6th September, 2016 Writers

The morning had arrived with so much promises that the alarm clock heralded its arrival in grand style. Jane's ears could not bear the loud sound of this matching band. She turned off the clock and reached out for her laptop. The weather was perfect for her to write. 

Love had taken off the mask I feared I could not live without; the mask of self pity. I was usually told to love myself but the person in the mirror looked nothing close to the seed I wanted to water with my love. She was pale, too thin to contest in a beauty pageant, her hair was not black or even straight;it never danced on windy days. The only compliments she got were always the same from family, friends and strangers who cared. It was usually given on a low tone;more like a whisper cause she could barely hear the last part of their 'You'll be fine, you can't die young...' somehow she knew something followed before a full stop. That was the person I was to love.

I sat calmly at the reception waiting for my turn to become a case study for those who had dedicated the whole of their life to studying people like me. My palms were dripping sweat. I could feel my heart struggling to keep calm. I was nervous. I fought gallantly to keep negative thoughts away from the gate of my mind but they overpowered me. I became a visual artiste in a hospital. My mind became a canvas and soon pictures of surgical instruments and lifeless beings were painted. Surgeons with masked face occupied a side of the picture,tearing and sewing skin while nurses cleaned up the bloody tools left on the table. I opted for a long walk before it gets to my turn so I can destroy the bloody piece of art hanging on the wall of my mind.

Hadassah memorial hospital must have been built by artistes. The attention paid to details could not be equated to the attention I paid in school during maths class; it was too expensive and a broke girl like me could not afford it. The flowers were properly trimmed to equal heights and kept green. The hope lifting splashes of colours on the walls of the paediatric section took my mind off the scary thoughts of what could possibly happen to me after meeting those humans dressed in white robes. I walked pass people wearing different expressions;joy, sadness, anxiety, disappointment, fears. I wonder the expression he saw on my face when he smiled at me. 

His name was Fred; that was what I promised to call any guy who looked beyond my thin stature and yellow eyes. I was not a mind reader but mama taught me to find truth in the eyes;the doorway to a soul. His 'hi' got me fidgeting. I said 'hello' in my heart but my voice was mute for him to hear. He said 'hi' again. This time, his perfectly arranged white teeth sparkled; almost blinding my eyes. I stammered a 'hi' and smiled back. He cracked me up with so much jokes that I feared my ribs would get cracked too. There was no pity talks. I felt so alive talking about the things I love not the things I fear. Scenes from our childhood adventures enjoyed wild airplay as we laughed about our immaturity and weird fantasies. This meeting was divinely orchestrated. We walked back to the reception hoping to meet a crowd so we could spend more time together but our hope was dashed when the nurse called out my name. I felt sad leaving him. I knew we would meet again. He held my hands and said 'you are beautiful'. That was the first time I heard a different compliment. There was nothing said in a low tone. I heard him loud and clear. My heart leaped for joy and found courage to face my fears. We waved good bye and went opposite directions.

I entered the room still thinking of the magic that had taken place when a voice asked of my name. I soon remembered I didn't ask Fred of his name. I thought of running out to find him but I probably would get drowned in the sea of nameless faces. I laid on the bed in the room praying I find Fred someday. 

Jane turned off the laptop immediately she noticed that time was far spent. She was to meet up with Nina and Adesa to plan the launch of her magazine; NAKED.

Abuja, Nigeria
  • LIFE. LOVE. LOSS is the journey of Jane Andrew as she captures life in words and keeps it safe in her articles. The journey continues.

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