…Love
appears on the wings of grace.
-
Rumi
A
Painful Stillness
It was 3:15 am and my eyes were
alert like a guard on watch for any slight movement. I kept my eyes locked on
his heaving chest as he struggled to breathe and I listened for any slight
moan. A year ago, Tunde had been
diagnosed with pulmonary venoocclusive disease and all I could
do now was try to make the rest of his life bearable for him. I watched as he
slept and decided to use it as opportunity to clean up the room. I
started carrying out the tray that held his medications.
“Please, please don’t go,” he croaked.
I turned around and looked at him; my heart felt heavy seeing him in such a
helpless state.
“Oh, I thought you were asleep,” I
replied.
I dropped the tray by the door and
walked back to the bed where he lay. I sat at the edge and wrapped my hands
around his.
“You …you don’t have to sit so…so…far
away. Why…don’t you huddle up next to me? There’s just enough room for two,” he
said with a slight smile on his face.
The twinkle in his eyes still glistened even
through all the pain. I lay down next to him and kissed his ashy cheeks. He
twisted slightly and wrapped his arms around my waist. All I wished for in my
heart at this moment was the chance to start again, to experience everything one
more time. I wanted to go back to when I first met him, when he was still so
strong.
***
It was a year before he would
graduate from the University of Lagos, and it was strange how I never noticed
him throughout the time I spent there. It was the strangest of meetings. I had
just returned from my father’s funeral two days before and I felt incredibly
numb. It was as though I was living outside of myself, watching but unable to
interact. I felt so guilty, because I knew I could have done more for my dad, I
felt as though I had failed him. I had been an unbearable burden, with my
constant drinking. I hated myself but there was nothing I could do now to mend
our broken relationship, he was gone. My
shoulders felt heavy and I was no longer strong enough to carry the weight. The
alcohol failed to remove the pain; it only just added physical discomfort. So, that
night all I wanted to do was walk. I needed space away from everyone. So I took
a walk, at midnight, down the isolated streets that encompassed the university.
I remember the weather was very cool and I felt like a feather. The wind
caressed my skin and reminded me of how much I just wanted to be held. He was
walking from the opposite direction but I couldn’t recognize his face. All I
could see was an extremely tall, lanky figure walking towards me. Under the dim
street light his face was the colour of chocolate. I debated on whether to turn
around, seeing as I was alone and I must have frozen for a moment because he called
out, “Don’t worry, I’m probably a lot more intimidated by you than you are of
me.” I remained standing where I was and allowed him to stride towards me.
“You know it’s a bit late to be
walking alone, someone could snatch you away,” he said.
“I highly doubt that,” I said coldly.
I tried to walk round him but every side I
stepped he would also step there.
“You know I’ve seen you around. Don’t you have
friends?” with the angle of his face, the street light caught his mocking
smile.
“Anyway, my name is Tunde. I know
yours is Kehinde.” I looked him up and down then shoved past him and kept
walking.
“I see I’m pestering you, but
because I’m a good samaritan I’m going to walk in a slow pace behind you to
make sure no one steals you. You won’t even know I’m here.”
I scoffed at him, I was extremely
irritated by his persistence, and I tried to quicken my pace but no matter how
fast I tried to walk I could always hear his footsteps crunching the ground,
steadily, like he was walking right by my side. We carried on like this for
what was almost fifteen minutes. Sometimes my mind wondered and I even forgot
he was there, then I would come back to reality and his steady footsteps would
be there to welcome me. The walk was long and I began to slow down my steps,
maybe because I was tired and also because I did want a little company. I
slowed down till he was by my side. “Yes, my name is Kehinde,” I said.
“Well nice to finally meet you.
I’ve seen this moment in my dreams for the past three years,” he said with a
chuckle. I stopped to glare at him.
“Kai, don’t you laugh small. Okay
I’m sorry.” We walked on again in
silence.
For weeks we did this, I would come
out at midnight and ‘coincidently’ we would meet again, walking towards each
other. When he reached me he would turn around and walk with me. Sometimes we
walked in silence and other times we talked about casual things like family,
school, and movies. After a month, I began to look forward to our meetings; I
liked how free I felt when I was with him. He knew when to speak, when to play
and when I needed his silence. He is a
photographer and the only time he was separated from his Nikon camera was when
he showered, when he slept, and when we walked during the night. After three
months of long walks at night and weekend picnics he finally decided to take me
to his home. The drive there was an hour long mainly because of the long
traffic we were stuck in. I remember sitting with my legs tightly crossed in
the backseat of the cab. The house would be empty, seeing as his parents
travelled to Dubai for a few weeks, but I still felt anxious. I looked out the
window to distract myself. It was sun
set and people shuffled around the little shops on the side of the streets,
trying to close their shops before it became dark. The car stopped at a red light and I watched
as a young girl walked slowly towards my side of the window. Behind her was an
old man whose thin hands rested tightly on her shoulder, as though he was
afraid he would lose her. The place his eyes once were, were like slits. His
black skin was covered with tiny warts. I watched as both their lips mimed
words I was unable to hear. I saw beggars every day and I thought that at some
point their helplessness would stop constricting my heart, but that never happened.
I stared at the young girl; her eyes were like mirrors that reflected vulnerability
and pain. I scrambled in my pockets to see if I had any money that I could
squeeze into her desperate hands but I had nothing with me. The car started moving again and I watched as
the strangers slowly became smaller and smaller. Tunde sat in the front seat, his eyes pierced
on the road. I knew he was deep in thought and I knew better than to interrupt.
The house was enclosed by a large fence. I stepped outside and the first thing I
smelt was the warning smell of rain. The trees that stood like guards around
the house swayed softly in the wind. We spent the night in his living room; he
showed me the few baby pictures he had. He told me that there was a robbery
once in his home when he was about two years old and they had made sure to
steal everything including the family album that held his baby pictures. One
thing he always hoped to do was to be able to take a picture every week of his own
child to show its growth from birth to adulthood. I encouraged it but I didn’t
really think he would follow up with it. I was wrong.
We got married six months after
that visit and two years later I was pregnant. I remember when he was born, it
was as though Tunde had transformed. When he held him in his hands for the
first time I watched as his face melted. The expression on his face was one I
had never seen before. His eyes building up with tears, tears that fell and landed
on Tobi’s forehead. “Oops,” he chuckled. I wiped the tear off Tobi’s head then
wiped the tears that hung from Tunde’s eyes. He looked at me, his face glowing
in the morning light that burst through the window. That year he decided to
finally leave his job at the bank to open up his photography studio. He took
pictures of some major weddings, birthdays and private photographs in Lagos.
This helped him to be flexible with his time and he spent more time at home or
sometimes we went to hang out in his office.
Every week he took several pictures of Tobi;
pictures that he would upload every month into an album in the computer entitled
“Our Little Bundle of Joy”. Each picture came with its own special note that
explained what Tobi was doing in the picture. He was there to catch on camera
the first time he smiled in response to our voice, the first time he laughed
when he watched me and Tunde pillow fight in the morning, the first morning he
slept through the whole night without waking up, and the first time he took a
step. He was able to catch so many memorable events and looking through the
album helped us to relive those days passed. The year Tobi turned three we
decided to move to Abuja, Lagos was becoming too difficult to live in. Tunde
would be launching the opening of another photography studio and Tobi would be
starting nursery. I didn’t know what I
would be doing, I was thinking of creating a fashion magazine but I just never
got round to starting. I concluded that with Tobi and Tunde out of the house I
would have a bit more time to work on it. The new house was a lot bigger than
the last. It had four bedrooms and a larger kitchen and parlor. I loved it.
With the launching of the new studio, Tunde spent longer time out of the house
in order to get everything arranged and to attend many events. When he finally
got a weekend free, I encouraged him to spend the day with Tobi while I stayed
home and relaxed. He chose to take him
to the park, seeing as it was close by. I wished I had pushed him to go to
another park, one further away. The final picture Tunde took of Tobi was in the
park while he was swinging ten minutes before a drunk driver ran his car
through the park and crushed the swing he was on. Tobi’s brain had been crushed
and he died on the spot.
I remember running frantically
through the hospital doors searching for Tunde. My heart felt like it would
choke me and my brain throbbed forcefully against my head as though it wished
to escape. The nurses directed me to where Tunde stood in the waiting room, his
head buried in his hands and his white shirt covered in blood. I placed my hand
on his back and he turned to look at me.
“I looked away just for a moment, and he was
gone,” Tunde said. His weight fell on my shoulders and I could barely hold him
up.
“I couldn’t catch him, I tried to but it was
too late.” He sobbed. “I’m so sorry. Oh God, please.”
I gripped the back of his head and
held him tightly against my chest until our weights dragged us to the ground.
He remained on my chest, his body convulsing and his tears and saliva soaking
my shirt. I held him till he slowly stopped shaking except for the short slight
jerking that shook him every few seconds. All that remained unbroken was the
battle boat toy that Tobi carried everywhere with him. That was all we returned
home with after spending the day in the hospital. As soon as we got home we
both went upstairs and into Tobi’s room. That night we slept on the floor, both
of us unwilling to move, unwilling to face the painful reality. That night I
felt nothing like I was at the bottom of an ocean, under thick black rain
clouds, in the middle of the night. Darkness upon darkness. Everything was
silent or maybe I had just lost my ability to hear. I felt like I was in a void where I was unable
to even save myself. Some times during the night I had even forgotten how to
breathe until I found myself suffocating and had to fight to inhale. The
darkness of the room was comforting for me, it allowed me to weep alone.
Tomorrow, I knew I would have to put on a bold face, but for now I allowed the
darkness to cradle me.
For weeks we walked around the
house like zombies. We spoke only when it was to say good morning and good night.
He stopped going to work and barely left Tobi’s room. He only ate dinner, so I
would cook and leave it by the door for him to pick it up when he was ready. I
wanted to be there for him but he completely shut me out. I needed him so badly
but he pushed me away. I slept for weeks alone in our bedroom because he slept
in Tobi’s room. There were nights when I was happy that he wasn’t laying with me
but most nights I wanted him near me, to hold me and remind me to be strong. I
longed to stare into his eyes so that they could reflect my pain, my helplessness;
I needed him to share the burden with me, to mirror my grief so I wouldn’t have
to face it alone. I longed for our tears to come together on the pillow case
and our hands to remain locked together like chains unmovable in the storm. But
he wasn’t there.
Until one night, he walked into the
room. I had heard the door creak open but my back was to it so I pretended to
be asleep. I heard his footsteps slide across the carpet until I could feel his
breath against the back of my neck. The goose bumps exploded from my skin, but
my back remained turned. He was kneeling by my side of the bed and I wished for
him to touch me. I had forgotten what his hands felt like; I had missed his
soft lips against mine. I had missed his warmth. But I didn’t want to open my
eyes, I just wanted him to hold me first. And he did. His fingers glided gently
through my hair then down the side of my face. He kissed my arm and my neck;
every time his warm lips lifted from my skin I felt my body tingle and come
back to life. I turned around; his eyes
were swollen but deep like he had just woken up from a deep slumber.
“I’ve missed you” he whispered.
“You know I really needed you,” I
said softly
“I know. I know. I should have been here for
you,” he said
“Then why weren’t you?” I asked
“I guess I just needed time out to
understand what happened and to accept it. I needed to do that alone. I’m so so
sorry.”
“I understand” I replied.
“I promise I won’t do that again.”
He kissed me and I just lay
unmoving as I began to remember the smell of his skin and the texture of his
face.
***
I took the hand that he rested on
my waist and wrapped it around my chest. They were as thin as sticks but very
warm. They felt very comforting around my cold hands. I tried to bring to mind
the beautiful things he did with these hands. These hands that were always so
firm, that reached the highest cupboards, that were always there to support me.
I felt vulnerable and afraid like a child waking up after a nightmare. But it
felt like my nightmare would never end; it followed me while I slept and when I
was awake. I couldn’t escape from it and I didn’t know who to turn to. Everyone
was fading, everyone always left and it hurt too much to continue to hold on to
them. Every time I held on too tightly, they cracked like twigs and I would
always end up on the ground, alone and bruised. No one could carry my weight.
So, for the first time in three years, I closed my eyes and tried to pray under
my breath. I didn’t know what to do with my hands so I just clutched on to
Tunde’s. I didn’t know what to say and to be honest I felt very embarrassed.
All I said was “Please, if You are going to take him away just give me the
strength to carry the burden. I don’t think I can do this on my own. I need You.”
All the emotions I had been trying to bottle
up began to spill over. I felt cold but the heaviness in my chest reduced. The
tears I had been trying to hold in began to blur my vision. But I felt
shielded, like I was being held but this time the grip was firm, unbreakable, and
unshakeable. I looked back at my life and I realized that through every trial somehow
I was always sent a beacon of light to guide me through the darkness. The
realization hit me hard and I felt tingles in my skin. Even though I was afraid
I felt an urge to laugh. I placed my
head on Tunde’s chest and listened to his heart beat rhythmically but weakly.
The tears fell from my eyes and onto his bare chest like rain drops on a barren
dead earth. He ran his fingers through
my hair, just the way I have always liked it.
“I’m going to miss you,” I said
“I’m not leaving you,” he said
heaving. “You know…it’s only a short trip and we’ll see each other again, in a
place where there will no longer be separation.”
“I think I believe so.” I remained
on his chest listening to the beat of his heart, like drums at the end of a
war, welcoming the soldiers back home.
Just before dawn as the sun cracked
through the darkness, as the birds stirred, their chirping breaking the silence,
I awakened; I awakened to a painful stillness.
