OPHELIA

Chapter 7: Family tree

The past days, the Pastor Man and his wife whose name I learnt was Veronica, took care of me. Life was cruel—I ran from Madam Veronica into another Veronica.

“Hey, sit up and eat your food.” Pastor Man said in his stern tone. “The nurse told me you refused eating.” I could tell he was looking at me but I didn’t look at him, how could I look at him? His kindness was like hot coals of fire dropping on my head. The thought that he must have already passed the infection to his wife was torture. If it isn’t messing up, what had I done? I refused to speak. As his gaze fixed on me, the painkillers expired. I clutched the bed sheets—if I showed weakness, he would pity me ; that was the last thing I wanted. My tough girl didn’t last long though.

“What’s wrong?” He placed a hand on my forehead.
“I don’t want you here…please go.” I said breathlessly. To think he actually obeyed. A while later, he came back with the doctor and presiding nurse; he was impossible to shake off.
“Did you administer the pain killers already?” The doctor asked.
“N…n..no, it escaped my mind.” The nurse stuttered.
“Escaped your mind? What are you waiting for? Bring the Pain killers.” The nurse left in frenzy at the doctor’s command.
“I thought you said she was the best nurse?”
“I’m so sorry for that Sir. Humans are pruned to mistakes. Don’t take it to heart.”

The pain killers only helped the external pain but guilt was killing me. I had multiple untreated STI’s—HIV inclusive.  I know right, I was a bag of garbage. Trying to save my life was a wasted investment.

“You have to eat something. You are on medications.” Pastor Man said when I was sober. He tried to feed me but I spilled it on his shirt. I could sense his frustration. Actually, that was what I wanted—for him to be frustrated and leave. He used a paper napkin to pad out the sauce.

“Do you not like the food? My wife and Rachael were cooking it over an hour…what do you like? I’ll buy it for you when I come back in the evening...” I was intrigued by his patience. “Since you won’t speak, at least eat the food when I’m gone. I have to go to church. The choir has a concert coming up. See you later and Don’t do anything stupid.” I looked his direction when the door clicked.

He came twice everyday and would read a chapter of the Bible to me; he never missed a day since he started. I found myself wanting him to stay longer. I wished to tell him I took a liking to the portions that revealed a family tree or something of that sought—the names were epic. I think when he read those portions, it was to light up my day. He giggled at the difficult names. He seemed to hope that I would laugh as well but I disappointed him.

Nevertheless, I was getting fond of them yet I couldn’t let my emotions deceive me. Their family tree would never incorporate me. It was impossible.

I had the urge to end my life. With the number and gravity of illnesses I had, I was going to die soon. However, I didn’t want to wait long before I kissed the earth goodbye.

Staying at the hospital was annoying. Most times, I saw the sunlight from my window. I only went out when Ma'am Veronica came to the hospital because she was thoughtful enough not to ask my opinion to wheel me around. It was better for everyone if I died.

The day went by quickly and the sunlight turned into the early hours of evening. The door swung open. It was the Pastor Man and an elderly woman. “How are you?” He sounded  genuinely concerned. “I brought someone who will help you.” He added.

“Ophelia, it’s nice to meet you. My name is Sylvia. If it's okay by you, I'll love to be your therapist.”
“I don’t want a counsellor.” I was supposed to suffer. Why did he want to lessen the burden, what’s with him and his kindness? The world was full of injustice but this once let justice be served. The criminal is to be punished.
“Listen to me…” The Pastor Man came closer. “What you have experienced is very traumatic. She is here to help you overcome.”
“I don’t want to overcome!” I yelled. Immediately, I couldn’t breathe… I strangled the bed sheet—this was dying; why was I still fighting to live?
“She’s not breathing.” The woman said. As if on cue, the doctor came in and stabilized me.
“Why does this keep happening?” Pastor Man asked.
“It appears she has developed asthma due to prolonged mental stress. Can I have a word with you? In my office please.” The doctor said.

Asthma! My life now looked like my sickler brother. He was my motivation for hanging on but at the same time I was jealous of him; he took all of mother's attention and I was the jackass who settled his bills.

Though I hid my life from my mother, I was perturbed by her inability to discover who I was. I nursed a greivance towards her. She sent me off into the evil hands of Madame Veronica who impersonated a good friend.

As previous nights, morning took forever to arrive but it did. The door swung open and the nurse sauntered in with her usual routine.
“I’m thirsty” I said
“It’s good to hear your voice.” The nurse commented in a jolly manner.
“I feel dehydrated.”
“Hold on, I’ll get it for you when I’m done.”
“I want it now.”
She scoffed. “Just because you’re on a sick bed doesn’t give you the right to be arrogant.”
“I’m sorry… please can I have some water now?”
“Better.” her uniform fluttered as she moved out. “I can’t believe she fell for it.”

Just like in my plan she left her working kit behind. I took up the bottle of pills, and poured a large amount in my mouth and waited for water. The door squeaked open “This is my chance!” I thought. But instead of the nurse it was an August guest—Bobga. He was going to kill me if he saw the pills in my mouth. He looked at me; I looked at him and he drew a chair with so much enthusiasm close to the bed. “Where was that stupid nurse?”  I felt sweat form on my skin.