I didn’t know this could be my last smile with a woman, I was laughing louder as if I knew this will be my last breath. Just that cold iron on my head, I became a kneeling corpse ready to be declared dead.
At Heathrow airport with my wife returning to Nigeria after an awesome vacation. The picture of the slenderly sexy woman pacing toward us with a pistol from behind was a bugaboo. Just a flash look behind, I recognized Emily, I knew I’m in trouble, I knew I’m going to pay for this, and I knew she will take my life. My wife didn’t know what I knew but she knew the uneasiness in me as that look back sent a chilling fear down my spine. Another thing my wife didn’t know was that the lady fluttering toward us had a gun and the bullets inside it were meant for me.
“He’s admiring that woman; maybe her beauty has enticed him.” My wife’s jealous mind must have been telling her, judging by the nasty looks on her face. I was not interested in what she knew and knew not, not even interested if she was heated up by jealousy. The only thing I was interested in was to avoid creating a scene while I try as much as possible to run away from Emily, run for my dear life. But before I could make further move, Emily was right in our face, pointing a revolver with live ammunition on my head. “Devil, please save me.” That was the first thing that came to my mind, I was sure God will ignore me at this moment, the way I ignored Emily’s calls. I’ve hurt Emily so badly she deserved to shoot me, and I deserved to take the bullets. The only person that didn’t deserve what we both deserved was my wife, she deserved an explanation.
Damon was not here to intercede on my behalf, he must be hurt too, I didn’t intercede for him when I should. Five years and two months he was when I left him and Emily, exactly four years and ten months ago. Yes Damon was not here, but my past was here to intercede between the life I had lived in United States of America and this moment I want to die in London. Stoutly I raised my head, looking into Emily’s eyes glowing with animosity just like the stainless handgun she pointed on my head, ready to revenge. She was still as beautiful as she was when we first met in a shopping mall in Philadelphia United States of America, ten years ago. The jumpsuit she was putting on was sparkling white as the wedding gown she wore on our wedding day. The only thing that had changed was that she’s now a threat to my life, which was the opposite of what she was five years and, that we lived together as husband and wife. An angel ready to lay down her life for just an African man, now she was ready to lay me down six feet deep down. Then, love was her opium; she helplessly and stupidly fell for my charms. Now hate was her opium and she stupidly wants me to die in her arms. The same arms that took me in when I stepped into the oyinbo man’s land wandering on the streets of Philadelphia. Everything she had, she gave me, and everything she had left, I took. The hate from her family and friends for marrying a black man she took. I shattered her life, leaving her and our son behind, marrying a Nigerian lady. Now it occurs to me that she will as well shatter my brain, leaving my Nigerian wife behind.
Getting down on my knees was the only option, not because I wanted to plead with Emily, I knew she won’t listen to me. I knelt down because I wanted to whip up people’s emotions so that they might intercede. But then I was wrong, I was a black man and she was a white woman, all blacks are criminals; that must be their mindset as they passively and pensively watch. My Nigerian wife was the only one left in utter bewilderment as to what was happening. “Emily, please don’t shoot me at least for the sake of Damon.” These words reverberating in my head while I placed my hands behind my head waiting for Emily to pull the trigger. “Please don’t shoot him.” My Nigerian wife was already rolling on the floor, the same way the bullets case will roll from the muzzle when Emily finally pulls the trigger. “Shut the trap, you murder fucker.” Emily roars, tears cascading down her plump cheeks hitting exactly on the very spot my shattered brain will hit as soon I was shot. I was just a corpse, a kneeling corpse waiting to be declared so by Emily’s index finger curled round the trigger. “These fingers don’t deserve to pull this trigger.” I was saying in my heart, watching her well-manicured nails entwined the pistol. As I was motionless, I began looking behind Emily what will happen behind this moment just a ticking second. How my Nigerian wife will be rolling on the floor uncontrollably with my cadaver lying in my own pool of blood, and Emily being manacled by the cops convicted for murder, heading to the penitentiary. And finally, my mother watching in devastation air ambulance delivering my corpse in our village. Continues…………