I Called My Mom..
.. and just cried. Of all the people I could have called, I called the one person that hates him possibly more than me.
I want so badly to be a little girl again. I want so badly to not know that kisses mean anything more than love and family and cuddles and hot milk before bed.
When I was little, it didn’t matter what, my Mom would hold me in her arms and even if the world was broken, she could fix it with a hug.
This isn’t so simple, but I wish to God it was.
I wish to God I was five again. I wish I was back building sand cities in Festac. I wish I was playing catcher with my friend’s dog. I wish walking to school on my own was a big deal again.
When I was five, he was twelve. When I was five I didn’t know who he was. When I was five I had never even heard his name before. I wish to God I was five again. When I was five the worst thing in the world was that I accepted a piece of cake from a stranger without asking my Mom permission first.
That was the biggest problem in my small, small world. I want to be five again, but you can never go back.
On my second day at work I asked him for my boss’s driver’s number. He gave it to me, but when I called, I heard him laughing on the other end.
That evening he bought me dinner at the British Council. Later on we sat in his car for ages, talking about work, books we loved, and everything else.
All that seems so far away now, like it almost never happened.
I called my Mom. She said to close the door on this chapter of my life and never look back. It’s easy to say, but I’m stuck in the doorway with one foot on either side. It’s easy to say because she hated him from the very beginning. Back then I thought she was being unfair and shockingly tribalist. Or maybe I just loved him so much I wanted everyone I loved to love him too.
Maybe I should have just listened when she was trying to tell me. By the time I could hear her loud and clear I was already fucking jaded. By the time I understood what she was trying to tell me, I was already flying on Auto.
I wish I’d understood her when I was sneaking out in the middle of the night and climbing over barbed wired gates to be with him. Maybe I should have known when I walked from Asokoro to Maitama at three in the morning because he’d abandoned me at his brother’s house and forgot all about me. Maybe I should have got the message when he hooked up with my cousin or when he flew to Kano to screw two girls; maybe I should have got the message the first time he threatened to hit me, or the morning he actually did.
I was fucking stupid. And everything was bloody stupid. Bakura has a thousand secrets that aren’t really secrets if you were there. But I was already numb. Just going through the motions. Smile, hug him, kiss him, hold hands, go somewhere, smile at more people, get in the car, fuck. Whatever. Maybe I was already too dead to care. Maybe that’s why I didn’t notice when suddenly ‘no’ turned into ‘yes’. When ‘no’ didn’t mean ‘no’ anymore. When ‘no’ was met with ‘What is no supposed to mean?’ When things actually began to hurt. When it didn’t matter if I wanted to or not anymore.
Why do you betray me even now?
Lover like no other
I would have you whipped and bound and bowed
Only you can save me
You must pay for all your dirty sins
What it hurts? Nonsense!
What it’s painful? Easy, just dissociate.
Things are easy to deal with if you can make them seem like they’re happening to another person.
You should say: Pssh! Ayo has nothing on me.
And then prove it too.”
So yeah, there were flags. Fuck it, there were bloody foghorns, but it didn’t matter because I had gone a long time ago.
I called my Mom, and she tried her best to hug me through the phone. I cried like my heart was just breaking, but everyone knows my stitched up heart has been in pieces for the longest time. Bakura just reached in like only he can and pulled at the stitches and the whole fucking thing came undone.
I called my Mom, because when I was five, all I needed was milk and a hug.