Part I.
The day my best friend died, I cried. I didn’t dig a well in my eyes because he was dead or because I had missed him. I cried because I owed him. The tears were for all the days I misjudged him, all the years I asked him to be strong, all the hours I ignored him, and all the times I forgot about him.
He was happy. I had never seen a much happier person. Even when coal burned his feet, he remained cheerful and optimistic. But life never rewarded his happiness with good deeds. One day I sat with him while he flirted with the girls whose complexion looked fair and whose buttocks were round and firm, like a drunkard's belly. The girls were a distraction. I always wondered why my friend needed distractions, especially the female kind. We were young, and we were supposed to be studying, but here he was, teasing them about his trip to America, the trip either of us knew he hadn’t gone. After the girls had left, I summoned the courage to ask him why he was such a flirt. He looked at me for a few seconds like I had just said something foolish. He smacked his lips, using his tongue as grease to oil the wheel of words that were going to come forth next. I prepared myself, settling myself in a comfortable position about to listen to an extended essay from the mouth of Cassanova, maybe I would also learn a thing or two, and perhaps it might help me overcome my shyness whenever it was time to talk to girls. But after what seemed like an eternity, my friend smiled, tapped me on the shoulder and said, “I enjoy it.” I was shocked, my mind going crazy, as I grumbled internally, “what is it about friends that made them hide secrets from one another?” I asked.
Part II.
The following day, it was time for morning devotion. As usual, I dragged myself out of bed. The worst time of the day is here again—the early morning routine. But as soon as I got to the field, I knew something was amiss. Boys were gathered in clusters discussing something in hushed tones. I wondered what it was while I glanced around, looking for my friend. I had not seen him since the previous day. I left him disappointed by him not telling me his Cassanova secrets. Then, I heard the news. Someone had mockingly told me, “your friend was rushed to the clinic at midnight. He saw ghosts. I’m sure you’d also see ghosts soon too.”
I ignored the fool, but I was embarrassed and ashamed. This wasn’t the first time such a thing would happen to him. I never understood the problem he had. To me, it was just another tantrum. He had a couple of those. It’s usual. He’d be back to normal in no time. But I was wrong. Ten days he was gone. When I couldn’t hold it anymore, I decided it was time for me to pay a visit to the clinic. But on getting to his room, I heard laughter; I peeped and saw him surrounded by girls. I had been right; my friend had his usual tantrums. He’s doing well now. His girls are beside him. So I left, without him seeing me or saying any words to him.
He came back a few days later. He was a different man, full of life and laughter. The more open he became, the less close we became. Compared to him, I was reserved. Asides from the fact that my heart raced when I spoke to girls, I didn’t like to be open. I preferred my closed space. So he and I barely spoke, I always envied him; he was happy in ways I never could’ve been. Everything was going smoothly for him. So I didn’t need to inform him that I was leaving the school. I never saw him again, till years later.
Part III.
Just like shooting stars, the thought of my friend travelled through my heart. Every time it did, I would say a prayer for him and hope he was safe. We were so far away from one another. Even when I got his number from a mutual friend, I never called. I didn’t see the need to. I never did. But I prayed in my heart for him. That was enough, I thought. We were adults now, so I hoped he had outgrown his tantrums.
The next time I did see him, I could barely recognise him. He saw me first and called out to me. I took a few moments to notice him. But his round, fleshy face gave him away. He had become an enormous mass of a man. But what stood out from him was the specific eccentric energy that I saw in his appearance. I was taken aback and shocked at first, and embarrassed. We exchanged pleasantries, and even when he tried hugging me, I felt my body go stiff. We settled for a handshake instead. His hands felt heavy with the number of metals arranged on his fingers. We spoke for a short while, exchanging contacts. We finally went our separate ways, and I was glad to be away from him. I didn’t want people to see us together, I had a reputation to keep, and I wasn’t about to let it get soiled by an eccentric old friend. I blocked and deleted his number from my phone after that meeting. Some things are meant to die.
PART IV.
One dry-harmattan morning, I was already having a hell of a day. Everything seemed to be working against me, a car that wouldn’t start, a shoe that broke its sole, a phone that had its screen broken, and a boss that wouldn’t just keep shut about a proposal I had submitted a few days ago riddled with so many errors. I wondered if two of my father’s sisters had begun their duties over my life. Then I got this flimsy call. It was a number I couldn’t recognise, so I hesitated in picking, but I did anyway. The first voice I heard was a female’s, after the usual “hello” she gave a long sigh. I wondered if it was those routine scam calls and was about to cut before she spoke again. This time her voice seemed to be breaking under the weight of the sound she made, “he is dead.” Then she cut the call.
My heart raced, I tried calling back severally, but she didn’t answer the phone. In a panic, I called everyone I knew, and they all seemed, well, and so I thought, “who was dead?” I finally settled that it was probably a mistake. A few days went by, and my father’s sisters had gone on retirement, nothing my mother’s prayers couldn’t fix. Everything was back on track. Then I received a call, I recognised the number from the previous days and decided to ignore it, but after several missed calls, I decided to pick up. I angrily barked into the receiver, “I think you’re mistaking me for someone else. Please stop disturbing me.” At the other end, she sighed and began speaking. She mentioned my name first, asking if she was correct, I answered in affirmation. This time my heart was racing, then she continued, “your friend is dead, he died the day I called you, his burial is stated tomorrow, I called you as per his wishes. I apologise if I disturbed you, but I need to give you a letter. You must receive it tomorrow.” I could feel the saliva in my mouth dry, I was petrified for a few seconds only hearing both our breaths through the phone speakers. I found my voice. I began talking again, “please, what’s the name of this fellow you said died.” She sighed, again. She started crying, “you don’t even know his name?” The moment she mentioned his name, I knew something in my heart broke. I couldn’t hear or see anything else again. The only things I could pick from what she said was that she was his younger sister, and she would text me the house address. That night was the longest night I have ever experienced. I didn’t know I had an aquifer in my eyes. I hated myself for everything. I contemplated going to the funeral. It was hypocritical of me to go. I had ignored him all his life. Why then should I celebrate his life? But I knew this was time to show up for him since he had also wished it. So that morning before dawn, I set out on the longest journey I had ever embarked on.
Part V.
I met his sister in front of the church. Even in mourning, she looked graceful. I remembered how much my friend spoke about her back in the day. He must’ve been proud of her. Immediately she saw me she handed me an envelope, turned around and left. Everyone was inside the church now, but I sat down on the stairs outside and began reading the letter;
Dear friend,
I hope you are good and life is treating you well? I apologise for communicating with you like this and bothering you with a piece of information as delicate as this; I do not know how else to contact you. The numbers you gave me weren’t connecting. But I understood why they weren’t. It is no fault of yours but mine, I was not forthcoming and secretive, and I embarrassed you a lot. For all of this, I apologise. Plenty of times, I wanted to tell the truth about how I felt and what happened to me, but we were young, and I didn’t want to overwhelm you with my misery. I was heartbroken when you left school then without informing me. Your presence alone back then helped my sanity, and the moment you left, I was gone too, my mind vanished, and I drowned.
All of this began when; my school father started penetrating me. At first, he claimed it was a mistake, but subsequently, it became a routine. I would scream and bleed, but he would never stop. I was ashamed and didn’t have anyone else to talk to, so I began throwing tantrums to escape from his grasps, but suddenly the tantrums became real, and he didn’t stop even when I was admitted. Plenty of times, I wanted to reach out to you and tell you to stay with me, but you were far away. I don’t judge you or feel betrayed. I understood. You were reserved. So I tried to mask the pain by being open. Remember the day you asked me why I enjoyed flirting? The truth was that I didn’t want it, but I had found myself getting addicted to my school father’s insertions. So I thought being with as many girls would rewire my mind, but I was wrong. My mind had defaulted.
Shortly after you left, I fell ill. I was rushed to the clinic, and after several tests, it was discovered that I had mild liver disease. The doctors claimed it was probably from an untreated infection. I knew what it was, but I didn’t reveal it. I wanted to reach out to you. I couldn’t tell anyone else, and by this time, my school father had graduated. Every day I became worse, mentally and physically. But I persevered. I knew one day I would see you and tell you everything like friends do. You were my only friend in the world. But time and hope are silent killers both I didn’t have on my side.
The day I saw you, I knew I was going to die. My liver was gone already. I was excited to see you finally; my prayers had been answered. I know you wondered why I dressed eccentrically. It was because of my body. The thing about a body without a functioning liver is that it’s like a mass of jelly. I wore all of that to hide my insecurities because I knew once people saw all that, they wouldn’t focus on my body. It’ll push them away. I never judged you because I knew you never knew all of this. I didn’t want anyone to know or have pity on me.
I met him, my school father, once. He’s a preacher now. He claimed the devil possessed him then. He has a wife and three kids. I was angry. I was his victim, but too much time had passed, and I had gotten too tired to get angry. So I forgave him. For everything, he did to me.
I know you are angry now, reading this. But don’t be, promise me you wouldn’t tell anyone this story, or do anything to harm my school father or his kids. It’s all in the past now.
I apologise for leaving you with this guilt; I needed to share my story with someone. I didn’t just trust anyone but you. My sister is a good girl, but the responsibility will eat her alive. So that’s why I had her contact you after my demise.
I do hope death is peaceful. I would be glad if it were. I envy you, my friend, to not be burdened by a load of friendship. I do wish we had spent more time together being ordinary friends. But I do know that we have an eternity together. I’ll be waiting for you, it’ll be a long wait, but it’s worth it. For you, my friend, I’ll give up heaven.
Live long and be happy.
Till we meet again, your friend.
Part VI.
By the time I had finished reading, I couldn’t cry anymore. Tears had forsaken me. I was riddled with guilt. Murderous holes of responsibility had burned through me. Now I was left bleeding with shame and anger. I hated myself. My selfishness had cost my friend his life. I was undeserving of his love. I couldn’t even comprehend how all of the trauma he went through missed me. I even forgot about him, till after his death. I wanted to die. I wanted to end it all. I was a disgusting piece of the human being. I wanted to be judged, stoned, hanged and dismembered. But all I could see, beneath me was my friend’s body lowered into the ground, one last time till eternity dawns. I wanted to go with him into darkness. But that would’ve been an easy punishment for me.
The End.
For you, I'd remove this cap🙌. It's a beautiful piece. An emotional one too.