Chapter eight (A)

The Autobiography of Lola

Chapter eight (A)

Fix you song by Coldplay

March 6, 2019:

Entry 3

I have one theory about life: you are either lucky or unlucky, and you are either good or bad. I don't believe in any grey area where humans can have both the good side and the bad or can be lucky or unlucky at the same time. That's because I've never believed in any complexity; life is plain and simple. Life is either black or white, with no grey area.

I have another theory: I'm pretty unlucky. A week after Ola's mom insinuated I brought bad luck into our family, I sat in the living room and buried my head in a book.

Dad and mom left for somewhere that morning so it was only reasonable for me to find a book to read. It's like an untold rule for Nigerian kids; your parents must never find you playing or watching the television, especially during school term (semester). It's all about education with them. They pay the school fees and you do your part—read!

But the annoying thing about reading stories back then was that most of these stories portrayed tragedy.

Yes, it's hypocrisy to complain about the tragedy when I'm a tragic case but... sometimes; reading something lively once in a while is great, right? Well, mom and dad came in the middle of my crying session after finishing just another sad book about a boy whose mother died; father remarried and was maltreated by a stepmother.

When Dad called me, I will never ever ever ever forget what he sounded like: his voice was dead and it scared me to my bones. But his flat voice was nothing compared to his next instructions. He wanted me to pack my bags and head somewhere.

Where? I didn't know at that time and for real, I should have ran away from home then. Where would I go? I was just twelve!

See, another reason why "pack your bags" was scary to me was because, for a good whole week, dad sneered and cursed me. So I wanted to know and I asked and his reply didn't make it any easier.

All through our exchange, mom said nothing, nothing!!! She stood there with swollen eyes and splotchy skin. It was the new look she had changed into bad skin, sad eyes, and a moody attitude. Plus she was always crying. But still, mom stood there, next to him, supporting him and supporting the evil he was about to do to me.

Both of them wanted me out of their lives. That was the picture their actions painted.

In tears, I packed my travel bag and diary. Yea, I've always loved documenting my life. One thing hammered in my head and mind: this was Mrs. Baba's—Ola's mother—fault. She did this and I hoped she got the karma she deserved.

See, there's one thing about gullible people: all they need is a seed of doubt planted in their minds and all they need is to water it and let it germinate. Still, it irks me that my parents could be so gullible.

They have always been a strong believer of God like any Christian and they believed so much in washing your problems away just by going to a river or weeks of fasting and praying. So, yes, my parents assumed there was an evil spirit in me and it needed to be washed away.

That day, that particular afternoon, dad kept shouting, telling mom I wasn't his daughter. Right there and there, dad disowned me. In fact, thinking about it as I write this is crazy...

They wanted me out of their lives. They hated me so much. Mom still hates me. But hating me didn't mean they had to hand me over to someone who knew nothing about me.

Why did they throw me into a lion's den? Because when dad finally said I was going to the pastor's house to get the necessary deliverance, I concluded everything would go from bad to worse. I begged and cried but it only pushed dad to the edge. It made him hit me, over and over, and even when mom tried to step in that one time, he slapped and kicked her in the back and stomach. I swear, I thought mom would die that day.

I didn't want to go to the pastor's house. He was creepy. But it was no use telling dad pastor looked at me funny. After the crying and screaming, I let dad drag me into his car and watched our house grow small, and smaller as dad gained speed.

Pastor's house was a bungalow, spacious enough to contain six or more people. Neat enough for me to want to stay but that was not all that mattered. I would rather stay in our two-bedroom apartment that had moldy, peeling walls than to stay in the house of a man who has a sick attraction for pre-teens and teenagers.

See? I'm really unlucky.

10:10 am

MS. DIDEOLU clutches desperately at the steering wheel, so hard she knows it will leave a pink mark on her palm. She tries staying focused but she can't help but survey the area as she takes the sharp corner leading home.

Where could Lola be? Only if she had been friends with her daughter; every mother does that. Keep their daughters close, know their secrets, find out who's crushing on them, and have the sex and abstinence talk, but she did none of that. She pushed Lola away.

Now, everywhere burns as the skin around her neck and face tightens. Her lips tremble and any moment, Ms. Dideolu will dissolve into a pile of mess. She has heard the news of girls getting raped, of girls getting killed, of girls getting kidnapped and trafficked. What if?

No, Lola is fine.

The principal had called her forty-five minutes ago, saying Lola ditched school and Ayo complained he was feeling sick before leaving, so she made a mental note they were together. But are they even friends?

Lola never disrespects people older than her neither does she walk out on them. Okay, Lola did walk out on her yesterday, but it was different. You don't know her. The voice... the one that keeps reminding her of failing as a mother.

The warm, morning wind caresses her cheek and it is until she touches her face she realized they are wet from tears.

Ms. Dideolu wipes at it, but more came and she sniffs and nods, trying so hard to be strong. Lola might have returned home and she might have found the birthday card and she might have a talk with Lola and they might start over.

But Lola's room is almost empty with things packed neatly in boxes. What if Lola doesn't come home? What if telling Lola to call her father was the last straw and she's decided to run away?

Her head pounds. All Ms. Dideolu wanted today is to wish her daughter a happy birthday, and encourage Lola to talk to her father.

Now, everything is spiraling out of control. Lola is somewhere not picking her calls, Lekan is back in Nigeria, bedridden with a kidney problem. And today might just give the opportunity to be a family again, no matter how far they are from home.

Ms. Dideolu presses the gas pedal, urging more speed and when she reaches Carter's house—where she lives and works, she barrels towards the white mansion and has one prayer in her heart: that Lola is home. But Ms. Dideolu knows this might be a waste of prayer.

Everything happening now seems like Deja Vu, like the time Lola disappeared as a kid. It was during an inter-house sports competition, two years after giving birth to Demola. Ms. Dideolu had been talking to a friend while Lola stood close. But she didn't know when her daughter slipped away until she turned and couldn't find her. She had caused a scene that day,  threatening the school and accusing them of being responsible for Lola's disappearance.

But then, she had thought: what if Lola was home? She had returned home and found Lola sitting at the front of their apartment. When she asked why Lola left without telling, Lola answered. "I wanted to use the toilet but I didn't want to disturb you." 

Back then, it sounded weird, but thinking about this now, it only means one thing: Lola has too many secrets and would never speak up even when something bothers her.

10:16 am

I don't trust anyone that includes Ayo and if he doesn't disclose where we are heading then I'm not moving from this spot.

He's given me no reason to follow him. 𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒊𝒇 𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒂 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒍𝒖𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒎 𝒎𝒆? I'm trying so hard to believe Ayo is nice, but Seun... Seun is sleek and Ayo might just be helping his brother to get to me. Blood is thicker than water and I know if things come to the worst, Ayo will choose his brother over me.

Ayo raises his brow, tugging on the straps of his backpack as he leaves the swing. "Are you coming?"

"Where?" I cross my arms across my chest, shaking my head. "No secrets, if you don't tell me where then... nope, not leaving here."

Ayo throws his head back as he laughs, causing the wind to tousle his hair. In a way it gives him a wild, untamed, and it suits him. He slides his hands into the pockets, but when our eyes meet, the wide grin on his face drops. The confidence he exudes annoys me so much I want to snap at him or something. I have said nothing funny.

"What's so funny?" My tone is clipped and gaze is hard.

Ayo gives me the are-you-kidding-me look before covering his eyes with his hands. "I'm famished, Lola. We head to the restaurant first and think of places to go next. I'm not going to eat you." He finishes his sentence and raises a brow.

Guilt floods over me so I say nothing, which earns me a nod from him. 𝑾𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝑰 𝒃𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔? This wasn't the real me, and thinking about it hurt me to my bones. The real me would tease Ayo, suggest places to go, get bored with each activity and crave for a new one. But sadly Lola only complains. 𝑾𝒉𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝑰 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆? 𝑫𝒐 𝑰 𝒃𝒍𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝑷𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒐𝒓 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒏𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒚 𝒓𝒖𝒊𝒏𝒆𝒅? 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒃𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒚 𝒇𝒂𝒎𝒊𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒂𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒆 𝒍𝒐𝒔𝒆 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒆 𝒊𝒏 𝒎𝒚 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒔?

"I have to be sure," I rub my palm over my hair then jump off the swing as Ayo's gaze burns the side of my head. Gosh, can't the ground just open and swallow me already. Stop looking at me, I say, but in my head. "I'm not... I'm not hungry though."

"Watch me eat," he gives me a lopsided grin, and when my eyes meet his, for the first time I notice the golden fleck around his iris. I snap my eyes off his.

The walk to the restaurant could have been fun if I answered every question Ayo asked. He wanted to know why I changed the way I used to dress. Well, Ayo, I have no reason to follow trends when life seems useless. He wanted to know why I dropped out of the student council. Ayo, they don't need someone like me. Talking with him is enticing but then he ruined it when he asked me why I sat on the ground, crying.

The problem with this whole hanging out with Ayo is that he thinks we are friend. But that is where he is wrong. We can never be friends, at least not in this life. Maybe in another life we may be friends and talk about almost anything. May be in that life, we would be more than friends. 𝑵𝒐, 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆. 𝑱𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒇𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔.

We push the door of Snacky--a popular fast food restaurant around town--and the mouthwatering aroma of cinnabons, burgers and fries welcomes me. A lot of people raved about this place but I have never been here. The place is full with customers murmuring on queue as the waiters serve foods. I look around the busy tables, spotting a young couple eating side by side talk with one glass of Coca-Cola each as they studiously bend over their plate of buggers. A group of young women in their twenties fall into helpless giggles as a stern woman dining alone look at them and then frown.

We take a seat at the extreme end, and a waiter dressed in a blinding, neon shirt approaches us. The waiter holds me in a steady gaze before focusing on Ayo who is smiling as usual. There's a red tattoo just below his lash line which is distracting from his aquamarine eyes. As Ayo orders chicken and sandwiches, he taps what looks like a mini touch screen in his hand, then beams at him with enthusiasm of someone new to the job. As he turns to leave, Ayo stops him and whispers something I don't hear then cast me a quick smile.

In minutes, the waiter leaves and returns with a tray of Ayo's order and a sandwich box. The waiter places the sandwich box in front of me, gives me a friendly smile and leave. I'm left wondering why he brought me something without asking but when I look up I know the reason.

"Told you I'm not hungry," I try to muster an angry voice but I can't. Not with the amusement on his face or maybe it's just me thinking too wild. But it's like he can see through me and my urge to smile. Why do I think this is even funny? It's like he sees my emotions fusing together inside of me: my amusement fighting earnestly with the hollowness deep in my heart. "Ayo–"

"You'll need it."

I open the box to find a chicken and ham sandwich. The sweet, smoky and seasoned snacks tingles my nostrils but I don't have this strong desire to eat even though my stomach is growling. Gee, I've been addicted to chicken and ham sandwich for years now, which brings the question, how does he know?

"How did you know what to order?"

"I've seen you eat it a couple of times," he wags his brows, rubs his palm together then feasts on his burger. Each bite he takes is mouthful and each time he swallows, he's reaching for his drink, trying to take everything all at once. Whoa!

Ayo is an unrepentant, cute glutton. If he loves food this much why is he so skinny? Where does the food go? My eyes are everywhere: it follows his hand as he picks the fries on the tray, to his mouth as he chews and take a gulp of drink. And then I'm looking at people passing by and I look at him again. Ayo meets my gaze at the same time I plan to look away and I stop.

"Happy birthday," he says through another mouthful of burger. "You should make a wish."

I don't know when I laugh but I'm quick to cover my mouth.

"Ha! Made you laugh." Ayo takes the last bite and wipes the remnants around his mouth with a tissue paper.

"You eat like a..." I shake my head and look away. Behind the counter, the waiter is pointing to the cash register as a girl—red hair in her twenties. I think—nods then disappears through a door.

"Eat like what?"

"Nothing."

"Say it," He drawls and for a moment, I think it's intentional. I squint at him. "Lola?"

"You eat like a pig," I meet his gaze, expecting him to flip out or frown at least, but he just laughs. Ayo moves forward, his fingers almost touching mine.

"A hot pig."

"Pigs aren't hot," I say. "They're dirty, stinky and gluttons."

"I'm hot, hot and hot."

I want to call him ode but he won't understand me and I'll have to explain what it means even though he's half Nigerian. His mom hardly speaks any Yoruba with both of them.

"Where are we going from here?" I say.

He gives me a quick look, biting his lower lip. "What do you do on your birthdays?"

"Seun helped out..." My heartbreaks as I mention his name. I close my eyes, swallow the lump in my throat then open my eyes. "He threw me a party last year." But the years before, I spent my birthdays alone with no one.

"I'm guessing you don't want a party?"

My eyes harden. I shake my head and pick at my edges.

"No parties," he nods, drumming the table with his fingers then sighs. "It's your birthday. C'mon stop frowning. You should be happy. It's a 'Happy birthday!' you know what I'm saying?" He rambles on and when I say nothing, he slumps on the chair with his long arms drooping at the sides.

"What's there to be happy about? It's just a birthday."

He's shoots forward again, causing the chair to screech and once again, his fingers almost touch mine. I pull my hands from the table.

"Birth represents new beginnings," he says. "Birthdays are a celebration... anniversary of one's birth. Which means every birthday, you celebrate every new beginning."

"First of all, that definition is... I don't know," I glance up, trying to find a word that is subtler than stupid. "Okay, it's just your own definition." I give up trying to find something less disrespectful to say.

"Nah, everyone's definition."

"Nope. Not mine."

"What's your definition?"

"I don't have a definition... it's just," I shrug, blowing air through my mouth and scratch my scalp. "Look at it this way: why celebrate a day that draws us nearer to our death day?"

His mouth drops open. "But..." He blinks. "Every day you wake up draws you to your death day."

"Yes, I know," I huff. "But if you have say 20 years to live, your 19th birthday says you have one more year."

Ayo takes a deep breath; sits back and crosses his arms over his chest. "Never thought of it that way."

His confession earns him a proud smile from me, but I look away when his piercing stare doesn't leave me. We stay silent and it gnaws at my insides and hangs in the air like the suspended moment before a falling glass shatters on the ground. I glance outside to see cars rumble along the street.

"So..."

I lift my eyes to meet his. Staring isn't quite the word for what Ayo is doing, though anyone walking by will assume it is. His eyes rest, unblinking and intense; yet the effect are soft and inviting instead of harsh. A corner of his mouth curls into an amused smile before he stretches over the table. As he grabs for a drink, I catch the words inked on his right arm. It's dark, deep, small and unclear. For a moment, I wish he'd roll his sleeves higher. Ayo got that tattoo few days before his 18th birthday, I'm sure of it and right now, I'm tempted to ask him about it but I say nothing.

It makes no sense to make him tell me more about himself. He might take it the wrong way and think I like him. I don't like him.

Ayo takes another big gulp from his drink, returns it to the table and lets his eyes follow mine and then he smiles. He smiles knowingly. "I confess. I have no idea where to go for your day. Any ideas?"

"Oh," I make air quotes with my hands. "I thought you are being secretive."

Ayo pushes his hair from the side of his face and holds a finger up. "You hate secrets.... so don't blame me if the whole 'No secrets thing' took every damn idea off my brain."

"Blaming me now?" I tilt my head, smiling but my face drops when my phone vibrates against my thigh. I make a silent prayer, hoping it's not Seun. It's him.

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒖 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒄𝒐𝒐𝒍 𝒔𝒕𝒖𝒇𝒇 𝒏𝒐𝒘?

I'm about to put it back in my pocket when my phone vibrates again. Y𝒐𝒖'𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒈𝒏𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒎𝒆 𝒏𝒐𝒘? 𝑼 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒏𝒔 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒖 𝒅𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕?

My hands shake as my mouth turns dry. I click the lock-screen button then put it in pocket again. Every muscle in my body tightens, ready to spring into action. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏? 𝑹𝒖𝒏 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒏𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒃𝒂𝒄𝒌? Ayo will most likely follow me and I don't want that. It's hard enough to keep the secret eating me up but if I run and Ayo follows what do I tell him?

That his brother has my pictures and videos? Let's say Seun releases my pictures–which I know he will—what will Ayo think of me when I'm gone? I cringe inwardly because I know what is coming for me today and I know even after my death people will call me names.

I lift my head to see Ayo watching me. The playful smile on his face has vanished and it's replaced with worry lines between his eyebrows. "Are you okay?" he holds my gaze.

𝑰'𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕, 𝑨𝒚𝒐. I'm afraid of what is to come. Even though my plans for tonight still holds, I'm scared my mom will call me a disgrace when I'm gone because for real, I'm nothing but a waste.

"Yes." I say.

"Cause if you're not," he shoots his hands to hold me forward but I scoot back as if his fingers will burn me. He doesn't take offense to it though. The Ayo I've always known—the little I know—will smile and take my hand again if I reach out to him.

"I'm great," I force a smile even though there is a silence in my soul and coldness in my blood. "Totally awesome!"

Telling him everything will ruin everything. What I need is to live for the moment and hide my pain behind a mask. "We should get going now. Let's go somewhere... anywhere."

"Okay," he sighs. "What's your idea of fun?"

"Documenting everything around me with my camera."

"We need that. But we can't keep taking pictures," Ayo peers and bites his lower lip. "Where are the places you've never gone?"

"Plenty," I let out a small laugh.

"Good," he says. "Give me a sheet of paper. We need to compile a list."

"Uhm, a list?"

"Yea. We are trying out and visiting every place you've never been to."