A Loner's Journey Through Lemonade Making

Chapter 6/ Vinegary Surprise

I lay wide awake on my mat, thinking about my life and everything that had happened to me. I could only count the sufferings and maltreatment, though. Count your blessing one by one, wasn't that how the song went? Granted, there were a few blessings in my life. Everytime I slept for the past thirteen years and two months, I  woke up. Not everyone was that lucky. I had a roof over my head, food and clothes on my back. To be very honest, I was grateful. But having loving parents, or love from anyone at all wouldn't be such a bad idea, would it?

That made me think about my parents. I didn't know their names or anything at all about them. Not what they looked like or their last name. Absolutely nothing. I did have a faint memory of me being in a vehicle with two people, a male and a female. I just couldn't remember their faces. At times when I thought about them, I would accept the fact that I was an orphan and that they had died that day in an accident, even though I was no where near sure.

Instead of getting all sad and emotional, I decided to start packing my bag for Monday. When Uncle Blessing had travelled in June, he had gotten me a pretty black school bag with white polka dots and pink zips. That was the only thing I was resuming with that was new. My socks, shoes, uniforms and writing materials were what I'd used last session.

First, I tried my black flats on and they fitted okay. My writing materials from the last week of school were still there. And if I wanted new ones, I could buy with the money Shalewa was keeping for me. Besides, RPSS gave us writing materials every two weeks so my stationery for the rest of the term was covered.
I put a pencil, pen, ruler and eraser in the smallest compartment of my bag and hung it on the door of the wardrobe.

I brought my uniforms out next. I winced at the sight, a bit disgusted by the folds and lines that had formed from being folded for more than a month. Certainly, I would have to iron them. I wasn't about to resume school a week late looking like someone who just stole clothes from a bail arriving from Togo at the boarder. Hell no! Firstly, it wouldn't speak well of me. Secondly, it would give the newly admitted students, especially the JSS1s a bad impression of myself. Who would respect someone in rough clothes when there were others with new uniforms, shining black shoes, neatly plaited or trimmed hair and nice wristwatches? I began pacing back and forth, thinking of what to do. I could iron it in the laundry room, but then, I wasn't allowed to iron a lot. I could go to Shalewa's house, but how? I decided to take the risk. Nobody was going to stop me from looking neat to school on my first day. My hair wasn't much of a problem. It was quite short natural hair but I knew how I would wear it on Monday. I would pack it up in a bun. Simple. Once that was settled, I hung a pair on a hanger and put it on the same hook my bag was hanging on. I returned to my mat with my church note on deciding to read the topic of the previous Sunday.

Forgiveness, read the first line. I closed the book and pondered on the word. Surely, I knew what it meant. But I didn't practice it. I held grudges against almost everyone in my life. By the way, they weren't that many. I held a grudge against Aunty Oma for being so cold to me. She was so bitter, gosh. And Uncle Blessing for seeing nothing wrong with what his wife did. Maybe he noticed it whenever he was around, but he never said anything. The same way lying and adultery were classed as sins that attracted penalties was the same way his negligence was earned him the same amount of hatred I had for his wife. Together forever, wasn't it?
Then I sighed, shaking my head at my thought. I wasn't supposed to hate them. I said a short prayer, asking for forgiveness. I also forgave my parents, whoever they were, although I didn't know if they left me willingly or if death took them away from me. How I was going to find that out, I knew not.

It seemed I was in a mood to think that Sunday afternoon. That time last week, I was in church, taking down my note on forgiveness. Then, I didn't know that I would be admitted to a hospital a few hours later. I didn't know what would happen that night, and I wasn't bothered. What we didn't know could actually hurt us, I figured. It was a two way thing.
Anyway, we hadn't attended church that Sunday for reasons unknown to me. Neither Aunty Oma nor Uncle Blessing said anything about it. I'd woken up early as usual, expecting the lady coming with the pastries. I took a bath and dressed up before going to their room to ask what they wanted for breakfast. The ladies she had hired the previous Sunday only came thrice a week to clean and cook food in bulk. I only made food like fried eggs, fries, food that had to be freshly made on general. Aunty Oma had groaned and shouted at me to leave, that we weren't attending church that Sunday. I returned to my room and changed out of my clothes. I didn't sleep back because I didn't want a repeat of yesterday. I was already coming down with a cold.