For When You're A Man (under reconstruction)

It's Better To Have Loved and Lost

I hate today. The only person I have ever known that truly understands me is gone. I recognise that that's a really teenagery thing to say. But it's true. I just want to sink in a hole right now. I don't want to talk about how he's in a better place now or that he's not suffering anymore. I just need him to squeeze my hand back. 

 //

The nurses say it's been about 4 hours and they need to take the body away. I saw him die right in front of me, it keeps playing in my head again and again. I've been saying five more minutes for an eternity. I know he's not coming back. I know it.

I hate hospitals. It's the only completely sterilised place in the world that still manages to have the acute smell of vomit wafting down the halls. But I don't care. I'm sat here like an idiot squeezing his limp hand and ugly crying.

I can't bear the thought of his face becoming a feast for maggots underground. I hope he gets  cremated so that we can keep him around. But it's not like I have a say in these things.

"Hey Dad, I realise you can't hear me. And I know you aren't in the stars looking over me either. I honestly want to sue Mufasa right now for lying to me as a child. If that is an offence that you can sue a dead fictional lion for. I'm not sure how it works. Anyway, you never liked me going off topic when I wanted to tell you something. But I kind of have to go off topic right now because you wouldn't like the topic. And I don't blame you. Or your lifeless body rather. I can't tell you this, even though you're dead. Because if you were alive, you may have been ashamed of it. So I'll say goodbye instead. I love you, Dad." I said, my glasses fogging up again."

The people who know me know that I'm a bit of a cry-baby. It's not always seen as cute when you're a 6' tall soon-to-be-man but I cry a lot. I cry when I'm stressed or I haven't done as well as I've wanted to on a test. I cry when I feel unimportant or frustrated with my life. But I have never cried with such a sharp ache in my stomach as I did today. I wouldn't wish this on anyone, even on those pretentious twats at school or those judgemental Aunties and Uncles at church that make fun of my crying habits.

If you were a gay Nigerian kid in church, trust me, you'd cry too.

That's what I couldn't tell my Dad. Or the lifeless shell of my Dad - who I need to remember is dead. Or anyone for that matter.

So here commences my week of compassionate leave. At the very least, I'm grateful that I don't have to see anyone from school this week. If one single person apologises to me - I'll press charges for murder - why are you apologising if you didn't do it?

I left a voice note to my two closest friends so they wouldn't worry and then turned off all notifications, put my phone on do not disturb and deactivated all my social medias (except my Frank Ocean stan account).

I hate the way I go home. I have to walk through this rowdy betting shop full of middle age pot-bellied men screaming at the top of their lungs about some betting jargon I don't pretend to understand before I can get up to my flat.

By now, everyone knew.

On the bright side, Abiola will cook me a large helping of jollof - my favorite comfort food, accompanied with some gizdodo. 

"Mary, Mary, quite contrary! Where's the gizdodo?" I screamed in a still shaky voice. I knew I could get away with calling her by her most hated name that she has buried since she was in year 6 because of what today was.

"You know it's Abiola," She smiled, fondly whist chucking some Vaseline at me and gesturing to her lips innocently. 

Biola was like that, witty without words. She knew how I would go on to think about the hydration of my lips for the next four hours. Serves me right. But she was always my second favourite, the only one here who could match my wit with the best hair doing and rice making capabilities. But I was the master of stews.

I suppose she was my favourite now.

She had a brave face on, but I knew she was broken too. She had her day with Dad yesterday and Jonah's was supposed to be the day before that but he didn't show.

I can't stand the sight of him.

I know I'm not supposed to think that because Jonah was my full brother. But he may as well be a stranger to me. I wish he was. 

I miss Dad.

That's when I started sobbing again. That's weird, I didn't think I'd have any tears left.