Maybe dead people shop too.
Today, I was walking out of De Choice Mall when I saw an old friend at another row inside the mall. The last time I saw her was about a year ago.
She was picking up blouses and dropping them back. Then she picked up what I thought looked like a light-ivory-coloured gown with very tiny antique gold and amethyst strips, and raised it up to her neck. And again, she dropped that one.
She was standing with her back to me and I recognized her, seeing her height and her body-size – she must be the one. She had been like that, about that size, the last time I visited home, one year ago.
I was beginning to walk towards that row, towards her, when a force from within him restrained me. And then for a moment I wondered what she herself was doing in Uyo, inside De Choice. I was sure she had never been to Akwa Ibom. She would be excited, very excited to see me.
Was it too early to move over and meet her? I was thinking. I decided to go and meet her there, and decided again not to go, in my heart, in a second. I moved and stopped again, ill with confused thoughts, hoping she would not turn until I had collected my thoughts and was ready to face her, my mind pugnacious against itself, my thoughts and decisions colliding with my thoughts and decisions. Then in a whim, as though it was suddenly revealed to her that someone’s eyes had been on her, she turned and her eyes fell on the walk way leading to the rest room, and she started walking towards the rest room, cartoon-like, with very uncomfortable gait, walking very fast, very, very fast, as though she suddenly became pressed, too pressed.
When I thought I had waited too long for her to come out, I deliberately stepped into the female sections of the rest rooms but didn't find her.
Tonight, I remembered meeting someone like that and called home to tell her mother that I saw her daughter here.
She told me her daughter dîed last month and was buried yesterday.
Maybe dead people shop too.
