It all began a week after our graduation. I was talking with my guys and Nancy, my girlfriend, reminiscing about how we painted the atmosphere blue.
We remembered how we rushed to early morning classes to get front-row seats, especially for GST courses, and how lecturers sometimes failed to show up.
During our conversation, I noticed Nancy was moody. Her tear ducts were already clogged with tears. I was curious as to what was bothering her.
“What’s the matter with you, baby?” I inquired, paying close attention. She burst into tears, looking faintly at me.
I became even more perplexed. “Nancy, please stop this and talk to me. I am here for you”. I was terrified. My friends were goggle-eyed and amazed to the bone; they kept asking why her mood suddenly swung.
“My love, I have something I need to tell you; can we go somewhere quiet?” She muttered, grimly. She followed me; we walked quite a distance while standing under a mango tree.
The pitch of her voice changed because of emotional strain. “Please calm down and talk to me,” I asked. “I’m going to miss you, my love.” She said this as tears streamed down her cheeks.
“Honestly, it’s not my fault; my parents have agreed that I should marry a business tycoon from Lagos.” They made the arrangement without informing me. I would have told you, but they kept it a secret from me.
The man came to our house yesterday and fixed a marriage date with my father while I cried in my room. I’m really sorry.” She wept aloud as she hugged me tightly.
It was as if I was standing without legs because I could not even feel my heartbeats. So, Nancy, the love of my life, who had stayed with me for 5 years, would stay and give birth in another man’s house.
I pondered the grief inside my heart. I was trying to be a man when my teeth started cranking uncontrollably until I gave way to a thunderous cry.
It was exactly one month after Nancy broke the shocking news of the wedding arrangement to me. I arrived at the Ebony Events Centre for Nancy’s wedding reception.
However, I didn’t go to the wedding mass because I couldn’t bear the thought of another man putting a ring on my lover’s finger in front of me.
I walked up to the entrance of the hall and saw a large picture of my Nancy kissing another man. I was moved to tears by the outpouring of rage.
I craned my neck for a sympathizer, but my handkerchief was already in my right palm, waiting to wipe my tears. I exhaled and gathered a little courage as I stepped into the reception hall.
Nancy sat close to her already-wedded husband. Her eyes glowed with regret when she saw me. She thought I would not show up to her wedding. I could detect the emotions emitting from her heart.
She was no longer paying attention to what her husband was saying but kept staring at me without blinking.
With a faint heart, I was carried away by her constant gaze; other attendees were engrossed in watching how Nancy was staring at me.
My courage was fading; I walked aimlessly until I hit my toes against a wooden table. I tripped and fell on the DJ’s speaker, shattering the wires that connected other speakers and sound mixers.
So terrified I was because the music had suddenly stopped. The chubby MC looked vengefully at me and thundered: “Who is this cartoon? O dika ara na-agba gi? Ewu a!” He had verbally abused me in my native language, meaning: Are you mad? This goat!
Fear gripped me. I was glued to the floor out of shame. Nancy walked down from the podium, held my hands and carried me up. She looked at me as tears dropped down her cheeks.
Her parents were looking at her, asking if she was alright.
People were looking to see the end of the drama. I was still looking sheepishly like a disabled lamb when Nancy grabbed my cheeks and started kissing me.
I was forcing myself out, but she glued me. “I’m giving you my last kiss, my love,” she muttered to me.
The kiss was pleasure-packed but also devastating at the moment. Immediately, I released her grip and saw her husband rushing to attack me. I ran around, jumping tables and chairs until I saw myself outside the reception hall.
I was surprised at how I dodged many punches from the security men at the door. “Nancy, I love you, but honestly, you almost forced me to meet my ancestors,” I told myself.
I limped as I walked down the road barefooted.
I have never felt so alone and helpless in my life. No, I haven’t committed suicide. No, I’m not craving alcohol or drugs to numb the pain.
My life has almost returned to pre-Nancy, as if we never met. I chose not to see her again because I was afraid that I might be tempted to kill her husband.
You might also like to read Good Kisser with Bad Breath
You’re welcome.