MEETING THE FUTURE. . .A brief recount (Prose)

Posted: October 13, 2014 in PROSE
Tags: , , ,

by Onugbolu Sinclair Chisom

Hands held tightly together with emanating smiles filled with radiance. The scene was in the serenity and ambience of a cool and calm neighbourhood in the zone 1 area of Abuja. Two lovers stood staring into each other’s eyes, speechless, with only body language left as the only means by which they communicated their undying love for each other.
Nothing else in the world mattered except for that moment of silent screams of love professed between these two love birds.
I knew he had fallen In love with Funke and even when I had tried countless times to make sense of my feelings, I still arrived at the same conclusion. It was time to stop fighting.
Going back to how it all started was a bother sometimes, as was with history and dates in general to me, but this was one story worth committing to memory. A lane down memory’s highway worth walking.

* * * *
‘I know you are still with them, you cheat! otherwise why do they call you as often as they do, aren’t they supposed to be your exes?’ Ifeyinwa shouted at the top of her voice as I looked on in complete awe.
It was always a problem when I get a call from a female, I was practically restricted from using social media, and it was usually verbal harassment from time to time.
She was the drama queen of queens, the executive producer of all things acting.
My friends would ask, ‘Emeka, how do you do it? I swear you dey try.’
‘Na God oh!’ I would always reply.
I wasn’t a player like she had made me out to be, she would always check my phone even though I locked with several codes and patterns, a feat even the prestigious CIA would find tedious. I still wonder how she did it, but trying to figure it out will only make me age faster.
We made up more times than models aspiring to be beauty queens, our countless fights and subsequent break-ups were too numerous to count, and also phenomenal each time. But on this faithful day our conversation ended thus, ‘F**k you, I don’t care what you do with this relationship anymore.’
It stuck in my mind, I had vowed not to continue with it, to forever end it and face whatever may follow. I decided also, to look no further as I was convinced love was not for me.
Ifeyinwa’s relationship was but a needle among other needles in a haystack. I’d had my fair share of bad relationships, some of my prior experiences terrible, others, not so much. . .and I had decided not to keep looking.

* * * *
‘Meet my Funke baby.’ My overly jovial friend in his usual happy mood said as he introduced me to a mermaid or a goddess whichever I believed her to be as I stared with arms outstretched, everything paused around me then.
I felt a rush of emotions so strong backed up with an overdose of adrenaline. My heart was racing and I began to feel hot inside. I wondered when I suddenly began to develop impromptu fever. Then I realized it was the effect of her skin against mine.
‘Hello.’ I said as I struggled for the right facial expression and the right words.
‘I’m funke. . .Emeka, nice to meet you, my pleasure.’ She said in a rather musically voice.
Right then I noticed the birds gathered on a nearby tree to listen to her voice. It was melodious, like a nightingale at the break of dawn. In her meticulous NYSC enforced white T-shirt and shorts, she looked like an angel, and I felt like I had been touched by one. I did not have the words for her eyes as I struggled to look away from them. I was jolted back to reality by Patrick when I realized I still held her hands and muttered a quick apology.

* * * *
I had recited to myself “she is not yours to think about” countless times in my head anytime my mind threatened to go out of its boundaries. Besides I wasn’t going to be coerced into falling for anyone else just because the connection felt great.
Or wasn’t I? Secretly I yearned to see her again even though I made sure my actions or words betrayed no such emotions.
I would sometimes ask Patrick, ‘How is your Funke baby? Omo that your chic makes so much sense oh you know bah?’
And he would glow like a thousand watt bulb with an ear-to-ear-smile and say ‘Funke fa? I know oh, she’s so fine but na God oh my brother.’
We would share a good laugh and I died after every one of those conversations.
Then came the cultural day, a day set out for the display of various cultures and traditions, guys and girls were adorned in various traditional attires, costumes and accessories depicting the vastness of the Nigerian culture.
Funke looked be-dazzling, dressed as a queen in Edo state, royalty was definitely befitting of one so lovely with her sedate walk and shiny spotless skin. She turned heads with her royal gait. I took a couple of pictures with her which I vowed to make multiple backup copies of. I was not about to lose such a digital relic.
The mandatory three weeks passed rather uneventful after that. Some people had anxiously waited to get their posting letters while others were confident about where they would be posted to.
I was among the anxious lot and my posting took me far away from any prospects of ever crossing paths with the graceful Funke. I tried not to think about it, but I had little control over my mind any time it veered towards thoughts of her.

* * * *
Months passed and it seemed like I had successfully been able to suppress any proactive feeling once nurtured towards her. I hadn’t gotten her phone number just her blackberry pin as was the trend then; as such I had to make do with a once-in-a-while chat with her. I hardly knew what to say to her in all of conversations then, until I found out she is a dedicated fan of the arsenal football club like I am. This was match-made in heaven. I genuinely enjoyed her virtual company each time we would chat and suddenly we lost contact again.
It was actually my fault as I had become a technology/gadget prostitute. I jumped from phone to phone and device after device I was insatiable and as such communication was unsteady.
Several months had gone by yet again, before I felt I was settled with a device. I had gotten tired of the emotional instability as well, and as such I decided once and for all to approach her. But I would do it with caution while gently preparing my platform from which to launch my already prepared manifesto. I was ready for Funke, I was powered and ready to go.

* * * *
‘Area one, Berger, Wuse, Area one, Berger, Wuse. . .’ The conductors continued to chant at the top of their voices amidst other park sounds as we drove slowly pas the park.
I attempted to blot out the noise so I could effectively think of my approach. Staring at her picture seemed to do the trick as I had begun to filter, the voices became clearer in my head and without warning, I typed on my phone “give me your number.” This might not have passed as a pick up line or any kind of line anywhere in the world, but it was the genesis of a revelation and the end of the beginning.
I had broken the ice and my speech was going to be verbally delivered. She needed to listen to the sincerity and urgency of my profession of this love which had been at first sight. I was in the “Ghen-Ghen” mode as we often referred to “readiness” when we were kids.
For where? I didn’t profess any love to her, as soon as I heard her voice I started talking about irrelevant things after we had exchanged pleasantries. Things like the Barclays English Premiership, and life after service in general, among others, were what we talked about and as the saying goes, “my liver failed me.” I urged death to do as it would. This was the last straw after the long nights of practising and researching, I failed to convey my heart’s message in words and comprehensive sentences.
“wetin concern Ox-lade chamberlain with matter wey I wan reason Barbina?” I asked myself countless times as I wiped the sweat off my face.
I don’t know if it was the intense heat or the apprehension from the call that made me break into sweat. Either way I realized I was sweating profusely.
Days passed and I had gotten into a rhythm. I began to pour my heart’s contents in bits, and carefully measured bits they were too. Calculated in such a way as not to drive her away and also to drive home my point.
I was almost certain it sounded like a joke to her at first, ridiculous even. But as nights turned into days she had begun to see the seriousness of my efforts.
“What is it you want exactly?” She asked.
In what I decided was the “prime” conversation and without mincing words, I told her “I want to be him.”
That to me was the highlight of it all. After subsequent chats she asked that I be patient until we were able to arrange a physical meeting. The virtual communique had to be halted. She needed to see me to ascertain my sincerity and probably reaffirm my looks. I laughed as the thought entered my head.
“She won’t want to be with a monkey.” I said to myself.
And even when it was supposed to be on a lighter note, I was apprehensive and anxious within.
We met over lunch; at least that’s what it was meant to be even though we ended up not eating, we were carried away by the magic of it all. The day hadn’t started on a good note. I was extraordinarily late because I couldn’t find what I termed “the perfect spot” for our meeting. I was frustrated and tired but all that as I found out was not to matter. She picked our spot and it was perfect. We talked for hours on end, I still remember her bright smile that opened to reveal a perfect set of dentition. . .could anyone be more perfect? I thought to myself as I allowed myself get carried away by her eyes. I was often caught staring. I loved her.
I chose not to be given an answer there and then for fear of not being able to contain whatever feelings that may have burst forth from an already anxious soul. I wouldn’t have been able to contain myself, whatever the answer may have been whether it was a “yes” or a “no”, this was worse than a proposal. I couldn’t get my mind off her throughout the ride home as I struggled to maintain sanity. I sat in silence and thought.
I remembered how I spat lines like I was constantly in a music studio booth only for her to repel each time for fear of being betrayed. It was tiring, the journey so far had made me to reflect; she wasn’t playing “hard-to-get,” she was only guarding her heart, her exes had made things very difficult for her future that was to be “ME”.
My phone rang later that day, or was it night? And when I saw the caller ID “Funke” I ran out of oxygen. It was like asphyxiation. I finally picked and the only thing I could remember was, “I really like you and all, and I want to see where this goes so, yes I will go out with you” or was that the way she said it? Either way Funke was officially my girl.

* * * *
Time has passed and the magic of that day still continues till this very moment. Funke is still my “general wahala prescribed drug” from heaven. The angel that abandoned immortality for me, my better half and my companion. I often tell myself if she was Eve I would eat a basket of the apples. I understand the plight of Adam, and I am no longer angry at how the creation story turned out.
I am forced to bring my recount to an end, because time will never be enough and forever is too short in the long run to let Funke know how much I adore, care and love her.

* * * * * * * * * * *THE END* * * * * * * * * * *

Onugbolu Sinclair Chisom is a mathematician and computer scientist. A graduate of Federal University of Technology, Owerri, Nigeria. A founding member of Lyriversity. He lives in Lagos, Nigeria. You may reach him on twitter: @vaischancellor

Onugbolu Sinclair Chisom, Photo courtesy of Facebook Onugbolu Sinclair's image

Onugbolu Sinclair Chisom, Photo courtesy of Facebook Onugbolu Sinclair’s image

Lyriversity — Liberty of Creativity

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Comments
  1. Anene Francis says:

    Lol… some part got me laughing. Reminds me of one poem I wrote sometime back (Enchanted). Nice work mr Sinclair. (Wait o. Have you been anonymous? )
    *Bia, who put ‘The End’ here. The ending does not coincide with the begining o. And did Funke breakup with Emeka’s friend before chosing Emeka? OR is it Emeka’s friend that recounted the first part of the story?… Waiting for the continuation.

  2. Anene Francis says:

    Lol… some part got me laughing. Reminds me of one poem I wrote sometime back (Enchanted). Nice work mr Sinclair. (Wait o. Have you been anonymous? )
    *Bia, who put ‘The End’ here. The ending does not coincide with the begining o. And did Funke breakup with Emeka’s friend before chosing Emeka? OR is it Emeka’s friend that recounted the first part of the story?… Waiting for the continuation.

    (Need more proofreading sha. Some misplaced fullstops, commas and missing words.)

  3. Noel says:

    This is emotional, I wished that it went on..!

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