CHAPTER EIGHT WHEN WRONG IS LOUD!

© Opeyemi Akintunde
As Inspired by the Creative Word

I went to Sikemi’s house the next morning.

More like, I volunteered.

But let me not jump.

Let me pick up from where we stopped ….

When Sikemi’s message came in about my round neck and my biceps, my mind first ran to places it had no business running to.

I knew I needed to apply the brakes.

So I logged out immediately and returned my mum’s phone.

I went into the bedroom and curled up on my bed like a child who had done something wrong and did not want to be caught.

Mark came in not long after.

My sleeping posture caught his attention because I never slept like that. I was the kind of person who slept freely, like someone who owned the whole bed and had shares in the pillow company.

But that night, I was folded like evidence.

“What’s up?” Mark asked.

“About?” I replied quickly, pretending not to understand.

He stood by the door and looked at me.

“Why are you sleeping that way?” he asked. “Beyond that, why have you been over the moon all day? Why didn’t Rosie walk home with us? Why were you cracking those dry jokes at dinner? And why did you run outside to use Mum’s phone?”

Ah.

This boy had been collecting evidence since morning.

I quickly sat up.

“Judge Mark,” I said, “which one am I supposed to answer first?”

“None,” he replied sharply.

That was worse.

“I just want you to know I see through you,” he said. “This has to do with Sikemi and whatever must have happened in that room. If you like, go there again tomorrow.”

I swallowed.

He knew too much without knowing enough.

Mark walked to his side of the room, then turned back to me.

“Matthew, don’t get carried away by the glitters of her life,” he said. “Immorality is no more trendy. Purity and purpose are the new trendy.”

That one entered.

It entered deep.

It felt like a quote that should be written boldly on a wall. It felt like something that should be placed on billboards in the middle of the street so young people would read it, pause, and internalize it.

Immorality is no more trendy. Purity and purpose are the new trendy.

For a few seconds, I did not have any sarcastic reply.

That was how I knew the statement had touched something inside me.

Mark lay down on his side of the bed, turned his back to me, and in less than ten minutes, he was snoring.

Yes, I knew when he started snoring because sleep had eluded me.

My eyes were open.

My body was on the bed, but my mind had become a battlefield.

There were too many voices fighting for my attention.

My mother’s sermons from childhood.

Mark’s Holy Spirit voice.

Rosie’s blunt, disappointed voice.

And Sikemi’s voice.

At first, all the voices were talking at the same time, but slowly, Sikemi’s voice began to sound louder than the others.

It was not just the voice from the bedroom.

It was not just the voice that had asked me to kiss her.

It was not just the voice that had typed, Handsome.

It was the voice of her lifestyle.

The voice of her beauty.

The voice of her father’s house.

The voice of the countries she had visited.

The voice of her soft skin and expensive photos.

The voice of the possibility of what my life could look like if Sikemi Alabi dated me.

That was the voice that refused to keep quiet.

I turned from one side of the bed to the other.

Then I turned again.

Mark kept snoring like a man who had fulfilled his destiny for the day.

I envied him.

How could he sleep after dropping spiritual missiles in my life?

After about one hour, Sikemi Alabi’s voice had become louder in my ears, in my mind, and maybe even in my spirit.

So by morning, it only made sense to volunteer.

At least, that was what I told myself.

I woke up earlier than everyone. I swept the compound. I washed the few plates in the kitchen. I arranged the sitting room. I did everything quickly, as if domestic excellence would make my plan look righteous.

By 5:30 a.m., I was already in my school uniform.

Then I went into my mum’s room.

She was still lying down, but her eyes opened when I called her softly.

“Mum.”

She turned slightly. “Matthew?”

“How are you feeling this morning?” I asked, wearing my most caring-son face.

“I am better,” she said, studying me. “But why are you dressed so early?”

“I wanted you to still rest today,” I said. “I can quickly go and finish up the house cleaning at the Alabis’ place before school.”

Her face softened immediately.

“Ah, Matthew,” she said. “God bless you. You are so thoughtful.”

Thoughtful.

If only she knew that thoughtfulness was not the only thing carrying my legs.

She gave me transport fare and prayed for me.

“Go and come back safely,” she said. “Don’t be late to school.”

“Yes, Mum.”

I collected the money, picked up my bag, and left the house.

But just as I was about to step out through the gate, I heard Mark’s voice behind me.

“Matthew!”

I stopped.

My heart did something I did not authorize.

I turned back.

Mark was standing at the doorway, his eyes fixed on me.

“You are going?”

“Mum asked me to,” I said quickly.

The lie was not completely a lie.

But it was not the full truth either.

Mark stared at me for a few seconds.

“Matthew, this is not going to end well.”

His voice was calm, and somehow, that made it heavier.

“I am not going there to mess up,” I replied. “I promise.”

“What if you get messed up?” he asked.

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

“Sometimes, it is not only about what you will do or not do,” Mark said. “Most times, it is also about what people will do or not do to you.”

I became quiet.

He continued, “Don’t let Sikemi mess you up.”

Then he turned back and went inside.

Honestly, his words did not make sense to me at that time.

Or maybe they made sense, but I did not want them to.

I did not really hear him.

All I could hear loud and clear was Sikemi’s voice from the previous day.

If you did not lie about what you said earlier, you can come and clean the room yourself tomorrow.

And just like that, my legs carried me towards the very place my spirit had been warning me about.

To be continued…

DEEP THOUGHTS NOVELS
Written by Opeyemi Akintunde
As Inspired by the Creative Word

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