The cigarette smoke wafted in the air around us, thick and sour, almost provoking me to involuntary tears. The smell of different strengths of beer added to the assault on my nostrils. The din from the restaurant was heavy, as pot-bellied men and girls in skimpy dresses jived and chattered away.
Sandy sat there, elated and obviously enjoying herself. She tore at the chicken and licked her fingers.
“You won’t eat? I don’t know what you are worried about. I told you already. I didn’t abort your baby. I just saw my period. That’s all.”
I didn’t know whether to believe her or not. I sighed.
“You are such a kill-joy. I could be enjoying some cool beer now.” She sulked.
“You are a bad influence on me. You are ruining my life.” I said, looking away.
She dropped the chicken and looked at me, mouth ajar. She put her head on the table and started to sob.
She lifted her head and shook it. She said nothing. Tears were streaming down her face. Passers-by looked at us, with various degrees of puzzled expressions on their faces. I was embarrassed, but I could care less. It was already bad enough that I, Samson, was sitting at table, in such a place.
I paid the bills and rose to leave. She followed at a distance, still in tears.
Sandy continued to cry when we got home. She lay on the bed and faced the wall. I almost felt sorry for her.
The following morning, she sat quietly, facing the window. I could not imagine what was going through her mind.
Maybe she wasn’t really pregnant afterall. If that was the case, then I had to do something fast to outsmart the game she was playing on me. It wouldn’t be long before she started pulling on my belt all over again.
I went to the bathroom and prayed in tongues, for the first time in four months. A prayer of repentance, a cry for help. I was sweating profusely when I came out. An immense power inside of me opened my mouth.
“Sandy, I can’t do this anymore. It is over”. I said, my voice husky.
“Shit happens”, She said.
She dressed up, putting on a tight-fitting red top that exposed at least a fourth part of her breasts. She packed her things into her Aristo bag, and stomped out of the room, out of my life.
“I missed my period”, Sandy says, bluntly. She fixes her gaze on me. A menacing, cold stare. She is doubtless daring me to say anything inappropriate. Anything that would be be deserving of the full force of feminine fury. She brushes aside some itinerant strands of artificial hair from the side of her face.
I wince and stare back. My jaw drops. A wave of intense heat flows through my whole body and I shudder. I force my teeth together to avoid clattering.
“Are you dumb?” Sandy shouts, “You lost your voice eh?”
“Why are you shouting?” I murmur, still confused.
She sits down. Panting. I can see she is ready for a fist-fight.
I feel like Samson right now. I guess bearing his name is one of the factors complicating my life. I look into Sandy’s eyes and I see Delilah there. Finally, Dagon has his day.
“Good, it is well”, I say in a husky voice.
“It is well?” Sandy seems confused.
She flashes a pregnancy test strip in my face. The lines rub salt into my injury.
“I guess it’s time we meet your parents and tell them what has happened. I’ll tell my people too.”
Sandy is jittery. She starts crying.
I sit on the floor, scratching and rubbing my head. The corners of the room seemed to be dissolving and subliming and I hold my head in both hands as if that would prevent an imminent explosion.
I know she’s only acting out, pretending to be devastated. This was her plan all along. I feel like a porcupine in the hands of its captor. I wish for a moment I could just curl up into a ball and disappear.
She’s got me. Cold. Exactly where she wanted me to be.
I try to take some responsibility. Obviously, it takes two to tango. I remember all the yells, the complaints, the unsolicited touches. I remember my part in all that went down.
My part was silence.
I did not resist her wiles. I kept quiet. I realize now that if one keeps silent in the face of deception, one soon becomes a part of it.
She is pregnant.
I know I will never be party to the murder of an innocent soul. That is not negotiable.
Perhaps from now on, I will stand by what I believe in without wavering.
However, the pregnancy milk has been split. What do I do now?
She is coming to see me today. I still
have not decided what to do. She had
sent me a BBM message that she was
longing to see me. We saw each other
two days ago. I am afraid to probe
further into what that ‘longing’ meant.
Would today be the day I drop my
convictions at the door? Maybe I have
been prudish…maybe a little kissing, just
a little sign of affection might not be as
bad as it seems.
All too soon, there is a knock on the
door. I take a look at myself and I see
shirt button hanging open. I quickly
fasten it before opening the door.
“Hey,” she says cheerily, giving me a
once over. She is dressed in a top and
skirt. Harmless enough, I thought.
“Hi,” I mumble. “How was your day?” I
ask as she sits down beside me on the
“It’s getting better,” she says smiling at
me. Instinctively, my eyes go to her lips.
They are fuller than I ever noticed
before. The room begins to feel a little
hot so I stand up to open the windows.
“How was yours?” she asked me.
“It was good. I was able to get a lot of
work done today.”
“That’s good o. I’m glad all my BBM
messages did not distract you from your
work,” she says. I do not respond.
“You know, you look so serious. You are
doing that thing to me again,” she says
edging closer to me.
“What thing?” I ask, my heart thumping
in my chest.
“This,” she says as she puts her mouth
close to my face. I know what she is
about to do. But I don’t know what to
do. I want her to do it, and I don’t want her to. Should I push her away and risk hurting her deeply? Or just allow for one short small meeting of the lips?
What do I do?
By Victoria Ozidu