Your Folly : A Short Story

You landed him a dirty slap and jumped out of bed. The floor to which you fell was cold, but not nearly as your heart to Idowu. He was toast. Then you realized the slapping took place in a dream. It was 3:30 in the morning. The room was cold and silent but for the squeaky fan, Ebere’s snores, and your angry heart. You arose from the ground wishing you did not wake up just yet. You wished you broke Idowu’s head after the slap. Light from the electric bulb dangling from the ceiling would disrupt Ebere’s sleep so you reached for your phone. Its light would have to do, you thought. You were wrong, as you stepped on a slippery substance and went straight down, bruising your elbow on your way. For a second, you felt stupid, and then a thought hinted that your fall was a bad omen. You rose carefully and reached for the light switch. Ebere would have to pardon you. As the lights came on, your eyes caught sight of the book a classmate forgot in your room when he visited, two days before. It was boldly titled “Forgive and Forget”. You shoved it under your pillow. Ebere did not move. You looked enquiringly on the ground for the stuff that caused your fall. It was a banana peel you did not dispose last night. The banana you munched angrily moments before you slept.

You took gentle steps to a nearby chair and sat on it. You recounted yesterday’s incidence and the fire within you burned. You imagined how you would confront Idowu and when he would talk back; the slap would be made a reality on his face.  That was where you stopped. For some unknown reason, you thought the slap would shut him up and set him straight forever. You never imagined he could be stronger.

Realizing you had a long journey ahead; you arose and walked to the bathroom of your school room. You paused at the door, remembering it was 3:30am. Even if you spent an hour in the bath, you would still be too early. So, you walked back to your seat, still red-eyed angry. Ebere turned but that was all. For a moment, you wished he woke up and tried to stop you for the last time from embarking on the journey. You knew for certain that you would not stop yourself. Idowu had crossed the line. Your ego had to be redeemed. You arose and went back to bed. 5:00am at last. You arose and at a glance noticed that Ebere was not on his bed. There was the sound of flushing toilet and seconds later, Ebere’s frame appeared at the bathroom’s door. You avoided eye contact. Ebere said nothing and went back to bed.

At 6:33 am, you were at the motor park. You were lightly packed with nothing but a change of clothing in a small bag, just in case you had to spend the night in Lagos. You planned to teach Idowu his lesson and return to Benin the same day, even if you would have to travel by night. It was a six hour journey.  The bus you boarded was a Toyota that had seen better days. You were made to sit beside an older man in the front seat.  As the vehicle dragged along, you watched the driver shift the gear. It was all rusty metal and tattered leather.  Your eyes flamed in anger. How could Idowu say such? Distance had given him effrontery. You would prove otherwise, you thought. You would not allow familiarity turn to insult.  You switched off your mobile phone and rehearsed the slap.

You opened your eyes and felt light headed. You could not see the moving trees of interstate roads. The rusty gear was not in sight. You thought to look around but your neck was stiff and held down tightly. You could see white ceiling boards. The air reeked of disinfectant. You felt no pain; you felt no part of your body.  You drifted away.

You awoke to voices. A light tremor ran through your body and you let out a moan. A woman in white immediately appeared over you, smiling. She asked how you felt; she spoke kind words and said you would be fine. There was another person in the room, adjusting a drip feed that stood beside you.  In words that were barely audible, you enquired about your location, you expressed your ignorance. She explained that you survived an auto crash on Benin-Ore road and was in the hospital.  She said a mobile phone was found on you and they had called home. Home? That was where you where headed, what happened? The last you could remember was a rusty gear and… yes, screaming people.  Your mind was in anarchy. Thought struggled with thought, imaginations raged. It felt like a long dream. You floated off again.

You were not sure how long you had been strapped to the bed. Your folly stung deep. When a doctor asked if you had any family members or friends who lived in Benin, you said you had none. She was puzzled, since the Identity card found in your wallet indicated that you were a student of the University of Benin. She asked again, stating clearly that you were at the University Of Benin Teaching Hospital.  You maintained your response.  You could not bear what Ebere would say or scarier, not say if he saw you strapped to a hospital bed, swaddled in bandages. He pleaded for you to calm down that night; he said you should pardon Idowu’s words as those from an ignorant younger brother. He grew quiet when you said his tribe was known to lack respect and so he was not worthy to give advice on the matter. He said no more till you left for Lagos. You presumed he was angry, but as usually, you were angrier.  Years later, Ebere would joke that you almost got yourself killed in the bid to slap someone. He would use it to warn you about anger until it would become a cliché. 

Idowu’s crime now seemed so light. You wondered why you were so angry. You still could not move your neck, but in place of the white ceiling, you saw your folly in 3D images. Shame and guilt worked shifts to clear the anarchy in your mind. You wondered what you were thinking when you left school in Benin to slap your brother in Lagos over a telephone argument. In self defence, you blamed Idowu for everything. If he had spoken respectfully, the unfortunate incidence would not have occurred. You did the right thing.  It was a corrective measure, and it was a move to drive the point of your seniority home, deep in Idowu’s skull. It was the right thing to do. Or was it? Anger and pride tried to wrestle guilt and shame. 

When you heard your mother say “Oluwa O” with a hint of tears and fear in her voice, from the general direction of the ward’s entrance, guilt and shame prevailed. In a few seconds, Idowu and your mother where hovering over you. A nurse stood close by.  You offered a weak smile and greeted them both. You immediately wanted to cry. The nurse began to assure your mother that you would be fine. She said a few more things and took her leave.

“How is your body” Your mother asked. Idowu said nothing. He wore a genuine smile of encouragement and maintained eye contact.  He ferreted around your entire body and examined the bandages like he was a doctor. Why on earth did you want to slap such a caring fellow? It was somehow obvious that they wanted to hear the story. What happened? Where were you going? And other details surrounding the accident, but you maintained silence. You hoped they will postpone such questions till you had come up with a believable fabrication.  Your mother began to curse government officials for not repairing Benin-Ore road. She continued with a history of how the road had been deteriorating, year after year and how contractors and public officers had made away with the billions on Naira allocated yearly to the road’s construction. She said she was assured that the creator would judge. You recognized instantly that the hospital staff had briefed her on the location of the accident. How much more had they told her? Idowu found two plastic chairs at a corner in the ward and they sat close to your bed, your mother to your right and Idowu to your left. You sensed that your silence bothered them.  Your mother kept asking how you felt, and then she began the tale from how they received the call about your accident and you knew she would go on detail after detail till she reached the present moment. You felt relieved by the diversion and even managed to laugh and make few comments as she spoke.  Idowu spoke too, correcting any error in your mother’s tale. Soon, you were all laughing and talking. It was in the midst of a short pause in the conversation that Idowu asked “Why were you coming to Lagos?”