My heartbreak from Friday
As September swiftly walked in to take away the horrors that August brought, Chimela walked on a semi-finished road in Ikeja. She had finished a meeting that left her equal parts elated and scared. This was uncharted waters she was sailing towards but, it was a feat, if structured well, that would put her in the company of the leaders of Nigeria. Chimela shouldn’t have alighted from the bus, but she had notified Kene of her impending visit to his office.
Kene had been a primary school crush that she had recently reconnected with- thanks to her ever-supporting friend, Ebere. It was a sunny afternoon in July when Kene came visiting with another mutual friend, Salome. Salome had grown from a skinny, light-skinned girl to a beautiful young lady with all the curves in the right places and a backside resembling her mother. Kene, on the other hand, had shed the baby fat, increased in height and looked exceedingly handsome in his lounge wear. Chimela felt secure in his arms, spent a while longer, and inhaled his scent. He smelt like sandalwood and aftershave. She recalled their childhood together before his parents moved. They had attended the same school and shared the catholic faith. Kene and Chimela had seen six times a week for six years. She knew when he spent minutes longer staring at her as she wrote in pencil, accompanied her, waited for her to finish speaking with a classmate and shared a desk that he had a crush on her. It was the warmth in his black eyes when he gazed at her, the small smile on his face and his perfect, chubby cheeks that she understood what it meant to be liked by someone. Despite it all, they did not act on it. What do ten-year-olds understand about emotions or feelings, even though they had started the long, tumultuous journey that is puberty?
On getting there, her heart did a backflip. He looked dapper in his light blue attire that suited Nigerian men perfectly. She had complimented him, telling him he looked like a chief, to which his deep-sated laugh filled the atmosphere that they shared. He could spare only a few minutes with her, as he had a workload waiting for him on his computer. A few minutes was fine for her, Chimela had said. They asked questions; “How do you do?”, “Work?”,” Exams?”,” Relocation?” The answers, albeit diverse, were given. They settled into a steady conversation that involved laughter and comfortable sighs. In the quietness, Kene reached for his phone. It was disturbing at first but, what do people that haven’t spoken in years have to say? There is no similarity or common interest that both of them could hinge on, and she realized. Even though she might have wanted some spark between them, it would be difficult. His interests have changed. Getting to compromise on values that they each hold dear might be daunting. In the end, there was no use.
Chimela was fifteen years late.
She watched his retreating figure as he disappeared into the pale blue building. Fair skin, broad nose, two dimples appearing at the sides of his face when he had the widest grin she had ever seen were forever etched in memory as she began the long journey home. It was rush hour period, going by the madness that is Lagos' traffic. She was in for a long stay on the road.
Eventually, it was her turn to board the bus. She found a window seat at the back of the bus; her face glued to the passing buildings and vehicles, only sparing her seat partner a glance when she sneezed. Her partner was a middle-aged woman who had vertical marks on her cheeks. The three stripes were symbolic of the Yoruba people; this made her recall her classes in secondary school on the ethnic group. Chimela cared less about the parts of speech in the indigenous language. The culture part intrigued her most- marriage, naming ceremony, gods, food and her personal favourite, reincarnation. These shifted thoughts of Kene until she got to her stop.
Telling Ebere about this event crossed her mind, but left immediately. As much as she is a good friend, she’s also friends with Kene and Salome- closer to them than her. Who knows if this comes up during their conversations?
As days progressed into weeks, Chimela plunged herself into work especially, her new project that had her excited. As exciting as it was, it was exhausting. Constantly requiring feedback from people whom she had to propel to give to her. Finding reliable partners to work with proved to be a herculean task, but she completed it. Everything moved seamlessly that is why she paid Ebere a visit. She had missed their banter and her home. Ebere lived 10 minutes away from her. Her garden was the most beautiful she had seen, and it made her feel at peace. Chimela sat outside reading a book while her dark-skinned, chubby friend brought a glass of red wine. Sweet red wine, her love. As they caught up, Ebere mentioned Kene confided in her about his feelings for Salome, but feared acting upon it due to them being friends from childhood. If Ebere hadn’t been distracted by the knocking on the black metal gate, she would have caught the widening of Chimela’s eyeballs like a deer caught in the headlights. That was not the plot twist she expected. As Ebere could not give an incomplete gist, he acted upon his feelings and asked Salome out. Apparently, it was mutual.
Chimela reminisced about that bright July afternoon in her father’s garden, where the four of them had shared a meal, took pictures and talked about life. She had noticed the long stares that Kene gave Salome; the way he removed food stuck at the side of her lips, how gentle he was when he poured water for her and asked about her preferred alcohol. These were mere acts of service, the bare minimum of being human. It didn’t occur to her that there might have been underlying feelings. Sure, they reconnected a few years earlier before her, so they must have grown together and learnt about each other.
It made absolute sense that they would have mutual feelings.
Chimela brought out her phone, scrolled through her gallery to find their pictures together. The group one where Salome’s 5ft 2 height showed remarkably more than the others. She equally had dimples and fair skin. She looked at the picture of her and Kene. When he held her, had a smouldering look on his face while she smiled widely. The stretch marks on her arms and breasts were clear.
She waited for palpitations, for longing, the nerves tingling down her spine, hoping that they could have been more than childhood friends.
It never came.
Chimela was free.
