Pray For Me [Writer's contest 2]

Bola had been to the market twice. She hurried back the first time, excited about the house warming party. Only when she needed it did she realize that she had forgotten the frozen chicken in Mama Tayo’s shop. She knew, just by carrying herself about, how to get the whole house feeling excited about an occasion. I raised my head from my novel as she dashed off, speaking to Mama Tayo on the phone.

I, on the other hand, am quite the opposite of my wife. Calm as a well at midnight. I already knew the clothes I would be wearing, even as my boss slipped me the invitation to his house warming party. It was the only party Bola and I would be attending together in a long time. As we left the house already about 30 minutes late, I was still forced to wait in the car, as Bola ran out to our neighbour Pamela to help her don her ‘gele’ properly. Women.

My wife, Bola has a party to attend every other Saturday evening. I’m getting used to it now after 2 years of living with her; even grateful for the private time. On any given Saturday, at 4pm, she’s all packed and ready to go, mostly to beat the crazy traffic and get there in time to ‘catch all the good stuff’, like she says. Then, no earlier than 11:30pm, she starts flashing me (lol) to open the gate for her car.

So one Saturday a few weeks ago, after she left the house, I was settling into my peaceful bout of internet surfing and movies when the doorbell rang. I wasn’t expecting anyone. Pamela, the neighbour, was at the door. She was such a quiet girl; I hadn’t even heard her speak. When I perceived her baked vanilla perfume, I was stunned. She had the eyes (and hair) of those superhuman people they used for TV commercials. When she finally spoke (“Hello! I came to drop this for your wife. She left it at my place earlier”), I was visibly impressed, even though I didn’t mean to show it. Bola had always asked me to be friendlier with the neighbours, but they were all unattractively noisy. Pamela hadn’t moved in by then, though. So I asked her to come in for a hot cup of chocolate and some friendly conversation.

It was a friendship that was meant to be. Only 2 weeks from the day we had that first conversation, our friendship bloomed almost violently, as though it was frustrated that we didn’t meet earlier. We liked the same things, and almost always had the same opinions. I started thinking about this new friend more than was healthy for a married man. The way she laughed and threw back her locks. The fact that she made me as excited as a young schoolboy when she would pick up the phone and say “Hey, Richard!” in that voice that dripped sweetness. Last Thursday, I decided to do the right thing and tell my wife. But Bola was in no mood for family discussions. There was a big party at her sister’s compound, the biggest in months. I could not get her to sit down on the couch for 5 minutes, let alone start a conversation. She was on the phone constantly, or destroying the neatly arranged wardrobe, preparing.

4pm on Friday, and she was out. She said she’d be sleeping over at her sister’s house in her text message, and that she would return the next day. I wasn’t even home when she left. I texted Pamela. As I drove into the compound, ran into the shower and lightly scented the sitting room, I assured myself I was still a responsible adult with boundaries in relationships with members of the opposite sex, and focus in life. I could handle this. We talked and laughed. Like we always did. Then, while another argument was beginning, about something which I do not care to remember, she kissed me. The time was 9:48pm. There was a rainstorm outside. I tried to tear myself away. But it was all I had wanted for weeks now. The mind may have reasons for all that it does, but the heart is a wild thing. That night, we set the couch ablaze with our desire, which we had tried to veil under intelligent conversation and courtesy. Like a plastic bottle of Coke, whose content was mercifully released after much shaking, we spent ourselves on ourselves with blind desire. I shut out my scruples, and all the haunting images of Bola that accosted my mind. Instead, I forced myself to focus on the fire ravaging both our bodies. Pamela fell in love with me that night.

In the weeks that followed, I was consumed by guilt. I became increasingly angry at Bola for little things. I didn’t want much to do with her. And it was great that she was always off on the weekend parties. But I didn’t stop seeing Pamela, guilt or not.

Yesterday, I heard something so strange I didn’t believe it immediately. Pamela had gone crazy. She was seen stripping on the road, in broad day light, on her way from work. Her people had come for her. She was kept in a psychiatric facility not 20 minutes from the house. Bola said she kept screaming “My lover! I want my lover!” I felt a stiff chill run its course from my back to my legs. If I had a tail, it would have come between my legs, up to my stomach.

This evening, I came home to a message from my wife: “Went to the hospital to see her. They said she has started talking about the lover finally. Won’t stay long. See you soon.” The message came in at 5:52pm, just as I was driving in. it is now 9:20pm. No sign of Bola. I cannot take it. I’ve paid several trips to the toilet, but the tension won’t go away. It sits on my mind like a witch’s black blanket. I look at the sitting room couch in disgust, and will time to go back, or at least stand still. My phone lights up. Another message from Bola: “We need to talk.” I feel faint. This, without a doubt, will be the longest night of my life..