Broken
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On your bed in utter solitude, you lie, gazing into nothingness. The noise from the rickety fan hanging from the ceiling is your only companion and you find some solace in the oddity. The light's still on in your room and you make no efforts to turn it off or get some sleep. Somehow, darkness creeps you out now and you're afraid of shutting your eyes.
Slideshows of memories run through your mind stirring up emotions long pent up and hidden. You squint like you've been caught off guard by a powerful ray of light and pull the sheets tightly over yourself. Many different thoughts race through your head as you stroke your forehead tenderly. You were quickly materializing into your worst fears and it scared you. You can't make a head of how you've lived with the guilt for so long but you know why. You are aware of your oratorical proficiency and how it gets you out of trouble. Your extremely complicated personality which makes it almost impossible for people to smell rats on you is also not new to you.
You toss on the bed as the memories hit you one at a time, slowly, making their marks. Your eyes dart to the clock on the wall which strikes midnight almost immediately. The sound of snoring filters from your sibling's room into yours and you can tell he had no problem falling asleep. You're not susceptible to insomnia, but somehow, those memories exist to keep your eyes open all night long. You try reliving the bliss of the full night rest you had the day before but your restless mind can't focus and you're soon thinking about other things and trying vainly to refocus again. Frustrated, you give up.
Somehow, you'd make more of those memories in the morning and again at night, they'd come to haunt you. You feel caught in your very own net and are at a loss on how again to regain freedom. Tears run down your cheeks onto the pillows on which you rest your head and your sighs pierce the stillness of the night. You would do it tonight; try to face your fears; but as much as you feel unprepared, you decide to put an end to it regardless.
As you shut your eyes, stifling your cries to avoid waking anyone, your eyelids quiver slightly and you grab a fistful of the sheet that covers you. Power is seized and you shudder slightly at the thought of the haunting memories. It doesn't take long for the memories to roll in and begin all over again.
A scene from the previous day pops up. Your mom had asked for your help with the dishes but you'd turned her down. “I do all the work around here,” you'd said, “you should do some too.” Tears glistened in her eyes, you saw it and you knew she'd cry in the solace of her room afterwards. She's done enough raising you and your brother since your father's demise, you know, heaven knows, but you somewhat feel she overworks you. Like all truths, it's a bitter pill to swallow, and avowing to being wrong isn't your strong point.
You wonder why you'd been hard on your mom and treated her so. You can't make out any reasonable excuse for your overbearing attitude and your conscience pricks you sore. You tell yourself to apologise by morning but you're unsure of yourself. When sober, your ego would prove a big enough inhibition and you'd overlook all your reconsiderations of the previous night. After she'd bade you and your brother goodnight and retired to her room, you'd tiptoed to her door to eavesdrop on her. You heard her sob lightly in her prayers, she was on her knees, you saw her through the keyhole. Her prayers was what broke you; she'd prayed for your success irrespective of how unruly you'd become. You'd returned to your room stunned, unspeaking. You just couldn't fathom the love she had for you. The same love that purged you now, bringing to light the memories you long had buried in the asylum of your stony heart. Haunted by these memories; of hurt people had suffered by you; you'd stumbled into bed.
Another memory succeeds the first quickly. You recall the scene vividly although you can't remember the date exactly. You and a couple of friends had been at your neighbour's shop when power came on. Slowly, everyone had left for their houses leaving just you and and the shop owner behind. You were about leaving when she'd asked you to help watch over her shop while she went to urinate. You recall the last time she'd said that when there was power. She'd returned minutes later after watching a program on TV, much to your contempt. You saw an opportunity for a comeback and grabbed it with eager hands. Never again would you fall for the same trick, you told yourself. You disagreed and disappeared between the gates in a flash.
In your haste, you saw her face fall. When in the confines of your room, you felt bad about your actions and dashed back out with a naira bill you retrieved from your bag. She's not in the shop when you returned and you seated yourself, cooking up a good enough excuse to tell her. She finally showed up and you saw tears well in her eyes. She'd relate your actions to her childlessness, you knew and braced yourself. In a grief ladened voice, she'd said you'd deserted her. Your oratorical skills kicked in and you stopped her midway before she brought up the subject of her barrenness. You showed her the one hundred naira note in your hands, telling her you were kidding and had only gone to get your money.
Although you had no appetite for sugary food, you purchased a wafer and sachet water in hopes of looking justified. She looked like she'd accepted your excuse and handed you your change. Again you vanished through the gates, a mixture of indifference and freedom settling over you. As you whimper now, you think. Perhaps she'd cried that night, wetting her pillow just as you did now, reminding the Great-He of his promises, all the while remembering the stunt you pulled on her. A sigh escapes your lips and your vision is blurred by tears as you roll onto your side, leaving a dark wet patch on your pillow.
Again, another memory succeeds the latter. You recall the very moment with a fresh flow of sobs. Pondering over how foolish and selfish and unthinking you had been. You want to pull at your hair and inflict pain on yourself but your hands lie limp, unmoving. Cecily had been a friend long before you attended the university. You met her online and when you finally met in school, things had shapened up and taken another turn. Your chats were frequent and you both had warmed up to each other. Then came the fateful day; the day she chose to ask that serious question, the day your policies meddled in your life because you couldn't keep your fingers in situ and your thoughts to yourself.
She'd called you a friend and you'd said you weren't friends with her yet. Time had stood still when you both came to see each other's perspective. She was hurt and had said goodnight afterwards. You ought to have apologized or offer soothing words, you know you should've, but you didn't. You can't say for sure what stopped you; your ego or apathy. You said your byes and went offline. A later discovery showed she'd read your message and was still online even after you left. You juxtaposed her feelings with how you'd have felt, putting yourself in her shoes. You can't take the pain realization brings upon you, and peeling back the blanket, you scuttle to your feet.
Walking through the moonlit passage to the parlour, you feel weary and your feet drags with reluctance along the floor. Your head isn't yours anymore as you walk, what with the many different thoughts that leave you questioning whether you deserve to see the light of another day. When you get to the parlour, you see your mom sitting on the couch reading a bible by the light of a bedside lamp. As you examine her sitting figure, you recall the once young and vibrant woman she'd been until your father's death and fresh tears brim in your eyes. Your father's death had dealt her a devastating blow, crippled her even and it's a miracle she survived this long.
You're repentant remembering her unwavering love which only increased towards you and your sibling on a daily basis. You sniff and she looks up from the bible at you. You run to her, falling at her feet, wounding your arms around her, crying. Your lips part to let out those bittersweet words but speech eludes you and you can only mouth it to her — "I'm sorry." She nods and the tears in her eyes catch the lamp's light. Her strength fills you and you feel your grief ebbed away slowly as she strokes your back softly.
Her tears falls on your face and you feel washed anew, bereft of the pain of the memories that'd driven you to seek solace. It doesn't take long before you fall asleep on her laps under the ministrations of her gentle and reassuring pats. She wipes your tearstained face with her palms and smile at your sleeping figure. By morning you would wake up in your bed, happy, loved, a changed person.!