Life After Death

Mya

I feel nothing.

Watching them both stammer and stutter is epically underwhelming.

My best friend and my fiance.

Edit that, an acquaintance and my mistake.

You see after a series of convoluted events, this ill bred scoundrel confessed to having slept with my best friend several times.

She denied it of course.

Despite the monumental tragedy of it all, I was proud of her.

The One That Got Away was of the opinion that tricking both of them to a meeting for the sole purpose of a confrontation was not a good idea.

But I needed closure.

The “he said, she said” narrative was causing me cognitive dissonance. I needed to hear the truth from both of them.

Right now they were yelling at each other. Trading insults. Flecks of spit involuntarily launched at each other in naive insubordination.

No one was expecting the slap that rang out.

It was a cruel swipe that I did not see coming.

I felt my neck whiplash twice I think. Once from the recoil after the backhand blow and the second time as the back of my head was driven hard into the concrete wall behind me.

I was in a daze…, but did this wanker just hit me? In public!? Why was I bleeding?

I looked up in confusion, he was panting like an ostrich tripping on crystal meth.

Miriam (my former BFF), was screaming and pointing to my neck.

I lifted my right hand to scratch an itch on my neck and in the middle of sticky wetness, I pulled out a shard of glass.

The sight of my blood gyser-ing out of my neck is the last thing I remember.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Mya’s Dad

My family was not doing too well at the moment.

This thing between my daughter and her fiance had quite literally raised me from the dead.

I was at the hospital, but no one was talking to me.

From the little information I had gleaned, my daughter’s fiance had confessed to boinking Miriam. Her best friend.

Miriam not only denied it, but asked my daughter to call on all parties to sit and speak the truth.

The cornered young man had lashed out with a glass in his hand. The tumbler exploded upon impact and lacerated my baby’s neck in several places.

She was brought in clinically dead.

I was brought in as good as dead myself. Sigh… What do you expect. I am her father.

She was in critical condition in the ICU at the moment. And I was here, helpless. Unable to do anything.

Do you know how emasculating it is? To be unable to cater for your family?

I have been here for two days now. There was confusion and pandemonium everywhere, and I was powerless to help.

I walked into the hospital room. It was a comfortable VIP room in a private hospital.

My wife was on her knees in earnest supplication for our daughter’s life. She was kneeling by Mya’s bedside.

Mya had bandages around her neck. Two large tubes had been inserted into her open mouth. She was still unconscious.

I did not like the way she looked… Dead.

Her large eyes were partially open.

But all the sophisticated machines she was hooked up to proved that she was still alive. The medical equipment were emitting a cacophony of beeps, dings and clicks.

As a father, I could tell that my Mya was dying.

You see she could have easily fought the injuries. She is a tough girl.

But Mya was heartbroken. I know my baby. This was not going to end well.

I stalked outside the room to yell up at heaven.

Mya was an only child. A love child. My pride and joy. She is her mother’s pulse. Mya is all we have.

“God… Why? Please… ” were all the words I had spoken when I saw him talking to the nurse at the front desk down the hall from me.

I saw the nurse on duty point and he started walking toward me.

He was a handsome man.

Big.

Athletic build.

He carried himself very well.

He had an air about him.

His clothes sat like skin.

But his face was determined. His eyes had purpose.

This man was the key… A key…

He walked past the door and stopped beside me. He sat down and stared into the open room. His eyes on Mya.

“Boss… She is going to be just fine.” He said to me.

I felt tears break away from my eyes and down my cheeks.

It had been a long time since anyone in my family had spoken to me.

This man had a gift. He most certainly was one exposed to Truth. The aura he brought was pure.

Straight from ‘I AM.’

Then it dawned on me that he must have been fasting and meditating.

He looked to be about 35 years old. He was wearing a wedding band and an Invicta limited edition watch. (Yes, I know these things.) His fragrance was Creed and the aftershave he was wearing was Old Spice.

I had never met him before. At least not when I was around. But I liked him. He was a classic man. He had machismo… He had respect.

He turned and looked straight into my eyes, and smiled.

He nodded at me and stood up. He was mumbling in a strange tongue. In many strange and diverse tongues actually.

I stood up and followed him into the room.

He walked around the bed and leaned over my daughter. The minute he touched Mya’s right hand, all the machines went crazy. The pandemonium was so abrupt that my wife’s head snapped up and out of earnest prayer.

“Good afternoon ma’am.” He almost whispered at my wife.

“Good afternoon my son… Welcome. Please who are you? Are you a doctor?”

“No ma’am. I am friends with your daughter.”

By this time nurses and a doctor had arrived at the door. They literally ran through me and physically pushed my wife out of their way.

They hurriedly pulled out tubes from Mya and tried to flip my daughter onto her left side to face the door.

But Mya had the man’s hand in a vice like grip. She was choking in her own spit or blood.

“Baby please turn over” He whispered urgently to my daughter… And she allowed the nurses finally turn her onto her side.

A spatula deftly applied between Mya’s teeth allowed a mixture of blood and drool to ooze out of my baby’s mouth.

And my daughter still held on to the hand of the married man who had just called her ‘baby’. She held on like her life depended on it.

“Praise the Lord!” My wife screamed at the top of her lungs.

“Hallelujah!” The man answered bashfully.

Just then someone tapped me on the shoulder.

My time was up.

I looked back at the man and smiled with tears in my eyes. He actually smiled back before the angel and I returned.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Mya

He was here!

The One That Got Away was here!!

He was sitting next to my mom enduring the most awkward questions.

Lol… My poor teddy bear!

He caught my eye and smiled. My mom smiled at him too… Awww…

I only wish daddy had met him. Daddy would have loved him.

Rest in peace papa… I miss you every day.

The End.

Do You Love Me?

I had just taken this picture when she asked me that question.

Had to remove her image… Sorry. Privacy policies…

Yes, that question.

We were in a popular frozen yogurt franchise. We were sitting around a table meant for four people.

She was seated by my left hand side. ‘Mrs’ (not mine, but another’s) was seated by my right hand side. Her husband was still at the toilets.

My angel had ‘to go’ and I had taken her to the female side. Handed her over to a vivacious looking female employee who benevolently escorted her in and out. I had waited outside (of course) trying to look busy and non-creepy loitering around the female half of the toilets.

Mrs’ husband had also felt the burden to unburden. And so we three had left her, (Mrs) guarding our frozen delights, and table.

‘Vivacious’ returned my angel safe and sound, but she was suddenly flirty and inquisitive… Sigh… At the risk of being immodest, I am compelled to inform you that women find me attractive.

That is all I have to say about that… No, no, that is a story for another day.

Anyways…

I diplomatically defused Vivacious and turned just in time to see my angel walking back toward me. She had a look in her eyes that reminded me of me. She and I share DNA… A lot of DNA I think. Like me, she is territorial. Not jealous, territorial. I immediately assumed that she did not like Vivacious.

By the time we got back, my frozen yogurt was now a complex mixture of atrocious flavors and color. Undeterred I raised my cup to sip…

Out of my peripheral, I saw Mrs visibly inhale in near ecstasy as I opened my (rather small) mouth.

‘Mrs Johnson’…

Hmmm…

Where do I begin with her?

She refers to me as ‘the one that got away’.

She has liked me for years!

She was (in my opinion) one of those misguided people… Those rebels without a cause. She seemed determined to live life on her own terms and made sure that we all knew this.

Interestingly, no one cared what she did with her life or vagina.

I was part of a small ad hoc committee she once assembled. She had slept with all seven of the eight men there. And with two of the women too. Her agenda was ‘career advice’. I was glad that I could not make that meeting.

I do not suffer fools lightly.

Without regard for my personal code of ethics, she did not just overtly convey her feelings for me, she proceeded to hint that I marry her.

Me!? Marry… Her?

Haaaa!!?? (in a Yoruba accent)

Anyways…

A few years ago, this young man bravely walked up to me and requested that I introduce him to her… He said that he wanted to marry her.

And Shazam!

He did.

All is well that ended well…

My contract with the United Nations had me in Nigeria for a year at this time and I had another year to go.

In light of recent kidnappings, rape of children and other such abuse, I had established a ‘safe word’ with my seven year old angel.

An innocuous phrase. To be used when, and if she was ever molested in any way. Especially if the perpetuator was within proximity. Or it was urgent but I had company.

The phrase was the question, “DO YOU LOVE ME?”

I slowly lowered the cup and dropped it on the table without sipping.

My mind went nuclear… Then I channeled the rage in seconds to a single laser beam.

“I love you baby” I replied softly looking deep into her eyes. Searching for the hurt… The pain… A sign… Anything!

Nada.

It was like looking into my own eyes… No dice.

The abuser(s) was / were definitely on our table. Mr and / or Mrs.

But how?

When?

Why?

Were they mad? Did they not know what I would do to them? The lengths I would go to kill them painfully?

Then ‘Mr’ re-joined us.

The atmosphere had suddenly changed. The tension though intangible, was palpable.

“What did I miss?” He quipped eyes roving from his wife, to me and then my angel.

“Nothing bruh… Just some love between my baby and me…” I rhymed sing-song like lightly punching my daughter’s shoulder.

My angel’s eyes were like laser beams boring through the back of my head.

Something was wrong… Dear Lord, what was she trying to show me!?

Her eyes wandered toward the entrance and all our eyes followed hers…

“Is that your car driving away Papa?”

We all craned our necks and established that it was not my SLS AMG.

“Let’s finish up…, bottoms up!” I suggested.

We all quaffed the contents of our cups and dropped the cups simultaneously.

My angel looked downright distressed at this point. Her curiously beautiful features further enhanced by tears in both big innocent eyes.

I winked at her…

She sat up blinking and cleaning her eyes hopeful…

“I wish we had a child together Dan…”

Mrs Johnson gravely intoned. Eyes dreamy.

Sweeeeeeetttt Jeeeeeeessuuuss!!!!! The shock almost killed three of us.

Her husband viciously spat out her name in lieu of a dire warning.

“I imagine your girth in my tightness Danny – love …”

“inna lillahi wa inna ilayhi raji’un…”

(PLEASE ask Wikipedia for the meaning)

I jumped up like a bullet and bodily picked up my kid and ran for the front door.

“I’m sorry, but I love you…”

I heard her shout at me as I fled into my automobile and fled the vicinity like a banshee exorcized.

I pulled over a few minutes later and parked. Engine idling.

“I saw her pour something in your yogurt Papa… I didn’t know what else to do”

“Thank you baby. You did good. I am proud of you. Using my car as a distraction… Epic” I remember saying, nodding in approval.

Her face scrunched up… “Distraction… I was not…” Her voice trailed off.

“Papa… No! How…?”

“I switched cups with hers” I replied laughing.

“Why was she trying to kill you Papa?”

Mmmmmmm…

The blissful wonder of innocence and its attendant peace.

In rare moments like this, the true essence of kids beam forth. Bathing their listeners in righteousness.

Where would I begin? The devil? Demons? Witchcraft? Hexes? Love potions? Love charms to enslave? Kayan Mata?

Naaah…

“She is a very, very naughty aunty… She is no longer our friend.” I (parent-ally) informed my ward.

Mrs Johnson suffered a mental breakdown from that instant. She deteriorated in mental health until she passed.

I hear that it was not pleasant way to go. She died in pain and agony.

Remember?

Remember?

How my eyes could caress your soul

How our minds became one being

How we did not need to guess

Remember?

How I would touch you there

How I would set you on fire

How I was all you needed ad infinitum

Remember?

How your zeniths were like life!

How your body craved mine

How we would simultaneously soar

Remember?

Our plans for us?

Our faith when we looked at us?

Those loving, unspoken vows?

Remember?

Missing Us

What happened to us?!

Why do we still bother?

Nothing is as it was.

………

Now we have nothing to talk about

We used to jabber and babble

These days it’s like we hurt our mouth

Tiny issues typically erupt in trouble.

……….

Lo hearts; now calcified into stone

Are we trapped, or fighting for ‘us’?

Sex and passion… Long gone

Politeness used to conceal animus

Unfaithfulness is not sex alone.

Agbokim and Her Fairy

The story I am about to tell you is a true story.

Well to some extent. If you are from the enchanting land of Agbokim, or have heard tales from that land you have an unfair advantage.

Agbokim is the home of seven waterfalls. Very close to the border of Cameroon. It is a beautiful place.

You can pay for a tour. You will be regaled with a fantastic tale by the ‘curator’ as he is wont to call himself. These tales are generally too fanatic to believe depending on how much of an idiot you are.

Sorry…

One of these tales takes place in a natural cave to the left of the waterfalls. I am shown the thrones of deities. One male, one female. A king and his queen.

His throne has a thick jute rope on top of it. Doubled like you would a lasso.

No not you… I am not acknowledging you in any way. I am only looking to describe the rope…

Her throne has the tip of a spear driven into the rock representing her seat. Pointed end of said spear upwards.

The curator described how the king was dressed. Between you and me, I do not give two flying pieces of excrement. What is my business how the king is dressed.

The queen was dressed in beads he told me. Beads from neck down. I do not want to insult the curator, but I question his skills at describing things