Torn Upsidedown

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  • She broke into the studio. He had his ear-piece fastened to his ears. His hands akimbo, the middle finger tucking at a light foam that partitioned his wall from the doorjamb. His shrill voice tore the air with disgust. The ridges on his face was an attestation to the emptiness he felt when she dragged him off her bed across the small lit passage , stuffed with his nylon bags and dirty clothes. She opened the torn net and threw him and his loads on the road. He fell like a useless carton and laid flat, with his head splashed over a shit locked garden of weeds. She chorused abusive words at him. She raised her fingers in bitterness. She ranted like a child whose bike has been colonized by a not beloved cousin. Her pain rose as visible veins on her forehead. There was a raucous surge of anger and tears in her face. The waters tore through her eyelids like the pop of champagne. She shivered as she reluctantly shut the door against his sorry body,  dejectedly  sprawled on the floor .

    She felt like a garbage. She sank her index finger into her crimp hair and wailed with intermittent cackles. She loved him. She really, really loved him. She sold her father’s only land to buy him studio slots. She had nurtured him as her own since she took him off the street after his parents threw him out for his destructive addictions – His abuse of marijuana, cocaine and cough syrups. Her parents were late, and she had all the rights to the only bungalow and a piece of land left to her as inheritance.

    She had stumbled on him while he was seated  on a fence close to her house. His nose and ears in flames like he was part of the Sango ( god of fire and thunder) dynasty. Even ‘Thor’ would have run a jingle for safety measures on his behalf. He smoked recklessly. They got talking and she couldn’t remember how they became five and six. On the third day, he caught her half way through the air and belched ecstasy into her juice oven. His sweat poured  unreserved on her bare breast. She gasped for breath and puffed laughter into his mouth and chins. His eyes were squinted as he bellowed answers to her endless  questions.

    ‘Do you love me, are we gonna get married, when will you stop smoking, did your dad really ask you not to come home ever…?’
    He took her legs up and hump her torso. She walked into his erected mass of pleasure rendering flesh and ground him till her voice was soft and stuffed with ecstasy.

    ‘Be soft on the next verse’, the producer said.
    Linda, a sweet guitar playing girl, came up to his nostrils and tried hard to kiss him. He took her hands off his waist and winked at her.
    ‘ Ada will be mad at you’, he whispered helplessly. ‘Komolafe, I love you; we can just be friends with benefits’, Linda tenderly proposed.

    Komolafe took off his ear – piece , shook hands with  the producer and  shut the slouchy door of the stuffy studio against himself. He walked into the cascading grace of the golden Sun.

    ‘Am home !’ He whispered into the ears of Ada who was fast  asleep. She raised her neat eyelids, kissed him and pointed at the black flask on the mason wooden  table; describing its content with her low voice. Komolafe sat on the chair at the mid point of the room and gulped it with dire impatience.

    She raised her legs , sprang up on her feet and sat on his feet. She smelt the Cologne and detected the lip stick stains on the collar of his turquoise shirt. Her eyebrows were scattered and her face grew long. Komolafe was still busy spooning his food when she took it off him and bathed him with it. He dripped of rice, beans and salad. He stood dumbfounded and  quickly went into the shower to wash himself and  ran through the tiny passage to the other room; sat on the bed and searched for eye ointment  to quell  his peppery eyes in amusement.

    She followed him and beat him with everything her hands could find. He was still startled. He bashed his head against the wall and tore her own blouse. She pounced on him, zipped down his trouser , and tucked his into hers. She danced with tears on him. And when he came…,  she dragged him off her bed and  flung him to the vast street alongside his belongings. He laid confused. Lost. He packed himself up and went straight to the studio after all attempts to console her and address the issue was abortive.

    Ada stared at the Newscaster absent mindedly.
    Komolafe had made a shipwreck of her life, she thought to herself. Something beeped close to her, in between the sofa. It was Komolafe’s handset. He forgot it.
    Linda had sent him a long text of how she made all attempts for him to love her and how he had made her feel cheap, small and less attractive. She wished him well and prayed she was in the shoe of his girlfriend and how she hoped his girlfriend would treat him as well as she would have. She ended the text with a farewell and love emoji.

    Ada checked the time the text came in and noticed it was fifteen minutes before Komolafe stepped into the house – 5:15pm. She wiped her tears and loathed herself for her idiotic act. She dressed herself up and ran to the studio. She came into the studio, trembling as she heard his pain strewn voice. She hugged him from behind and they both wept. He still loves her and it was same on her part.

    Author: Taiwo Oloyede

    Profile: He is an author and a spoken word artiste.

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