Dec 1, 1998 III
THREE WEEKS LATER
I look out of the window, fighting the protest at being paraded at the Wilson’s party. My parents would have none of my objection and ordered me out of the house. The reason: I had never left the house ever since I got back from school, and since I had pronounced myself okay - the reason I'm not going back to Dr. Linda – I better act it. I shove my complaint as I had dressed up and got into the front seat of my father’s car.
I look out of the window, hoping that the driver isn’t beside me and my parents behind; annoyed that I have to act nice and proper while choking on my disgust for the flamboyant display that I'm sure to see at the wedding. I swear each time I attend a Nigerian wedding, the prospect of eloping is so alluring. But being the only daughter of my parent, I'm sure that isn’t going to happen. And being single, the prospect is just that.
Something tells me that Bridget Wilson’s wedding isn’t going to be any different. She is just the right class of Barbie that sets your teeth on edge but not exactly clashing as she’s got nothing on you. She is also my best friend’s older sister, so my attendance is mandatory.
I pull down the visor mirror and watch myself fix my fake smile in place. The driver navigates the car into St. Joseph’s Cathedral Church, VI and parks. Smile in place, I walk beside my parents into the church. My parents march to the front pews. They show themselves to the Wilsons and mingle with their friends. I pick a pew and enter. I drop my purse by my side and sit. The wedding song starts and my parents assemble themselves by my side. I stand and the bride saunters in. De wedding don start be dat.
I definitely do hate how the reception would be so filled while the church ceremony sparse. An usher directs my parent and I to seats reserved for us. She removes the “reserved for the Doyles” card from the table and gestures to another to bring up flutes of champagne. My father removes his cap, folds it and places it besides his phone, wallet and service brochure. My mum goes around the table and pecks the women. A beep. It’s a message from Yvonne wanting to know why I didn’t tell her that I would be attending the party and why I didn’t contact her. I finish reading and replied that I didn’t see her and that I was dragged to the party. I hear her talking to some couple behind me. I turn. She walks up to our table and greets my parents.
“Hello Yvonne, how have you been?” My dad says.
“Fine sir. My parents say they would see you in a little while,” Yvonne says.
“That’s fine. Are you and my daughter fighting?” my father says.
“That’s what I would love to find out sir.” She turns and stares at me, “Chioma has been avoiding me for ages. I have no idea why she locks me out.”
In answer, I text “it has notin 2 do wit u & u kno it. So, stop givin my fada ideas and talk 2 me.”
She looks up and turns to my parents. “I have to go back. I would be back in a little while. Please, enjoy the party.” She walks away. Seconds later, my phone beeps. I read “wheneva u’re ready, u kno where 2 find me.”
Somehow, this feels like an ultimatum. I find it quite weird how your close relationships can sometimes mirror a romantic one. I go over the last 6 months when I had lost my appetite for any type of human contact. The very reason my parents had decided that I needed help. How easy it had been to give excuses to Yvonne whenever she came over or wanted me to come over. Even when we went back to school, I had done my best to avoid her. I was tired of the look on her face: trying to figure me out, not sure what she had done, realizing what had happened, furious that I hadn’t confided in her and then the pity. It was the pity that did me in. I couldn’t stand it, and couldn’t bring it up because I knew she had no idea that she was doing it. So, I did what I could do to avoid her and everyone else. Cashed on the 65% attendance rule and had girlfriends sign me in for classes I missed.
Somehow “wheneva u’re ready, u kno where 2 find me” read like “I’m tired of al dese, if u stil want 2 b friends, com luk 4 me.” A waitress walks up and asks the table what they want. I stand up.
“Dad, you know what I like. I need to see Yvonne. I would be right back,” I say. I navigate the party tent trying to get to the groom and bride. I figured that Yvonne would be hanging around Bridget. Three tables to the front, I see her chatting with a woman. I stop. I also see Yvonne talking to her sister. She sees me and smiles. I bring my phone and send “giv me a moment. I nid 2 talk 2 some1” She looks up, nods and turns to her sister.
I walk towards my person of interest. She turns my way and spots me. She freezes and slowly relaxes as I walk towards her. I get to her side.
“Hi," I say.
“Hi—” She turns to the woman beside her and says “Mum meet Chioma, Chioma meet my mum.” I shake her mum’s hand as I wrack my brain for their last name but come up short.
“Nice to meet you,” I figure it's the safest thing to say.
“Nice to meet you too,” Tomi’s mum says.
I turn to Tomi and say “I need to talk to you. I waited for your call but it didn’t happen. I’m surprised to see you here but had to make use of the opportunity.”
“Well, I wasn’t sure if giving me your number was a courtesy thing or if you actually wanted me to contact you. Besides, I haven’t felt like talking,” Tomi says.
“I meant it. I don’t give my number to just anyone. Anyways, I went home and started thinking about our conversation and came to one conclusion. But, I didn’t have your number so I have been waiting by my phone hoping for it to ring” I say.
“I had no idea. I can give you my number so we can talk. But, why do we need to talk?” she asks.
“I need your special services to take care of my little problem,” I say.
Her mum butts in and tackles us on talking about business during a wedding. Tomi says “This isn’t the place to talk about business. Call me later.”
“I don’t have your number remember,” I say.
She reaches into her Hermes Birkin purse and hands me her business card.
“Call me later and we will talk. Although, I do hope you know what you would be asking for,” she says.
I clutch the business card with my phone as I make my way to Yvonne. She sees me and hesitates. I stop and let her see my lips tilt at the side. I walk to her with my eyes locked with hers. A man walks to her and hands her a bulky envelope. She adds it to the collections in the shopping bag on her hand. Someone comes up to her and hands her a couple of N1000 notes. She digs into the bag and hands the guy a couple of bound N20 notes. N2000 falls out of the bag. I bend and pick it up.
“Truce,” I say as I hand her the money.
“We were never fighting, Chioma,” she says as she adds my offering to the rest of the pile. “I didn’t know you knew Tomi.”
“I just met her a few weeks ago,” I say.
“And- ” she stresses.
“And I have some business I need her to help me with.”
“When did you start doing business? The last time I checked, you are just a final year Law student. No tell me say I don fallout teytey wey bi say I no sabi you again,” she says.
“Yvonne, let’s not fight. Today is your sister’s wedding and I haven’t showed her my face yet. And honestly, I am tired of fighting with you. So, what do you want me to help you do?” I say.
THE NEXT DAY
THE NEXT DAY
The shrill ring of my phone wrenches me from dreamland. The time is 9:49. I was up last night talking to Yvonne and catching up on our lives together, but I didn’t tell her that I plan to kill the guy who raped me. We never talked about anything surrounding the matter. She made me swear to return to the days we shared everything. I did.
The caller ID was an unknown number. I picked up, silently cursing the caller. With grogginess in my voice, I mutter “Hello.”
“Did I wake you up?” the voice says.
I hate when people know when I just wake up. My voice is annoyingly thin so when I wake up, my voice takes a slow journey to its normal pitch from a hoarse low tone. And why do people ask if they wake you up anyways? Like they really care if they did or not.
“No, was just lying in bed. And thanks for calling me,” I say.
“Are you free to meet up with me around four today, so we can talk?”
“Tomi are you kidding? Of course, I would meet you. Where do you want to meet?” I ask.
6 HOURS LATER
I walk into Silver Ent going over my nonexistent plan. I couldn’t draft a well thought out plan and there are a lot of kinks to sort out. The only thing cohesive in my mind is that he had to pay, and that I really want to shoot the bastard. I stop to look around, to find Tomi. I can’t see her. I take out my phone and call her. She picks up and tells me to come towards the back of the establishment. I see her, sitting with a glass of white sangria in her hands. Apparently, 4 o’clock isn’t too early for alcohol. I sit and draw my seat closer to the table.
“What would you like to drink?” Tomi says.
“I am fine, thank you.”
“In my experience, alcohol helps with whatever you’re going to propose next. Believe me, you need a drink. Their white sangria is perfect.” She raises her hand and motions at a waitress who hurries over.
“Two more glasses please and extra cherries.” The waitress jots Tomi’s order and walks away.
“So, how can I help you?” Tomi says as soon as the waitress is out of earshot.
“I’ve thought about it and I want Chinedu to pay,” I say.
“I take it that Chinedu was the one who raped you.”
“Yes.”
“Okay, but what do you want me to do? And what makes you think that I can help?”
“I want him to suffer a slow death-”
“Hold on, what do you take me for? The mafia or a vigilante?” Tomi butts in.
“I figured that you could help me,” I say.
The waitress approaches with the order. Tomi sits up straight and stares at the waitress. The waitress places the full glasses on the table and takes the empty glass. Tomi and I both reach for our glasses. I take a large gulp wishing I had ordered a shot of whiskey. I see my head thrown back and I would have downed the spirit in one mouthful, shaken my head to clear the slow burn down my throat. I turn around to beckon to any waitress. I see one, another, and snap my fingers at her. I need that shot of whiskey real bad. I can feel my resolve dissolving and I need reinforcement. The second waitress arrives by my side. Her tag reads Amara.
“Can I help you,” Amara says.
“Could you get me two shot of vodka? The strongest you have,” I say. She nods.
“See, I told you, you would need alcohol.” Tomi says as the waitress walks off. “Are you sure you’ve thought this over and this is what you want? There is no going back from that action, and if you do kill him, he wouldn’t have suffered enough. Why not think of something else to punish him?”
“I just want to show him, and others like him, that you just can’t humiliate a woman and get away scot free.”
“And you think killing him would give you peace of mind? Believe me when I say you would lose countless nights over it. It’s not worth it. Think of something else.”
“Like what. The only reason he is still breathing is because I didn’t have a gun on me when I needed it.”
“And the only reason why you’re still here is because of the same damn reason. Have you thought about the consequences of your action? Are you ready to sell your soul to the devil? He is going to get a strong hold of it and never let it go.”
“You do seem to be doing just fine. I don’t think it is that bad,” I say.
“That’s because I don’t shed unnecessarily,” Tomi says. “You still haven’t convinced me and yourself that Chinedu has to die. Why not think of ways to punish him, ways that would be more satisfying. Like arranging for him to get raped in public. He would die from shame. Men never handle rape well. Or cutting off his penis. Anything that has to do with him living with a dark secret that eats him up. That would be a befitting judgment for a rapist and not death. Death is too easy.
“I guess so. I had never thought about it that way. And we could even start a helpline for women in such need.” I say.
“Young lady don’t bite off more than you can chew. Go home and think about how you want to punish the guy and then let’s have a talk, Tomi says
I see Amara going about other people's orders. She seems to have forgotten my simple request.
“How in heaven can two shots of vodka take longer than two glasses of wine,” I say to Tomi.
“Well, that’s because you ordered from the new girl. She doesn’t know me and doesn’t realize she should speed things up.”
“You get special attention here? Why? If I may ask,” I say.
“Because even though I don’t run it, I own the place. And your tab is on me. So have you agreed to not kill Chinedu?"
“Yes,” I say as I ruminate on other ways to exact my revenge.
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