Fiction

It’s Not That Deep

You’re having a casual gist with a brother just after the close of service. Midway to the discussion, he withholds his next statements like they’d turn out some abomination. His eyes pop out like Segun Arinze’s, shock making a mess of his handsome face.

You’re wondering what could be wrong. Perhaps, you’ve let out one of those biting sarcasms subconsciously dished out to some of the sons of Adam whenever your harmless conversations take the wrong turn. Feeling slighted, they drop the gist like some hot potatoes and verbally launch at you with bloodshot eyes.

What is wrong with you? Are we mates? Do you know who you’re talking to?” They put series of overrated questions in your face, the last flung at you like you’re the custodian of their identity.

“How can you be talking to me like that, don’t you know I’m a man?“, they fume with more anger, trying hard to steal a care from your indifferent gaze.

Oh well“, you sigh, relieved by the partial cure of their amnesia. At least they get to remember their gender. You shake your head, walk away with faith that some day, in a future not so bleak, they’ll fully recover their memory. They will, you believe, when they realize they share their almighty identity with some madman down their street.

You get your mind off those sons of Adam and focus your attention on this brother. You observe him closely to see if he’s another of them don’t-you-know-I’m-a-man folks. But what you see leaves you slightly confused. Bro’s countenance has changed from shock to pure awe. He’s staring at you, smiling like some cute rat.

What the hell is happening here?”, you quiz yourself, getting drowned in confusion. Too lost to sort the puzzle, you attempt putting an end to the increasing awkwardness.

Erm, brother, what’s up, is everything okay with you?” you ask, your expression conveying sincerity and care.

Oh, sorry sister. What were we talking about again?” Bro makes a lame attempt at wading off your question while regaining composure.

We were talking about something not being right with you…?”

“Well… It’s nothing really. Just that I’m a little bit surprised-“

“I noticed that earlier. Was wondering why though. Why are you surprised?”

“Erm… sister, while we were gisting now. You called me something nobody in church has called me before.”

“I did? Was it off the hook? Did it offend you?”

“No sister. Calm down. Actually, it sounded really nice. And because of your high profile in church, I never thought you’d consider me worthy to be addressed thus.”

You scoff, wondering when you’d be weaned of your celebrity status, not like you consider yourself anything of such. But then you understand. Your voice is about the greatest miracle this church has experienced. And whenever you think about it, you want to laugh out your lungs. Like, who celebrates a certified sister Nkiruka kinda Voice that’s good for nothing save bathroom ministrations? You walked into this church with your glittering skin and poise and in just a few months, hearts are melting at your awesomeness. At first, you thought it was all about your looks… until the choir opened up their mouth.

Brother,” you smile for once since the confusion.

I don’t really know what you’re talking about,” you say feigning humility. “But I’ll like to know what it was I said that makes you feel this way”

Sweetheart…”

“Sweetheart?”

“Yes. Sorry. I mean that’s the word you said. Sweetheart.

His words takes you by a storm. You stare hard at him, overwhelmed by the reason for his confusing expressions and poorly suppressed emotions. But But Bro is staring right back with that I-ain’t-kidding kinda look. He loses composure once more and smiles like a Chicken feasting on excessive feeds in oblivion of the fate that awaits it at the festive season.

You take another look at this bro. You feel weak. Drained. You’re wondering the fate of mankind. The economy. Boko Haram. Niger Delta Avengers. The nation’s ailing educational system. Chibok girls. Bush. Tick bush. And more bush. Precolonial era. Medieval man. God. Church. Religion. Brother. Christ!

You want to think, but all your mind can conjure is an Obahiagbon crooned higgi-yagga. You don’t feel good. You want to sleep. But this brother is still before you, grinning. You’re wondering what thoughts are ravishing his mind. You feel really bad that your innocent “Sweetheart” is wrecking havoc in his heart. You want to tell him it’s not that deep. That Sweetheart is a name of any person, animal place or thing. But you remember the message preached in church earlier.

Let brotherly love continue…. pastor’s words echo in your head.

You want to scream back at the voice that this is not brotherly love. It’s brotherly lust. But something tugging at your brain tells you to let it go. That It’s not that deep.

You take one last look at bro, give a wry smile, then pick up your bag. Your apology of a smile broadens as he takes cue you’re about leaving. You walk out of church, hoping that this brotherly love wouldn’t develop wings.

  Credit for 1st graphics: www.timesofIndia.Indiatimes.com

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Hey hun,

Thanks for reading this. Hope you’re having a fab Sunday?

Have a beautiful week ahead.

Don’t forget to laugh out loud. Be good.

I breathe in music, and exhale words tastefully woven for your soul's pleasure. When high on sarcasm, I could smash your ribs into fine pieces. But whether on a stage, singing out my heart, on in Solitude, scribbling out mysteries, my greatest aim is to bless humanity with the essence of my being.

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