HURRICANE - IRENE
Her words echoed in my head. It was the first conversation I had with Irene. It was also to be the first of many of its kind. She was not like any of us, and that was what intrigued me about her, it was what had drawn me to her, and it was the necessary evil and doom I had fallen prey to. Unlike many of us, Irene knew, or thought that she was nothing… She loved to be nothing… She had told me that the problem with the world was that everyone wanted to be seen as something, where others sought to be something perfect, she wanted to be nothing near perfection… where others sought to be beautiful, she wanted to be nothing near beauty, and she had her wish. Beauty was a word too poor to describe the richness in her appearance. Her frail curves that looked like they would disappear if she was hit too hard was one of her too many delicate features. She had a round flaw-filled face, as she always said, covered with very light brown freckles that sprung like vegetation on mountain tops, replacing the red – mud coloured albino skin of her face. Her eyes were the most enthralling of her features, they had a piercing softness that implied that her heart could be as soft as flower pollen grains and as hard as stone, all at once. I liked that she retained her 4C almost red kinky hair, and that she hardly kept it in a bun or styled it. She would do nothing to it except run a comb through it sometimes. I loved to watch her, I listened to everything she said, I always looked forward to our conversations, which she insisted happened in the weirdest places… sometimes we had hikes up mountains just to find any cave we could sit and talk in, sometimes it was at the toilet in the library, and once we had rented a yacht, just to “talk on water”. Then we would steal longing glances at each other. She liked to look into my eyes as we talked, she had said that she could sense sincerity or lies in people’s eyes.
We had met at a fast food restaurant. She was at a far corner, pretending to read a newspaper which completely covered her small face. I had walked down to the table, and asked if I could join her, she had replied a muffled “Yes”, unable to hide her irritation that someone had come to join her table and possibly unmask her. I had tried to make small talk and she had completely ignored me, until she was done eating then she had said, “For the records, I can cook.” and had apologized almost immediately for blotting out the very weird statement. I had comforted her that I was sure she could, even if I did not know her, she looked like a chef to me, I had told her. She had shrugged indifferently and thanked me for covering up her flaw, and that was how our 2 hours conversation had kicked off. We had talked about almost everything concerning flaws and insecurities… And that was when she made that statement – the one that echoed in my head like a bell to remind me that I’d lost her. I had not tried to change her, because she had assured me that no man could. I had not thought myself righteous and flawless and I had especially not thought her to be with flaws, even if she always reminded me – or herself, that she was a walking bundle of flaws.
What Irene and I had had been the line between dating and friendship. While listing her flaws, she had told me that short-term relationships was one of them, I had challenged her to a bet that she could date me for 4 months and would still stay after that. She had laughed, a dry throaty laughter, one I thought was fake, until I learned that was the way she laughed… She had asked why I thought she would date a perfect stranger, reminding me that our case was not a Hollywood scene, and we were definitely Africans, she said this, pushing her chin to our skins, laying emphasis on its colour, and this made the statement even funnier. I was too deep into the well to come out alone, I leaned inwards to show how serious I was, a wave of her cologne hit my nostrils, she smelled like fresh olives and I was even more enthralled. I made the bet even fiercer by making her promise that if she didn’t fall in love with me by the end of the fourth month, she could leave, and not see me again.
It was our 4th month anniversary, I had planned something big, she was a culture fanatic and I had planned to take her on tour to see the Igbo-ukwu art of the Benin people, and the Olumo rock in Ogun state, if we made it back in time. I had come home to an empty room. Her belongings were gone, there was no olive scent, there was no note, her phone line was switched off… or changed, and I realized, as heartbreaking as it was, that I had not been able to make Irene fall in love with me.
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It’s been a year since she ended our relationship unannounced. I had still not heard from her – physically, although she still visited my imaginations. Everyday, we would go to see the Igbo-ukwu art, and the Olumo rock. She still gave dry, throaty laughters to my wry jokes. She still insisted we talked in the most ridiculous places.
I saw Irene in everything, streetlights, dark corners, water puddles and then in this lady in white who sat in front of me in the public bus. When we alighted, I ran after her, followed her, hoping she would be who I wanted her to be. I finally admitted to myself that I was running mad. Irene had escaped my imaginations somehow and ended up in my reality. I wanted to call her, shout her name, run to hug her… but what if indeed I was mad and she was only a hallucinated reality. I took my chances and shouted her name. She spun around, puzzled. I smiled, and wondered why I’d ever doubted that my heart could recognize her. We took a stroll to a nearby restaurant, there were a lot of things to talk about. When we sat down, she seemed to be protecting her left hand, and then I saw it, a silver band with shiny stone seated on the fourth finger. My heart stopped beating for fear of jumping out of my chest.
“That bling tells the story of an engagement.” I said, pushing my nose in the direction of her left hand.
“I had hoped that you would not notice.” she replied, bowing her head in shame or was it pity?
“A lot has changed about you, Irene, you now wear your hair in a bun, you no longer stare into my eyes to see if they are sincere. You once told me no man would change you, have you lied?” she laughed, a hearty laughter, even the way she laughed had changed… This was not my Irene.
“Why did you leave? You left without a goodbye.” I had tears in my eyes.
“I have not changed, I’m only trying out new things. I have avoided your eyes, because I know they are sincere, and I fear their sincerity.” she replied, forcing a sip of the 5Alive juice she had ordered down her throat. I knew she had done that to avoid the sob that was building in her throat.
“If you knew what we had – what I felt was sincere, why did you leave?”
“You asked for 4 months, when you could have asked for more.” was all she said… I never thought she could be wrong in anything except now – I might have asked for 4 months but today, I got more, 4months and a day. Had we not agreed that I would not see her again? I watched her take one last sip of her 5Alive juice, grab her bag from the table, adjust her skirt, then walk away from me, and us. No explanations, no apologies, no ‘goodbye’s as before – nothing, just a single accusing last sentence. Now I understood why they called the Hurricane – Irene.
Really interesting story, you write good