Have you ever felt ice in your veins? Something that makes you weep raucously because of its majesty. The feel of open heavens wetting your head with angelic dews when she whispers your name; a state where you are trapped and the prison bars are her winks. Like a gorilla, he will hit his chest in his usual braggadocio confessing the ordinary state of affection he had for her. Funnily enough, he hit those chests for three straight years and the ordinariness persisted like a bad habit. No way was he healing. The more he fought his right brain and blind heart, the more he grew feeble – the namby-pamby became too inundating for one man. A cross he had to bear nonetheless.
If a man is trapped or feels trapped and is fighting his way out of it, does it not mean it is a trap too dangerous? If he has to watch tears form a cascade celebrating his moustache with semblance of evening droplets on green grasses because of her majesty, then isn’t that feeling supposed to be desired earnestly? If her beauty typifies the finest of Egyptian goddesses or her eyes formed by the Trinity because of its amazing technicolour, the possibility that he has now become dopey from love’s injections cannot now be out of place. Yeah! With how he watched her closely, folding his arms giving that serious look like a donnish, Smith nursed a couple of cheerful beautiful butterflies in his stomach. The circumstance of their meeting was bizarre – maybe it is right to say that kismet handcuffs freewill and chooses who falls in love and who love fools.
Sidi was eighteen. She had just gained admission into one of the famous Nigerian Universities – University of Benin. She came from a godly home. At least that was what could be read easily from her mode of dressing. Sidi would wear skirts that concealed her thighs even up to her knees. Her hair was long and ever neat. Sidi had a smile that conveyed the back channel of a very shy infant. It was beautiful to watch her smile because her dimples were easy on the eyes especially when it formed holes on her cheeks. She smiled a lot; maybe she knew it was her charm. Omo jo ibo as she was often called – her relatives believed she possessed the beauty of a lady from the native of Igbo. She posed as a good girl; her parents were satisfied their daughter would become a lawyer even as they celebrated with her during her matriculation.
Smith was a law student in the same university. He was a senior. Loved by many ladies though they rather hid their affection owing to his pompous nature; he was the typical narcissist whose smiles were suspicious. His charm was arguably ever reliable especially when he licked his lower lip – it was beautiful watching his lip glisten like emollient flashy pebbles under a scorching sun. Smith was beautiful a boy. He knew. He explored the vulnerable colleagues who were enamoured of his cuteness and his baritone. A warrior he was often called because for every thrust, he made it count.
His best friend often reminded him of how foolish he was. “Guy you sure you are not cursed? It is only a fool that will lose guard a girl like Ifeoma. Haba na! She really loved you.” Smith knew he needed a life. He had ensconced himself in the world of concupiscence where he put the cravings of his phallus at the topmost part of the pecking order. He knew he needed to stop crushing the hearts of innocuous girls. He hated himself after Arinze told him these truths. But maybe he was just too lost to go back to the world of sanity or he just needed a reason to be truly committed. Smith agreed to be on a low-key diet but just when it seemed like fate smiled with him on his new passion for self-identification, a voice was behind him urging he picked a paper that fell off his back pocket. Sidi happened.
Some things happen in August. A person could visit. She may say hello. You may go blank, you may lose a nut, your body may grow cold, and you may feel like you have opened your eyes again. Ever felt like you can sell your soul to a visitor with hopes that she envelopes your soul in hers? Where you fear for yourself because you knew the feelings manifesting should be tagged premature but your reality was fate’s toddler. You were in love with a woman who spoke behind you or the voice that was possessed by a woman; or you were in love with the petite frame of a lady whose face you could not capture as her tress enshrouded her when a boisterous wind whistled by.
“Guy what is happening to you?” Arinze was quizzing Smith who had then adapted to the quiet lifestyle. “O boy, you look downcast. Person kpai (die)?” Charlie asked almost immediately after Arinze. Something was not right. Smith knew the confession of his encounter with mystery would arouse laughter so he swallowed his truths and massaged his heart with criticisms hoping the hubbub cures the feeling he had developed. He stifled his lip and managed to say, “nothing jare…Just a rough morning, lectures and on.” He told himself it would be over but deep down he wanted a new chapter where she was the adjurer instructing him to fasten his belts when she drives him crazy, crazily in love. He loved the mystery; he was somewhat expecting to bump into her to feel that cold rush of blood prick his skin till his hairs sprout like a tuber of yam.
Sidi was patriotic to her soft pillow every night since her eyes captured Smith’s face. He appeared fierce when she had peeped into his eyes. She fancied his voice. It was husky and as she put it to her roomie, creamy. “I don’t know how to describe his voice. I want to, Betty, but it is not an easy mission. The guy’s voice is musical; I would have said he is a mixture of falsetto, bass, and alto, but I know there is more to his voice. He is beautiful.” Sidi had often said when it was boy-time gist with her roomie. With few omissions and additions, it had just been about Smith. Smith was the only boy she could describe though she never got to know his name.
You think it is chemistry when a match contacts its box and makes an explosion, don’t you? You know that state where you see a boy for the first time and he becomes the only wonder of the world that genuinely matters to you; and should in fact matter to the entire world? Yes, this is chemistry if the feeling is mutual. It is magical where the lovers go through wars with selves trying to suppress the pain Cupid’s arrow swung between their chests. And it is comical too when kismet fools two jailbirds imprisoned by the deepest of love for each other. The dramatic irony we now read with elbows swallowed by our pillows.
“I hope I run into him. I feel it will happen soon. I really want to see his reaction seeing me for the second time.” Sidi had said to herself.
Sidi clearly laboured under the impression that her tress was not faster than his grey eyes when the wind became unruly. She must have chortled in bed assuming he was desirous of her brown eyes. Smith felt she did not see him really. He chose to believe he was the only one spelled even though he could not brag of defeating the booming possibility that she fantasized kissing his neck well enough till he spoke huskily. He wanted to heal, she wanted to feel. She wanted a conversation; he knew he silently hoped for same.
Ifeoma could not move on. She had become too involved to accept the break-up news. “He cannot straff me like a courtesan and dump me like some hot dunk! I will not allow him win this time around!” Ifeoma had wailed. “What do we do? I do not enjoy you broken like this?” Sandra retorted kissing her and rubbing her breasts against Ifeoma’s back. “I will ruin his life if he does not bow between my legs as he used to” Ifeoma replied as she stared at the hungry lips of Sandra. She was an addict; she threw money for the best drug supplies her money could buy. She was addicted to Smith. She tattooed her left buttock. It was like a dull black paint of his name. She became messed up after the break-up and settled for anyone willing to play with her body. Sandra was close to perfect, she was a panacea to her current emotional lapses. They made love.
2 WEEKS AFTER
Smith was not trying to find the woman with the voice that melted him a month back. He imagined since he barely saw her he would not remember her if they happened on each other again. He felt he was recovering from the sudden cold feeling until Arinze’s raucous laughter and incessant bantering woke him up. “Baba you need to see this video. See as this fresh student brush Ifeoma for the local music competition like sey Ifeoma never baff!” Arinze was laughing and finding air at the same time. He knew how to gloat and this was why Sidi’s description never came up. But this time it had to. This time he knew this voice was familiar, he knew that tress, and he knew that graceful petite frame. Smith heard the anchor call her name. “Sidi, Sidi…” He had repeated. “You know her… Guy answer me na?”
The Story Continues…..