Revolt

1. Guardian Angel

“The angel in me, thrives on the devil within.” – Kedar Joshi.

•••

The song being rendered by the orchestra and choir had a certain therapeutic, soothing effect, almost as if it was being delivered by an host of angels. It seemed to hypnotize everyone in the hall, with its soulful rhythm and melody—transporting them to a realm, where all worries and anxiety ceased to exist for that brief spell, giving them a glimpse of an higher, spiritual state of calm and serenity, one that was impossible to access on planet earth. At least, that was the way everyone felt, owing to the drugged, petrified, blissful facial expressions—Anjola was able to read off them. The reason why the music and transient atmosphere, didn’t have the effect it had on everyone else—on her—didn’t elude her.

She was overwhelmed with worry.

The culmination of the church’s service procession was drawing nearer upon the passing of the minute, and still Tiolu was nowhere to be found. The choir’s ministration was probably going to last for another minute, before the bride would be tasked to walk down the aisle with her father guiding her steps, and doing the honor of handling her over—a symbolic gesture of his blessing, towards the union. She had stolen cursory glances at the massive twin duo doors, on the other end of the room and had managed to catch only a whiff of Kunle Keye—Tiolu’s father, standing on the tile padded terrace preceding the archway, with an unrivalled smile of pride mixed with elation, on his face. If the man wasn’t gripped by the deadly claws of panic, then it sure foreboded that her anxiety had only veered out of control, as a result of the day’s event being significant. Nothing more. It wasn’t justified.

“Damn girl, chill out.” A familiar voice came from her side, and she traced its source to find Amanda staring at her with a rueful smile. Anjola was pretty sure that in all alternate realities, and parallel dimensions—it was farfetched and greatly overboard, to posit that she could be friends with Amanda, a liberal, free spirited woman who was full of life and always brimming with vigor, as if there was a furnace of happiness burning in the pits of her stomach.

She had no problems with a person, that was all sparkly and bubbly in glee—but it was mostly Amanda’s wild and party oriented life, that dropped a tad too many cubes of sugar into her figurative cup of tea and made her persona, a bit too much and pungent for someone not accustomed to such eclectic taste. Nevertheless, they were on the same team today as a result of having Tiolu as a mutual friend.

“You’re looking like a private university student, about to face panel after being caught with drugs.” Said comparison, made Anjola crease her brows in wonder. Sure, the metaphor was quite befitting, to explain her current quagmire but she couldn’t help but wonder if experience, on the hand of Amanda was the catalyst that triggered the comparison. Had she being caught with drugs back in school?

“Tiolu is going to show up, okay? She is crazy about Dayo, and loves him way too much to back out of this. And let’s even assume she went crazy over the past few hours, because we saw her not so long ago—she’s definitely not mad to the extent to call out all these people, and leave them hanging. If she’s backing out of this marriage, it’s definitely not today.”

“Gee, thanks Amanda. What a way to put a positive spin on things.” Anjola retorted, redirecting her gaze back to the unoccupied podium. The choir was now singing with a loud, reverberating volume—complimented with a variety of instruments, that suffused their celestial voices with layers and depth and so one had to speak sharply, with a loud volume to be heard over the beautiful commotion of sounds.

“Be sarcastic all you want, but my analysis is quite spot on. After today, I don’t think you’d burden yourself with the worry of whether or not their marriage would work out.” Amanda replied, without giving her another glance—the gazes of them both fixated on the altar. The trio of her, Amanda and Ife—another Tiolu friend, whose upscale social life didn’t resonate with the frequency of hers—occupied spaces on the right hand of the altar, in the front row.