Love Truly-A Short Story By Stephen Toochi

LOVE TRULY

A Short Story By Stephen Toochi

I was never told how tough, how rough the path to this feeling was. Never informed that as I left my mother's bowel, a day would come when I'd wish to throw in the towel.

I thought I found the fountain, little did I know that my golden bowl  will shatter, my pitcher broken and even atop the cistern that my resolve and foundation will come clattering apart.

This is a practical experience of love. And with love. There's no rule.

I ventured into love. Me? Not really. I couldn't have. I never had the guts. I didn't walk into it with eyes open. I think it was a blurry vision that led me in or was it Love that ran into me and refused to let go?

I found out late. After my heart was ripped apart. My emotions violated that— love —She was wickedness personified.

She was the first—probably the last too. The first time I saw her. Her ebony skin shimmered like bronze. Her eyes held the passage route to my soul. Her cheekbones were like carved rocks, giving her face a solid round figure.

An air of confidence hovers around like a lady who knows what's she's worth. But she was a girl. I didn't say hello. I rarely did in times like that. I believed in fate that if anything was mine, no need rushing, time and chance —it'd surely be mine.

As she trutled behind her mother that morning rolling like a ball, headed to the principal's office. I admitted she was beautiful but her closeness to mother earth stirred laughter from my belly.

Her mother left. She settled in pretty quick. Ladies have a way of knowing their own. She thrived as a student pushing me beyond the limits. For each question she answered. I study more to answer the next one in class.

Soon, she won hearts of many classmates. SS 1 knew her name. I didn't care. The fact that she stares at me in unbelief anytime I answered a question shows she respects my brilliance. I was always smart and believed people should bask in their euphoria.

The sky is large enough to accommodate all.

Rumours had it that people favoured her to top me in class—taking the first position. I shrugged, shook my head in pity for her supporters. Where on earth do a new comer overtake the whole school? I was the whole school. A standing guy who has the buttocks but can't sit because there's no seat.

The term came to an end after three months. I knew her name, knew she came from Abuja but never talked to her. The final day of school approached. The principal addressed us on how to spend the holidays urging us to take precautions and the likes.

Clutching my result sheet to my chest. I was relieved to stand as the undisputed. I ran around with plasters of smiles, soaking in the hi-fives and pats, in search of the students holding the second position. I asked Ugomma, Ugochukwu, Emeka and Chioma. Figured they ranked from third downwards.

Confused on how the trio lost the position. I sat on my locker when a tap stole my attention. I turned.

“I was told you're looking for the second placed student. She's the one talking to you.” confidence exhumed from her tiny voice.

“Hmm? You? Second? ” i tried to hide the shock on my face. She nodded.

“May I sit?”

”Sure, Sit.“ Dazzed by the realization, I tilted my butts to one side to give her ample space to sit.

And that was the first conversation that opened up others. We sat down like partners and checked the marks. To my amazement, It was less than fifty.

Seeing the tugging frown on my face. She promised to beat me the following term. Then we talked, laughed and murmured.

The following term. The feeling was mutual but we became rather close. My classmates knew my animosity towards the female gender. If I had my way, they knew I'd never want them near. But she came, Amara came—her name—shattered the garrison I built around my heart. With her, I felt like a child—insecure and tensed.

Though it never affected our academics. The yearning for talking, playing, reading and doing things together increased. We were seen at the library, the sport complex , the canteen — secret embraces, sweet nothings and stolen kisses—ofcourse closely seated in class.

We spearheaded the debate, quiz and news club on school. Eating and dining in school—she buys —everytime.

She couldn't beat me. She never got the chance to.

One monday morning. When the birds chirped in the trees. And the frogs croaked. I arrived class late. Her trimmed hairs should have said hello before her eyes, then smile but none was found. I tossed my bag on the table, sat and  thought that she was on an errand. But she never appeared. I stared at her empty seat a few times and waited for break time. It did come—break time as I raced out and meet the girl from her side of the village.

“Ugomma. Did you know why Amara didn't come to school today?” my face wearing a mask of concern.

She laughed, recoiled and shook her head. I asked again.

“What! Why are you asking me? Shebi you left me for her now. Go to her house yourself now.” Ugomma retorted.

“Me left you? How? .. Okay. Let's leave that one aside. Did anything happen to Amara?”

“ She's sick. She fell sick on Saturday and couldn't even stand this morning when I went to call her for school.”

“That bad?”

“Yes. Really bad”

“You'll lead me to her house.”

“Why?”

“Are you leading the way or not?”

“I will, my dear.” my eyes wheeled in their sockets at the endearment.

We saw her after school. Her condition was worse. The scent of her room was repulsive. The table was littered with capsules and pills. She recognized us but could only respond to our wishes and prayers with a tired smile. We left with the promise of coming the next day.

As we stood to leave, she held my hand for a while, not minding her parent's stare. Our eyes locked in. As we left the house. Her father called me, asked some questions and told me the meaning of the word SS. He said she'd be fine, that it was just her one of her quarterly attacks.

The next morning in school. The atmosphere was foggy. Ugomma ran to me. She wasn't on school uniform. Her hairs were disheveled. Her feet had dust clammed on them. She pushed out of the principal's office. Her eyes streaming with hot tears. Called out to me and whispered the most agonizing news of all time.

She's dead. Amara is dead.

I wasn't sure what happened but I found my grip on Ugomma, shaking her and hoping that she says it was a prank. She reiterated. She's dead. I wanted to follow her. To run to her corpse and give her the breath of life.

Her father said she would be fine. Why then was Ugomma saying she was dead? Somewhere in the inextricable part of me, I was hoping, praying that this be the joke of the century but...

The principal addressed us. He urged everyone to head over to her place. Eyes darted at me. I was distraught but couldn't show it. We filed out of class and reached her house around eleven.

Few people were gathered. A priest was officiating, serenading her passage to the great beyond. I sulked and until I saw her casket did the tears pour. They came in torrents, cascading my face with reckless abandon.

I wasn't the only one. Half the class did same too. But it was significant because it had been six years I cried voluntarily.

As she was being lowered. Her parents with grief as countenances threw sands at her casket, same was her sibling. A boy. Then her father called me. I wished the earth could swallow me but I heard Ugomma's too. We both threw the sands with trembling hands and the song rang out.

“Only to be remembered by what you have done. Only to be remembered by what you have done.”

Biscuits were shared amongst the students as they dispersed to their homes. As I paid my condolences with words alone. Her father held my hand and forced a crumpled paper into my palm. “Read it” he said. I unfolded the layers, heaved a sigh as my eyes beheld her handwriting. The message embedded in the note left me speechless and numb.

As the realization re-dawned on me. She was gone. Never to return. I took another look at her father, mother, brother then the note. It read,

“If love was a human. He'd be you. I love you Steph!”

© Stephen Toochi