I have been running from my shadow, and now it has caught up with me…
3
He inserts his key in the lock but the door is unlocked. He stepped in and took a glance to confirm that there was no key in the lock. He checks the kitchen to see if she is there before he headed for the bedroom where he saw her bag, purse, and phone on the bed. He raps a soft knock on the bathroom door, but there was no reply. He calls her name before opening the door slowly, she isn’t in the bathroom. His eyes darted to her belongings on the bed, and he thought his mind is playing tricks on him. Why does he feel like those items are placed the same way they were before they parted; over two hours ago? He calls her name as he stepped out of the bedroom and starts searching every room but he gets silence in reply. He reached for his phone in his pocket and dials her number as he decided to lock the door and wait for her in the room. ‘She probably dashed out to get something,’ he resigned in his thoughts and sat on the bed, but he thought again, ‘since when did she dash out to get anything? He has always done the shopping because she can’t stay too long in the sun.
“Doesn't exist ke! Is this playing? This network sef,” he sighs, and drops the phone after he couldn’t connect to her line. “I don't know whom to call o. I don't know whom to call o. No friends or relatives, ah!” he soliloquizes, frustrated that he can’t reach her with the conviction that she is back from the market. He picks up the purse casually and keeps it in her bag when he caught the tip of a book sticking out from under the pillow. He pulled it out and saw that it was a diary. He opens it with disinterest, skimming through it until his eyes caught something that made him pause. He went back to the front page again; he squints and starts to read out loud. “May 12th, 1975, it's my 16th birthday. Daddy is back from England, and he brought us lots of gifts. He gave me this diary he's had for a while. It is one of the diaries they give them at work every year. Finally, I have a diary...” he paused, ‘wait, these dates are wrong. Why is she writing dates on a dated diary?’ he tried to wrap his head around what he was reading. He peels off the black leather holder, to check the back cover of the diary, “1960. No wonder,” he replaced the holder.
He flips the page and stopped. “It's summer '77, I'm finally going to Oxford. I'm going to miss mummy and Sola. Daddy is still shuffling between Nigeria and England…” ‘Ah, is this fiction! Is Toun a writer now?’ he glanced around the room in confusion, like he was hoping to see the answers on the wall, or better still, she would walk in and explain that she now has a side gig as a fictional writer. That should answer the questions beginning to swim in his head. He blows air with the collar of his shirt, nervously. He continues to read in silence, nodding until he stops at a page and reads out loud. His voice rose slowly. “I ran into him again at the library in London. I can't believe my luck. He almost bumped into me. I would have been glad if he had crushed me with those sturdy arms. When he said sorry, his voice was gruff and sweet at the same time. I've found my prince charming. He is tall, dark, and breathtakingly handsome. His hair is thick and curly...” Wole allowed his hand to crawl up his head, where his hair forms a thick and curly crown on his head. His jaw dropped; his mouth agape as he reads in silence before his mouth starts to form the words in the diary again.
“…he is about 6 feet tall, his white teeth brighten his face and adorn his dimpled cheek when he smiles. He smiled at me again today, but it was casual. I don't think he remembers me from before. He walks with a lopsided gait, but who cares…!” He drops the diary momentarily; distraught. His mind skips to moments when his mother would condemn his walking posture, a posture he thought was typical of a dandy; back in the day. He wasn’t sure he wants to continue. He is not even supposed to be reading her diary, he thought it was just a leather-bound book. He subconsciously tries to figure out a way of finding out about the characters she is developing, just to satisfy his curiosity without suspicion.
He looks around guiltily and picks up the diary again. He flips the pages hurriedly and stops at a recent date. “September 19, 2020. Richard, you've found your way back to me.” He paused. He looks around as he repeats the date. He gets up nervously and starts to pace the room; slowly. “Richard…September 2020…” he opened the diary and continued. “September 19... you have found me in this realm, again. You accept me for who I am, no questions asked. When I saw you standing by that snack stall, I knew you were waiting for me. Since I found a way back to this realm, I never stopped searching for you. One day, I'll tell you all about it. We were separated by death, but now we get to be together...” Wole starts to shake visibly. He looks faint as he guides himself to the bed blindly; with his hand, fixating his eyes on the words that are beginning to blur and wriggle. He flips the page. “Richard, something unexpected happened a few days ago. I'm so shaken that I just found the courage to write about it. First, it was your friends and their insensitive remark about how I am keeping you away from them. How they want you back on the street like a lost soul.” ‘Wait…what!” he tried to recall a familiar incident with his friends. His face has contorted to a frown from wearing multiple puzzled looks.
“I have been running from my shadow, and now it has caught up with me. One of the reasons I have been living a lie about my health is to make sure I don't run into anyone that knows me from our past. I saw Sola today. My little bro recognized me. It was a horrible scene. I was waiting to melt away or be swallowed by the ground but neither happened. So, I fled. He was there at the mall, with people of different age groups. I think they are his family. My little brother probably has grandchildren. I snuck out. I shouldn't have, I'm sorry. I know you will be willing to move from this environment, away from memories of the past that might be lurking around, but I'm tired. I'm tired of disrupting the life you have here. I have to come up with a good plan before someone finds me again, but my plan must involve an exit less painful for you this time. I can't bear the thought of how distraught you will be when I leave, but you will always be a part of me. You gave me an amazing second chance. A life that was snatched from me too soon, came back on a platter of true happiness. One thing I wish for is to get the chance to watch over you, till you come to join me. I have to stop my thoughts now. I'll try to figure out an exit plan.”
He flips through more empty pages, but there was no more entry in the diary. He holds the diary by the bound and shakes it, expecting something to fall off, but nothing. He drops it, and sighs, not knowing what to make of the jumble he just filled his mind with. “Wait a minute, what is today’s date?” he picked up his phone to confirm the date and realized the last entry was today. “Ye!” He screams in realization, folding his hands on his head. His mind raced through other possibilities asides from the fiction he clung to when he started reading Toun’s diary. “I hope it's not what I'm thinking. Ah! Started in 1975, to 2022…she's just 28 for chrissake. The same day we met, the same place...ye! Have I been living with a ghost? Nah! She will be back soon. This is just a story.” He opens his messaging app to send her a text, but can’t find their previous conversations; the thread is missing. ‘Strange! I can’t remember deleting our conversations’ he thought as he resolves to dial her number again. The voice of the operator rang back almost with a warning tone as she repeated, ‘the number you are calling does not exist…’ An alarm went off in his head. He’s more confused than ever. He looks around the room, examines his outstretched hands, he looks for a sign to remind him he is in a bad dream, but it all feels real. He slams himself to the floor in despair.