STEEMIT FICTION | MELTING THE SKY

MELTING THE SKY

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We were holding hands, drinking in the moonlight, the tender evening breeze fumbling underneath our clothes, caressing our skins; we were living together in that moment, in that instant, before you said you had a craving for groundnuts.

_{Photo by Nathaniel Tetteh on Unsplash.}

I wanted to get back before the soft breeze became a gale, but I could never refuse you anything. We crossed to a corner kiosk and bought fifty naira worth of groundnuts and a sachet of water. We sat on a bench that rested beside the kiosk and we watched the world pass by.

You told me of your town, of your intention to never go back there. You explained to me that nothing grew there; neither human, animal nor plant. I wondered why we always run away from home when we are old enough to leave. I wondered at what must have chased you away from your family, then I wondered why I too, was seated there under the strange sky watching your lips from the corner of my eyes as you spoke with longing about a home you no longer want to see.

I picked some of your groundnuts and you hit me, laughing. I caught the sad smile of the woman behind the counter, watching us. I could see us in her eyes; young, carefree, alive, beautiful and I knew that in her head were memories of a time, when she too sat beside a corner kiosk, her heart beating fast, her dainty hands lost between the paws of some handsome guy whose name and face, time has blurred beyond recognition.

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We thanked the woman and left her to her memories, and holding hands we continued walking. I told you about my family; how I hated my father for cheating on my mother and how my mother had borne so much to make me get to where I was at the moment. You told me that every man had the ability to be a cheat in them but that it took a man with self control, to stay faithful to his wife.

I told you of the open spaces where people farmed cassava and corn, spaces where I and my friends used to go, smoke weed and exchange girl stories. Spaces were I used to slobber and fumble over a beautiful girl I once used to know. I told you how those open spaces are now filled with duplexes and mansions and how much I detested the change in my landscape. You laughed and said everything must change. I remember saying I didn't want to change and I can still see the laughter flee your face as you told me to grow up.

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We walked to the end of the street. We stood under the broken street light ringed with grass and empty sachets of water, biscuit wrappers and polythene bags trembling in the breeze. You removed your hand from mine and hugged yourself. I asked you if you were cold and you said you were a little bit cold. I took off my jacket and gave it to you. You smiled and told me I smelt like stale cigarettes.

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INTERLUDE

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A poet steps on the podium and adjusts the mic. He looks at the bored crowd and sighs. He opens the book and taps the mic to confirm that it was working, then he reads;

_{Photo by Benjamin Wagner on Unsplash.}

We will weaken
Like the dew fading
Into dust and a burnt yellow sun.
We will flounder like a drowning ship,
Raising waves to the weary sky,
Waiting for the rain to fall
To wipe all that has passed beneath it's eyes.

We will not forget
Though, what it means
To be within each other's arms,
What it means to understand
The beating heart, the trembling lips,
The hungry fingers and the questing eyes.
We will remember what love is.

When we have become dust
And dandelions grow between our hips;
When we hold the roots of old trees
On the crown of our skull,
We will still flutter through the air;
Not strangers anymore, not friends
But something more;
Something even the heavens are yet to divine.

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UNDERSTANDING THE RAIN

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You asked me if I have ever fallen in love with anyone and I said yes; a long time ago. You smiled, a dimple winking on your left cheek and asked me to tell the story to you. I told you that there wasn't a story. She had been a tall, slim jewel in the sun of my teenage years. She had big limpid eyes that laughed with one. She had white strong teeth and the softest, reddest lips ever. I quickly told you that I had never kissed her but I just knew. I told you she had a slight limp that you won't take note of if you are not observant but damn, she was a jewel. You stared at me while I spoke; I asked you why and you said that memories are always beautiful or ugly but never dull. I did not understand you.

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_{Photo by Lily Lvnatikk on Unsplash.}

You said you wanted to go back, so we turned our backs to the road; men and women rushing to whatever peace they can find at home, smoke fumes clogging the air, tires squealing, people cursing, drains stinking. We turned our faces back down the street we just came out of.

The corner kiosk was dark and silent when we passed, the woman and her memories were gone. We passed a couple arguing before little children with big shiny eyes and equally big shiny stomachs. You looked at me and I shook my head then you told me that your father used to beat your mother. You told me how you used to watch, helpless as he would pummel her, taking away her identity, her faith, her love, and in the end, her life. I stopped in shock at your story but you just smiled and patted my arm.

Without blinking, without missing a beat, you told me that when your mother had passed on, you became the focus of your father's anger and lust. You told me, your voice steady, your eyes eyeing the unknown length of your memory, of how your father raped you everyday for seven years and how he helped you procure abortions when you became pregnant. You said that was why you will not go back home.

The silence after your story hung over us like a thick dusty blanket. It stank of my horror and of your shame. At the gate, you turned to me and asked if I now understood and I nodded my head. You smiled sadly and patted my arm.

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We walked into the building, passed the reception, passed the different faces that hung around the corridor trying to understand why life was the way it was. We passed people trying to live one breath at a time, then we arrived at our destination.

The doctor looked at us from his perusal of a file but we ignored him and walked to the bed. She was sleeping, the most beautiful thing that we have ever done in our life. I could understand you now, your motivations, why you hated to see pain in others. You have lived with pain and you dread seeing people living like you have done.

You caressed her eyebrows, then you kissed her forehead and turned away. I could not touch her, I just watched her from the distance that stood between us. You turned to the doctor and nodded.

You came into my arms as the grief came. Your tears washed my skin and drained my emotions. I stood still like a rock and held you as you wept for me and for yourself and our little one who never had a chance. The rain finally fell.

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THE END

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Note: It is 5:02am. I started this story at about 4:26am. I wrote this after reading a post by @galenkp about how much we do not know about the people we call our friends and loved ones. The social media is gradually taking away the social part of our lives. Let us not be strangers.

The story is divided by an untitled poem but it is one whole story.

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Music: Way Down We Go by Kaleo.

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_{Hey folks, this is Oskilo's blog and he would love to read your suggestions on how to make this blog better serve you. He would like to know what you, his reader, think of the content so do not forget to leave a comment; you just might have something he needs.}

Peace,

©warpedpoetic.