Everything was
silent. In the grave of the night on Meadowlands Street, the only noise I heard
was the slow steady sound of my heart beating. It was a lazy drum roll, fuelled by an unexplainable excitement at the thought of seeing his face after a very
uneventful week. As I pull out my phone for the umpteenth time to check my
lipstick, I see the marks on my wrists. The faint scars of the state I was in
an exact 15 minutes before the ironic strums of the bass that preceded Al Green’s
let’s stay together alerted me that
someone was trying to get a hold of me. I quickly pulled my sleeves down to my palms
and made a mental note to keep it that way the rest of the evening. Perhaps
after this I would come home to finish what I had started. Perhaps after this I
would finally have the peace I needed, to let go and plunge head first into
death. Perhaps he would say something sweet to me that I would take to my
grave. Perhaps we would have that romantic comedy movie moment, where he looks into
my eyes and is fascinated by too short lashes and plain brown eyes. As I pull
up the camera on my phone, my hand starts to tremble. A formerly mundane
creature stared right back at me, as trepidation filled my eyes. I smiled, tonight
I was beautiful. I had perfected the art of the winged eyeliner and the
perfectly arched brows, and I looked like the girls from the Ruby Woo Mac
adverts. I had thick lashes and luscious red lips. Tonight I was going to shock
him one last time before I left for a really long time.
The bus was late. Cars had stopped running and it was snowing for the first time in December. I watched as the spray of white falls to the ground, almost tempted to leave the bus shelter to dance in its feathery sprays. I stared in childlike admiration at the white that blanketed trees and rooftops while secretly hoping I could make a snow man. The Christmas decorations were slowly appearing and Starbucks had brought back its caramel brulee latte, soon my mom would be calling to ask me home for the festivities. It was hard to get my morning shot of caffeine with over twenty people trooping in for the holiday specials. The whole world remained still at this moment, save my breath that seemed to have a mind of its own. It was loud and deep almost like I was wheezing, I was nervous. It came out in little tufts of white, making funny signs and spirals. It made foggy shapes that made me think of reasons why I should not have left the house in the first place. I could feel the tingling sensation in my feet as my boots went wet from the five minute walk in the snow from my house. My hands missed the warm cup of coffee usually I had around this time during my sojourn at the Macodrum library with Achebe, Soyinka and Ken Saro Wiwa for companions. I hated the cold but it stopped me from sweating nervously so uncomfortably, I welcomed it. The bus was 30 minutes late, surely this was a sign that this was not meant to be.
I had a companion now. He looked like he was in his early 20’s. I imagined he was happy, that he had a great life. I imagined that school was going great for him, he had professors who like the way he spoke and engaged the class in lively discussions. I imagined he properly planned his essays and stuck to those plans. I imagined he was confident and he delivered excellent presentations, that there was no room for anxiety to fog his brains causing him to keel over in fear. I imagined that he had a great girlfriend. I imagined that they met in class and engaged each other in intellectual conversations. I imagined they knew where they stood with each other, that there was no cause for confusion, that he did not send her mixed signals, that he knew exactly what he wanted to stay to her and he said it in the right moment and at the right time. I imagined that his parents were still together and that they were still very much in love with each other as the first day. I imagined that the only issue he had with them was how much they showed each other love. I imagined that death was the furthest thing from his mind now that he was reaching the peak of his life. I’d bet coffee money that he had no need for the long-sleeved tee I so precariously had on right now.
The bus was still late. At this point I contemplated just going home and sleeping it off. I could continue the search for an inner peace tomorrow, there was no divine constitution that stated that I needed to die tonight. My strange but weirdly cool companion was fidgety, every now and then he would look at me and offer a polite smile, as if apologizing for the lateness of the bus. My face felt oddly heavy, probably crying out from all the layers of foundation I had slathered on to my face. I had chewed off my lipstick and what remained was the faint outline of vixen that existed before. My pre-existing confidence seemed to have vanished into the cold dark night and screaming seemed like my best option. I wanted to eat loads and loads of chocolate and welcome the fresh wave of self-hate that would hit me after. I wanted to feel the familiar coldness of my surgical blade ripping the flesh on my wrists apart as I cleansed myself from all the hope and child-like longing. It was the only thing I knew. The bus was too late, I was no longer ready, and I needed to go home. As I picked up my bag, ready to cross the still silent road, the bus lazily arrived, letting out a self-satisfied lurch like I hadn’t been waiting for it for the past hour.
Hey there! I’m
your intervention.
