Quiet women and other myths: A collection of musings

1. A SONNET FOR STUPID GIRLS (with excerpts from a stupid girl)

VINTAGE LAGOS

     I remember finding an old postcard nestled gently between the pages of a forgotten book that must've belonged to my father in another life, and based on my very superior logic at that time (I was 8), it was essentially treasure. It smelled like old books and a nostalgia for something I'd never experienced before in my life.
     
      FESTAC was written in a stylized font and it featured a busy traffic with a smattering of  yellow buses, crowded streets, all stark against a tie dye background of sky blue and cloud white. The picture had a slight sepia tint to it and somehow it sealed things in my mind that this was a sort of magical fictionalized land of Lagos... a 'vintage Lagos' if you will. I tried for years to recreate that feeling I had as a child, and I never did...at least not until I met you.

      You with your bravado and cool Lagos lingo, stark against the backdrop of Abuja boys and their faded personalities like the blue clouds and the yellow buses. You with your lethargic self and easy going nature, might've been the sativa... who knows? But you, also with your road rage and angry curses, might've been the moonshine poisoning your blood... who knows?
   
     I was drawn to you immediately, a naive doe eyed sheltered girl from a cul de sac with two happy parents who still loved each other (for the most part). I wasn't like you with your brooding and trauma, your reason for distrust so apparent with everything you revealed. You poured yourself into music and the music poured itself back into you, you were one with the songs in a way I could only ever dream of.

You never could confess your feelings unless you were a little inebriated and somehow that made me feel all the more special [stupid girl], you couldn't help how you felt about me, you claimed it was eating you up, torturing you...making you mad with longing. Maybe I hadn't received enough attention as a child, so like a lamb to the slaughter, I fell for it. Placed my phone against my chest face down, my arm over my eyes trying to hide my smile [stupid girl] from my sister who slept mere inches away. I was no longer a simple girl...I was a woman! I was desired...it felt good! No, it felt better than good, it felt glorious[Stupid girl].

     However, I don't think you necessarily need love to desire someone, all that really goes into play is a working member; I didn't know that then, so I slipped and stumbled, sashayed and pirouetted as I fell for you. It wasn't an accident on my part, it was deliberate.

    The very thing you wrote about became our reality, you were scared (so you said), of how I made you feel, so you pulled away. Someone somewhere, a ghost from your past had sunk her teeth into you and fed on your trust (so you said), I couldn't love you back to wholeness, your brokenness wasn't attractive anymore. I couldn't hold you in my arms while you mourned the loss of another. It was draining to watch you pull away while I chased, begging for an iota of affection (respectability be damned); your boys got more than their fair share, but I was Oliver twist if I asked for more than what was allotted to me.

     My sister had put aside her books one day as I explained to her that I needed to talk about some flimsy thing I hardly remember, I knew her exams were around the corner and every minute was precious to her as she was spending less and less time sleeping, but she still thought listening trumped an almighty exam. It was in the middle of that talk that I realized I was in fact, loved at home.

     Now, it's easier to pretend you never even existed to me, to go on living like all those months don't hold a memory of you because to do the opposite would mean you won, I can still remember the elation in your voice talking about 'wait, you really cried for me?' I blame myself, I am a stupid girl after all.

     In the end, your absinthe ruined us both. It's easier to ignore the poison if you think you're nursing one of cupid's famed arrows[stupid girl]. It hurt worse than a heart attack to pull it out and I had to clean up the bloody mess alone in the bathroom at night wondering how I even got into this in the first place[stupid girl].

      But then, I realized, it was not the Abuja boys you were a stark contrast to... it was me, but it took way too many bloody tries for me to accept it [stupid, stupid girl].