Coalition (Short Story)

This is a story about a Nigerian girl who lived in the US in the 90s. It's a 7 minute read if you are a fast reader like me. If not, give it 10-15 minutes.

Enjoy!

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Indulgence, a tiny town West of Pennsylvania, was quiet in autumn. With the children back in school after summer holidays and the adults minding their businesses, a first time visitor would miscalculate the population to be below a thousand, and the town as unfriendly.

The quietude was present at The Gift Flower Shop which stood at the end of Joseph Maitawa lane. The shop was flanked on both sides by double glass doors which served as both protection and for the display of flowers lined up against the doors, leaving just enough space for customers to pass through.

Walking first to the flower shop, then to the cemetery every Saturday morning had become a habit, one borne out of love. The fifteen minute walk was now a part of me and had become a duty to my eight year old daughter.

This morning was no different. The late autumn air reminded me of harmattan and of Awka, a small town in Eastern Nigeria where I was born. I clasped my daughter's right hand in my left's and whispered something about forgetting my eyeglasses, again.

"Sorry," she said and linked her fingers with mine.

I looked down at her. The narrow face, tawny eyes, small upturned nose and skin as smooth as silk.

To a stranger, we were as different as day and night. While her skin was fair, mine was the colour of brown chocolate. However, beneath the contrast in our complexion were startling similarities. They were in the way we walked, the way we gestured while talking, even the way we ate.

I'd wondered at first if it was really genetics or she was just picking up my habits. I'd watched closely and when she started chewing more on the right side of her mouth and also began to favour her left hand, I knew it was more than picked habits.

Looking at her now, the concern on her face tugged at my heart.

"I'll be fine," I patted her cornrows.

"Are we buying green roses today?"

"Mhm."

"Why don't we buy red ones for a change?"

I smiled. She asked the same questions every week.

"Daddy likes green ones."

"But he's already in heaven. It doesn't matter which colour we bring, does it? The most important thing is what is in our hearts."

One of the girls was turning over the closed sign when we arrived at the shop. I stopped in front and nodded at her to go in and pick her choice. She made some happy sounds at the back of her throat and sprinted inside. The florist saw her came in and walking over, caught my eyes and waved. Moments later, she emerged with white lilies tucked safety under her left arm.

We made it to the cemetery in five. She removed the withering roses we brought the previous week and placed the lilies on the same spot. I caught the glint of tears in her eyes just before she closed them and buried her face in my bosom.

Source - Pixabay

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I first saw him at the wedding anniversary of an elderly Nigerian couple I used to work for periodically whenever I was on break from getting an Education at University of Pennsylvania. The party was at their daughter's lake house, a few kilometers outside Indulgence. I had raised an eyebrow at the invitation which read "Blacks Only - Nigerians Especially. Bring a friend" and imagined my grandfather saying "In a white man's land, huh? What do they know? Miscreants!" while waving his forefinger back and forth.

I arrived a little late and was scanning the crowd for my friend when my eyes fell on him. He was talking to one of the girls serving drinks. He must have said something funny because she had chuckled and hurried away. He straightened and patted his shirt. The first thing I noticed was his eyes, a little too large for his narrow face. I placed his height at about five fit nine. I couldn't help but admire his fair skin, so smooth I had a hard time associating it to a black male body.

"There you are," Cynthia cooed behind me. "I've been looking for you. C'mon, I reserved a seat for us."

I tore my gaze away and followed her pass a group of elderly women talking about babies, to the east side of the large sitting room.

"You seem distracted."

"Uh huh. I'm not," I murmured and withdrew my eyes which were roaming the room for a glimpse of the stranger who had suddenly disappeared.

"When will the party end?"

"Six P. M, but there's an all night cocktail party for singles. Kicks off at seven."

I frowned. I disliked night parties. She knew and that was probably why she didn't mention it earlier.

"You'll have fun, I promise," she said, confirming my suspicion.

The singles party turned out great. I was checking my phone for messages when I felt someone touch my arm. I turned and stared into my favorite stranger's tawny eyes.

"Hello," he said.

I noticed the way the eyes danced when he smiled.

"I saw you earlier but I never got a chance to talk to you. I'm Rufus."

"Hello," I shook his hand.

"Are you here alone?"

I studied him through the rim of the glass as I sipped. "No, I'm with a friend. She's around somewhere."

"The celebrant is my aunt."

When I said nothing, he cleared his throat. "You haven't told me your name."

I smiled and shook the content of the glass, watching the tiny bubbles disappear.

"Anna."

"Would you like to go out sometime, Anna?"

I looked up then.

"Why don't we go somewhere right now? I hate parties...we could go back to my place. I have a six pack with our names on it."

His eyes widened a fraction.

"Are you suggesting..."

I shrugged and waited. He stared long and hard at my face and when I didn't blink, nodded twice. I gestured for him to wait while I headed to the pool to find Cynthia. My time showed One-Fifteen A. M.

After that night, we agreed that he would come in once every week. That was how he became my booty call or rather, how we became each other's.

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"Are you mixed race?" I had asked him on our second night together. I only did because of his skin tone and eye colour. When he told me that his great grandmother was Irish, I had closed the door to further personal conversation, partly because I had nothing to say.

My views on life and the lifestyle I had chosen wasn't a topic I liked discussing. I never fancied commitment. The guy I dated back in college took it badly, so after graduation, I spent my days working at the local library avoiding men and relationships. The few people I went out with, I told upfront. My apartment was off limits too.

Until now.

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On the second week of our third month together, I came home on a Tuesday afternoon and saw him sitting on my front steps with a bag beside him.

"Today isn't Friday."

"I know. I’m sorry. Can I take pictures of these?" he pointed at the dahlias I planted in front of the house and had been actively neglecting. "I'm into photography, you know. Wildlife Photography."

He pulled out a Canon GX from the bag. I sat and watched him took pictures from different angles.

"I have a shooting event this weekend. Want to come?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"We've talked about this. I like you and I like having sex with you. Let's keep it that way."

He put the camera back into the bag, smiled at me and left.

The days that followed crawled by. He began to show up on different days. I protested at first but since all he did was sat on the floor sorting his printed pictures, I shrugged it off. Half the time, I would sleep while he worked and when he was done, he'd wake me up and we'd go for walks.

It hit me on a Sunday morning. I woke up to him adjusting his camera lens. I looked around the room - the tripod stood in a corner, two strange toothbrushes sat on my dressing table staring at me. Alarmed, I got up and began to gather his shirts.

"What are you doing?"

"Getting your stuff together," I said and threw a boxer shorts on top of the pile.

"You're leaving."

He stared in shock.

"I wanted only sex. I can't do this, Rufus…We're done."

He stood and wordlessly arranged his camera gear. I turned my back as he picked up the bag.

"I'll call you, Anna," he said quietly and walked out, leaving his clothes behind.

The first two weeks flew by along with my twenty-fourth birthday. I divided my time between work, giving school children a tour of the library and going to the spa. I ignored his calls and text messages.

It was around four in the morning when the knock came. I opened the door and he stood there, holding a single green rose.

"Marry me, Anna."

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Source - Pixabay

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RUFUS EDET JACOB
HUSBAND, FATHER, FRIEND
1980 - 2016

I traced the letters with my index finger. For the first time, I didn't hide my tears from my daughter. I hugged her and when the sobs came, I let them cleanse the memories of the days spent hunched beside his hospital bed. I let the tears wash away the anger I felt towards leukemia and towards death when it showed its ugly head. I let the tears heal my soul.

"I'll love you forever, Rufus."

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This story was first published here https://kalaharireview.com/coalition-4393ff1821dc