I’m leaving because I’m a ‘big-gestures’ kinda girl. I thrive in the spontaneous actions that leave you spinning. So, flinging your phone out the window might have been too much but you got the point, didn’t you? That I wouldn’t have that.. tramp calling you every other hour. Buying your sister that laptop might have turned your mother against me forever but did you see that smile? Did you see that smile, babe?
I’m leaving because I have to. I got in my car and started driving back to Lagos because I can’t stand being in the same house.. same town with you for another sixty seconds. There is no option of staying to talk things through; you’re a silly vagabond! Vagabond, because the v and the g with the ‘bond’ make my feelings sound more potent. It’s a big word, you know? It has feeling! You vagabond! If I stayed, I would’ve bashed your head in with a pan then become the half-nude woman on Ring Road who killed her lover then ran mad. Now, that’s a story.
I’m leaving because I’m a ‘do-it-for-the-story’ kinda girl. Like that time we got chased in your village cos as a woman, I wasn’t supposed to be out for the festival? Glad we got in safe; I can see our kids’ faces lighting up as I elaborately narrate the episode to them. Or when we kissed in front of that nurse after telling her that yes, we were siblings. I don’t think we should tell the children that one.
Right now, I’m not sure I still want to marry you or start a family with your vagabond self. And this Lagos-Ibadan express way looks more sinister every passing moment. The car behind surely can overtake this sluggish pick-up of mine. Being robbed and raped isn’t a story I’d like. No, no. No, I won’t dump my truck. It has character. I’m a ‘but-it-has-character’ kinda girl. Like my scratched watch and torn sofa, my truck breathes character. It’s lived, you know?
Like us. We’ve lived. We’ve been at this thing a long time. So, it hurt when you asked if I was with you for the story. Of being the girl who was with the guy with the scarred neck. Beauty and the Beast? It stung when you asked if I was in it because the picture we made had character. Quirky; odd. If marrying you was just a big gesture. If you were a big gesture.
But you aren’t. You’ve been the one constant in my life of constant change. The solidity by my side as I’ve gone through a million flighty fleeting pastimes. The consoling hand when my experiments go wrong; the scolding eyes when I’ve gone too far.
I should have told you this instead of running away. I should make a U-turn; make a huge speech of this. Yes, this would be the perfect big gesture! “I thought she was gone for good but alas, I saw the dim headlights of her truck sweep the room and there she was!” Now, that’s a good story. It has character…