I miss Deji. A lot.
It has been six weeks since the break up and he never picks up when I call. I often find myself thinking about him-does he have a job now? How is he faring? Does he miss me as much as I do ? Is he still with Sophia? He still hasn’t come to take his clothes from the house, I wonder why. Does he hate me so much he doesn’t even want to wear the clothes he wore when we were together ? Did he really mean it when he said I was dumb? No way, he always used to call me a smart girl whenever I gave him money, he only said that because Sophia was there.
The sound of my phone ringing startles me, it is my madam. “Hello Jessica, 11 don knack, why you never come shop yet? I no dey use my business play oh, if you no wan work , talk now o”, “ah no vex ma, I dey come , my landlord been come ask for him rent, no vex, I day road day come” I responded and hung up immediately. How is it 11 o’clock already? Did I really spend four hours thinking of Deji because I saw his empty perfume bottle in my room? God abeg, when does it end? This is the fourth time in the past five days, maybe I should just go and beg Deji to take me back, yes!, I’d do that when I close from work today. Today is Wednesday and he would be at Bayrock for Lipstick Wednesday.
I had just finished secondary school when my father sent me to learn sewing. His office had free skill acquisition slots for staff children and he was more than happy because that would mean he would not have to pay school fees again. I still remember the day he told me about it-It was a chill Thursday evening, the weather was gloomy, threatening to rain, I had just prepared jollof rice and came out to the veranda to continue the novel I was reading when I heard the sound of his horn and ran to open the gate. He drove a red Peugeot 406, the windscreen had a crack that ran from the top to the bottom, I used to call it ‘thunderstorm’. He threw the form at me , “fill it this night and give it back to me, you begin on Monday”.
“Monday? I’m supposed to go to the cybercafe to check my JAMB result, can I start on Tuesday instead?” , I asked , he turned slowly and glared at me, his face contorted with rage, his eyebrows scrunched together, forehead creased, his nostrils flared ,jaws clenched and lips tightened, that was my answer. I started on Monday and went six days a week, Sunday being the exception. Our relationship was not the regular cute father and daughter relationship but we still had our good days, like when he bought me a pair of timberland boots when I complained about being the only one who didn’t have it, but the bad days outweighed the good days, like when he flogged me with branches from a guava tree in our compound everyday in February of 2007 because I forgot to lock the gate on the 1st of February.
Today seemed longer than usual or was it just the anxiety of meeting Deji? I closed by 5 o’clock today, so I could prepare and go early before the place gets crowded. I wear a blue two piece I sewed a couple of days ago and a pair of blue slippers, pack my braids in a bun and set out to meet Deji. I haven’t seen him in six weeks and he looks as beautiful as the last time I saw him. His hair is trimmed , the first two buttons of his shirt are undone and he is still wearing the gold cuban necklace I bought for him on our anniversary last year.“Hi Deji”, I cannot tell if he turns at the mention of his name or at the sound of my voice, but he turns nonetheless. We talk for a couple of a minutes and I find myself entering a cab with him to his house, the joy in my heart knows no bounds, why didn’t I do this sooner?I should have come to see him instead of calling him repeatedly, I’m sure he doesn’t have my number anymore and Deji doesn’t answer calls from numbers not saved on his phone, coming to see him definitely did the trick. We immediately start making out as soon as we enter his house and I spend the night there.
I wake up with a banging headache and loud voices, why am I hearing a woman’s voice ? His landlady? It was Sophia.
She is throwing things at me , hurling insults at me, so much is happening at the same time, “ you little slut, what are you doing in my house? shey I gave you money , what are you still doing here? Deji, after everything I’ve done for you, you went back to the gutter”. I am struggling to find my clothes when a thunderous slap lands on my back and the sound somewhat reminds me of the crack on my fathers old car. Sophia is slapping every part of my body. At this point, I’m using my hands to cover my face, my eyes catch a glimpse of Deji sitting in one corner of the room and my first instinct is to laugh, my laughter is filled with pain, anger and hurt and it erupts out of my throat and fills the room. Sophia stops and looks at me, “pick up your things and get out”, she commands. Tears begin to pour from my eyes the moment I step out of the door, why did I let this happen? As usual, I cry on my way to my father’s house. He welcomes me with open arms, I cry on his laps, I let it all out, all the years of pent up tears and sadness, all the times my father threw me out of the house, beat me up and called me a bad luck child, he was patting my head [even though it took me moving out of the house at 18, running back crying for him to do this] and treating me like a child, I cried because I was tired of being a strong girl, I wanted to be treated like a child. I wanted to be loved.
