Mr. MAN (A MUST READ)

Mr. Man

I thought they were fables, cooked-up, over-exaggerated bunkum, stuff you tell children under an udara tree under the silver gaze of the moon. Yet, here I was, standing a few feet from its very presence. I have never allowed myself to be governed by any faith, to be bound by ignorance; for what else could make a dying man fast his way to death, rejecting medical aid with the claim that a divine help would come from up high? Or what could cause a fully grown man pour wine upon the earth with the hope that his long dead fathers would come lick it up? So I fancied myself above it all, above the facade of death.

 The day had proved a very rebellious one for me indeed. First was my car pulling gratuitous stunts at me, a car moving in reverse would have been faster than I was. My mind ran in different directions as I tried hard to make sense of the blaring car horns behind me from the voices of their drivers as they angrily overtook me with furiously-spat swearwords as the speed of my car gradually dwindled on the busy Third Mainland Bridge. My first thought was to park at an embankment and find another means with which to continue my journey, but I dismissed the idea as soon as it came to me. one doesn’t put himself at such a risk; being stranded at the heart of Third Mainland Bridge is no child’s play.

I let out a loud sigh as I sluggishly descended the bridge into Obalende. I took the next turn into a street, found a parking spot and pulled up. I caught the dirty look a little girl gave me as I stepped out of the car and walked back to the direction I came. I realized belatedly that I had parked in front of her shop – her mother’s or aunty’s – blocking the entrance from the view of prospective customers. Whatever. I was not going back.

The heat was sweltering and my handkerchief was quickly acquiring a darker hue as I swiped at my face regularly before I made it to the bank. As if to mock my surly mood, there was a long queue at the ATM stand. I smiled wanly with the consoling knowledge that I had brought my withdrawal slip with me as I made a dash into the bank. It was 1:30pm on the dot. My boss would kill me. Nothing could beat the feeling of relief and fulfillment that overtook me as the cashier handed me my money, not even the soothing chill of the AC’s breezy touch.

I turned to leave, and then it happened; like it had been waiting all day for me.

“Oh dear God, I’m...I’m sorry”I muttered as I bent to help to her feet the lady who had run in on me and tottered to the ground.

You.

Your things were all over the floor and your hair had spilled down around your face. You let out a tiny gust of laughter as you took hold of my hand, head still bowed to the tiled floor. Quite a charming demeanor for someone who just suffered an assault of sorts, I thought. My heart skittered with anticipation as I imagined your facial appearance, what you looked like underneath that curtain of hair. In that split second, all that had happened that morning became lost memories.

And then you looked up. You were halfway on your feet when you jerked your head to send back the tresses of hair that had clothed your face moments earlier. My grip on your hand slackened, and you fell backward again. You landed back on the ground again, and this time, there was no laughter. There was no charming demeanor either. Just two questioning eyeballs, hot enough to pounce on me.

.

"Mr. Man, I didn’t say I enjoyed it the first time, did I?" you snapped with a voice that echoed memories that your face had triggered awake.

“I – I’m sorry…” I apologized again. But I made no attempt to help you back on your feet. I moved back a step instead in a deranged manner as I beheld the face before me. It can’t be, it can’t be you, you’re…

"Dead" the thought came out of my mouth even before it was fully formatted in my mind. I could have sworn that I had felt those hands before… how could I have forgotten? How could I have forgotten the feel of those palms? Perhaps it was the strange but familiar comfort I felt from them that took away all the worries of the morning.

I could feel strange eyes descend on me, on us. Slowly I cajoled myself back to the mystery that stood before me. You were standing upright now, looking at me; whether in anger or concern I cannot tell. We were both creating a scene, and somehow I knew it wouldn’t take long till the movements around us would come to a standstill.

‘Mr. Man are you alright? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.’

There it was, the word ‘ghost’. How could I tell you? How could I have made you seen what I saw standing right before me? I could see you had become vexed already and so I kept silent, just staring blankly at you, I could not bring myself to call you what you were, what you had become-a ghost.

But don’t they say even the almost-invincible like hair on a person’s hands would come rising like a turgid penis whenever your kind visited? Wait a minute, I heard your kind only visits under the cover of the Night’s darkness. How come you are here in the glare of the day? Is this you, tell me, have you really come to visit? Then how come I don’t feel the turgid rising of my hair, How come it is yet day?

You reached out to touch me. And in that instant, we were someplace else. I could tell because I no longer saw faces staring at us, I no longer saw the queue at the withdrawal stand stretch out longer with each passing second, nor the security man who had been at a loss to what was happening approach us. I no longer saw you stand before me, rather I saw us both in a room, smaller than the one we had stood in, and even cooler. I saw a freshly laid bed at the exact spot where we both had stood, I saw a fridge and a television set with a VCR and two slender speakers balanced at the side, standing almost side by side just where the security  guard had stood.

You had sat on the bed while I knelt down facing you. Even though I couldn’t fathom my kneeling on the floor, the shock and joy and tears that came to your eyes all at once, accompanied by the ‘yes I will’ you mumbled was soothing. You were wearing a long tangerine-coloured gown and your hair was cut short forming an afro. So familiar. So comforting.

I saw it all now. I took it all in. It couldn't be my mind playing games. No! It was too solid It was tangible enough for me not to mistake it for a mind’s game. I saw the tears that came out of my eyes as I mounted you; I saw them roll down my cheeks, falling down upon your cleavages and watched as they continued their journey into the pit of your navel. You held me to you, you held me tight, giving yourself wholesomely to me, making us bask in with communal bliss

We laid still moments after, my left arm parting your chest as you balanced your head on mine. We had not covered ourselves yet. And then I saw it clearly; the reason for the glee on your face, You held it high as you raised up your right palm and wiggled your ring finger. It caught the light. It sparkled. You laughed again. I gave it to you. I had proposed.  

How could I have stopped you from leaving? How could I have described the steady but shallow gait my heart had pounced with the moment you stood from my side? You had a flight to catch and so I had let you dress. What if I had asked you to rip off your clothes and come lay back at my side, to forget your trip to Lagos, at least till the shallowness I had felt inside of me elapsed, would you have agreed? Would the-sister-I-never-had friend of yours have forgiven you for not attending her bridal shower? Somehow I knew I couldn’t stop you from taking that flight, from running off to your soon-to-be-married friends, to dance your fingers at their faces with the knowledge that you were next in line. So I let you be, I let you go. 

I had known even before I saw the 7pm news announce it. Somehow, I knew, even much earlier than that even before you kissed my lips and promised to come visit me immediately you came back from your trip. You had walked out the door and somehow I knew it was going to be the last I'd share with you.

And then the news made the headlines. And I searched for the shallowness I had felt when you left but it wasn’t there. All I felt was anger slowly creeping inside me, finding residence in my nerves. I’m sorry I didn’t cry, I tried to but I couldn’t. I was angry at myself; I could have stopped you from going, from leaving me forever. I thought of your soon-to-be-married friends, I thought of how they would have screamed in surprise, joy and jealousy when you showed them the ring I had proposed to you with. But you never made it there, you never made it to Lagos. Your journey ended when the plane you boarded crashed. You crashed with it, and so did my heart.

I felt the hair on my body stand on tip-toe; I felt an unnatural shiver engulf me, I felt tiny shock waves transcend the tiny pores of my body, connecting one with the other in a frenzied motion. We were back here, in the bank. You tapped my hand. That questioning look in your eyes was most definitely one of concern. You were back, I realized, just as you had promised.

 I had waited a long time for you. I knew you never went back on your words, not once when we were together, so I waited. What took you so long to come and visit anyway? It had been five years now, five years since you walked out that door, since you promised to visit. In the end, it didn’t matter how long you were gone. You were back now.

How come you didn’t look pleased? Why can’t I find that glee on your face? You’ve changed a lot too. You no longer keep your hair short, the way I liked it. I could see the long earrings dangling from your ears. I remember I teased you often about piercing your ears myself. How come you now wear earrings? who pierced those holes in your ears?

My eyes took a long search on your face and slowly transported their gaze down to the fingers of your left hand, it wasn’t there. I made a quick dart at your right palm, just to be sure; just to be certain you were the one. It wasn’t there either. Your fingers were bare. I felt a familiar shallowness exhume me. Were you leaving me again? Did you even come?

“Is anything the matter?” asked a tall dark broad-chested figure approaching us. He was clad in a blue and black khaki uniform supplemented by a pair of big black boots. The security man, he walked in a disjointed fashion. You had begun answering him when I called out to you, to know if truly it was you. “Irawo mi! Osupa mi!” I said the words faintly. My star. My moon.

You shot me a quizzical look, but I didn’t see that spark in your eyes. I didn’t see that familiar smile you always wore whenever I called you those names. And no, you didn’t reply with your usual ‘órun mi’. My sun. You could never have forgotten, not even if you had died a thousand times over. You were my star, my moon and I your sun. You could never have forgotten this. I saw the distant stare your eyes cast at me; I saw the amusement suppressed by the confusion written all over your face as I waited for your reply. “Mr. Man…is everything alright?” you said

I was crestfallen, I didn’t wait for you to finish as I walked past you, past the security man and the inquisitive eyes swarming around us. I felt a solemn laughter escape my taut chest as I approached the bank’s egress.

She wasn’t you irawo mi, you would never call me Mr. Man.