ON THE OTHER SIDE A short story by Roli Hazel Oburoh

Second part.
I would have said I missed you but you wouldn’t believe me. How has it been?. Really, how is everything?. How is your dad?. I hear he was terribly sick. So sorry. It’s sad you know, to hear this from other people considering how close we used to be. I was thinking about it the other day and I caught myself smiling. Thinking about us is never pleasant still I smile. It strange, we shared so much. And there’s so much to laugh about, but there’s always “this” one. The guy with the dirty “fair”. I’m certain his light complexion wasn’t honestly unattractive. Our bias was sentimental. Hidden love is hatred after all. He was all you talked about then. And there was one I talked about too. And on one day, the two of us, sitting on the books we brought to night class to read, talking about them, they passed us. The two of them. One with his “dirty fair”, the other looking like dragon fly. It’s not the way it happened that makes me still smile, it’s the speed at which my “Gala” wrap and your “naked bread” found their way to your bag. We laughed for almost two hours after. Or was it when, you remember that guy, what was his name again? with his upside down triangle head that said we acted like lesbians only because you constantly used me as an excuse to get away from his mouth odour. That I’m sure was not sentiment. It’s okay, I forgive you. He detested the hold I had over you. He told me himself. He liked me and thought I was funny, he also told me that himself. He was probably telling me those things to get on my good book and in turn yours. He knew I had your ears. But that was in the past, I doubt you’d be able to sit through a ten minutes conversation now. So much has happened. Intensity. Bad blood. It’s unrecognizable what has become of our friendship.
You must be wondering why I decided to write this now. To make amends you imagine, or a sort of justification for my conscience. Honestly, No. I’m just curious. Usually people are curious for answers, because of unresolved emotions, despite unanswered questions and maybe too much doubt, too much fear and far too many people. But not me. I’m curious for how this meets you. Your reaction when you read this, when you see me again through this pages. That is what makes me curious, for even my own feelings, my expectations, my relief and hope when this is over. I hear you’re seeing someone now. I’m impressed honestly. You were by far one of the most beautiful girls in our class, still I was sure you would never like anyone, being called into full time ministry and all. Lord, no one seemed to catch your fancy. Not a rich lawyer, an average PhD student, our classmates, even the pastors on the vineyard of the lord which you served. It was another funny memory. But what was most funny was when someone did. Or did he?.
You were terrified and you called me, your words were difficult to “follow”. I mostly heard prophecy, threats, future husband and church. So I put them together. Oh how I laughed and even injured myself which you took as “another sign” from the lord. I’m glad that is all in the past. So you’re dating someone? I hear he’s a fine man in his thirties and quite tenacious in catching them young for the Lord. I hope you’re happy. But please, permit my curiousity to extend a bit to the topic I vowed not to bring up.The only question I think I’m curious to get an answer to. Why him?. Why did you fancy him above the numerous advances you get. Why did you decide it would be him?. I guess in reality what I’m really asking Is why you do the things you do. Why you did some things my mind has refused to accept but don’t worry I wouldn’t stretch that far. I’ll take it your answer, if any, if you choose to reply this letter, would give me a clue so as to satisfy all other curiousity. My emotions are all over the place, another curious thing but, what really did he do to get you to like him. Of all the guys you met, we met, Destiny would have been a good match. I was certain. There’s nothing he didn’t do to get you to recipocrate his affection. Almost threatened you and your friends, me. You refused and you were adamant, swearing by the God of heaven and a few others that you did not and could never like him. So in our fourth year in the university, we sat to talk. It’s strange through, him and I, talking. But it was one thing that led to the other. First, suya that he bought, boredom that never departed from law Faculty and curiousity to hear what the other had to say. There was a moment. He was candid and vulnerable and I could see his heart for you. He didn’t deny his affection for you. Personally I believe him the most noble man, decency you would never admit exists in him. It’s fine. But there’s something between us. I can’t explain it. I believe him. If anything, when he talked about you, he was glowing.
My emotions are still all over the place. So I’m no longer big on movies. I find them too predictable these days. Still, I saw one recently, it reminded me of the time we went to the cinema close to school and had to go back to the hostel almost midnight. How stupid. To pass that “bank” road. And more stupid because I was the only one wearing a penciled skirt. If “anything” had happened, you would have had another testimony of the faithfulness of God to have escaped yet another molestation. Thankfully, nothing happened. But something about the movie and the thought of molestation made me nostalgic. It reminded me of Destiny and the notorious molestation episode. Notorious because it wasn’t the first but something about it stood out. How could he molest you?, was the version we heard. He had his own version too, not many people heard it. It was not too different from yours, just some extra details that did not include you running for dear life with hints of you enjoying it. Otherwise how did you relate the story to a few others that same night and not too far from the spot?. It’s all good, was his conclusion . All is fair in love and war. But you, you told your truth you said, God will vindicate his own, you said.
In the midst of “all the whole” back and forth I came to understand that the story never quite made its way to your church. Your esteemed church leaders never heard anything. The fear of the loss of purity may have driven you far from them but did it also drive you far from me?, from telling me the truth?. He never got over it or it seemed he would never get over it, but he did, but he “didn’t”. That’s all in the past now, you should see his babe, you would trip. She’s exactly right for him, I wish them the very best. I saw them once, wearing something like matching outfit. I believe his happy. I believe him, still. What’s that thing people have in their eyes when they are in love?. Glitters. I think I saw some.
It still makes me worry. Why you did the things you did. Why you bothered lying and on someone who meant nothing to you. Why I was a late comer to your sexual escaped. Seeing our second year which was a pact (an oath really the way you handled it) to sanctification was also a season of love and self discovery for you, with Ben. I wasn’t hurt you lied to me, you were lying to me or that I heard from Ben three years later. It made me wonder why you did the things you did. But that wasn’t all. How you saw prophecies about being the next “Mummy GO” in your fellowship and ‘married’ that with sharing a bed ( pun intended) with Ben. Also in the month of our fasting and sanctification. It’s just something. But a second part of my decision to write you aside projecting my hurt to you and trivializing things as important as rape, because that is what you would say. I know it’s how you think. And like the next chapter I’m about to bring in, you also think I’m presumptuous. So yes, you would say, has my struggle with depression brought me this low as to project. No it’s not that I think like you. It’s not that I think it’s true or that there’s even a nagging feeling or any feeling at all that makes me think so. It’s that I know how you think.
For the next chapter, I wrote him again. Angry, aggressive messages I shouldn’t even think of but I did and wrote him. Him, the one you didn’t like and didn’t see what people saw in him despite his obvious charms and conspicuous academic achievements being the only first class graduate in final year. But Jesus, what did people see in him?. You were genuinely concerned and disturbed and you hated him, you said so yourself. I tried to make you see him differently. I wasn’t paid but I tried. I understood, did not understand, but understood your irritation. So I pacified. I was only mildly surprised you kissed him the first chance you got. The literal first time you spoke with him alone. This, after you hated him, you said so yourself. This, after, I loved him, you said so yourself. I wasn’t upset, I just wondered why you did the things you did.
So I wrote him and it was one of the best decisions I’ve made. After he did me a solid by letting me be. And it really had nothing to do with you, the hate messages but I thought of you. It maybe had something to do with me making my message public for the first thing and spotting a comment you made twenty five minutes earlier which he noticeably ignored. That’s beside the point. I had hopes writing you would help me stop sending hate messages. He did do me a favour anyway. It’s been seven months and I still think about him. It’s been almost nine month and you’re still everywhere on his Instagram. Your feelings are all over the place and so am I. And I thought to reconnect.

A short story by Roli Hazel Oburoh