like him. If he were alive, I wouldn't have had to watch Victoria marry someone else."

"But Dami is like a son to you."

"He is not my son." His mother raised her voice then grabbed his hand in hers, using the back of his knuckles to wipe off her tears. "Please Mide. There wasn't much I wanted from Muyi. He was the first child. He would have given me a grandson. You are all I have now."

Olumide extricated his hand from his mothers. "No. I just... I'm not ready."

"You have to be. Someone has to fill Muyi's shoes."

With those words, his mother picked herself and walked out of the room, leaving him to wallow in the burden of his guilt.