The Holies

The run to my home was driven by a fear to outrun whatever had stuck itself to me, I didn’t like it, it wasn’t likable. It had pushed Otimkpu down and whilst doing so, had placed a bright red flag on me. I could see it, Thursday afternoons stuck at the Charism Hall, surrounded by drums of holy water and a rosary holding congregation. I could hear the whispers from the holier than thous, the mommies without sin, the perfect ones, the righteous, all speaking down on the unclean, me. So as I ran, rushing to my supposed home amidst the whispers, calls and declarations which drowned most of my rationality, an image came forth forcing the others away, one which mattered much more to me than any of the others, terrified me the most. It was of nnanyi, my father, with his walking stick, looking upon me as though I was evil itself.

Walking in through the gates of my home, and walking past my father at 11am I expected a reaction. I was supposed to be at school, and he was supposed to harass me for being home too early, he didn’t, he didn’t even seem notice me, his eyes, elsewhere, mind, elsewhere, he wasn’t present, yet he was. So I walked, as slowly as I could, as quietly as I could

“I know it’s you.”

Turning to face me, I saw what I’d hoped to see all my years but never gotten, yet the sight of it killed me. He smiled, and in his smile lay the emotions which had always been vacant in his eyes, the emotions I’d never want to feel. Desperation, melancholy, hopelessness, so I walked away, striding on as though I had not seen, for I hoped to not see, and to not feel.