CHAPTER TWELVE WHEN WRONG IS LOUD!

© Opeyemi Akintunde
As Inspired by the Creative Word

“What medicine did you get for Sikemi?”

Mum’s question stood in the room like a teacher waiting for the correct answer.

I opened my mouth, but nothing came out. The truth stood at the door of my mouth, but fear pushed it back.

“Mum…” I started slowly. “It was just medicine for chest pain.”

“Chest pain?” she asked.

“Yes,” I said quickly. “She was not feeling fine.”

Mum frowned a little. “But Martins said it had something to do with ulcer.”

My heartbeat missed one step.

Ulcer?

Why did Martins not send me the script before calling my mother?

For a second, my brain scattered like papers in front of a fan. Then I quickly picked one lie from the floor.

“Yes, Mum,” I said. “The ulcer was giving her chest pain.”

Mum looked at me, not suspiciously, just like a mother trying to understand.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Ulcer can be painful. Poor girl.”

Poor girl.

If only Mum knew.

“Okay,” she said. “Go and rest.”

“Yes, Mum.”

I left her room quickly before another question grew legs and followed me.

When I got to the bedroom, I lay on my bed and stared at the ceiling. The house was quiet, too quiet. My body felt tired, but my mind refused to rest.

I kept thinking about the day. The fear, the kiss, the pill, and the strange excitement. The way everything suddenly became sharp and bright. The way my legs had wanted to run. The way laughter had jumped out of me without permission. The way I had felt high, light, bold, and free.

Then, from nowhere, another thought entered.

What if I could feel that little excitement again?

I sat up immediately.

“God forbid,” I whispered.

The thought had entered too smoothly, too quietly, like it had a key to my mind.

“In Jesus’ name, I reject it,” I said under my breath.

But rejecting a thought and forgetting a thought are not always the same thing.

I lay back down, and suddenly, my life felt boring. That was strange because before that day, my life had been normal. School, church, books, home, assignments, family devotion, dreams of scholarship, small jokes with Mark, intelligent arguments with Rosie. That was my life, and I had loved it.

But now, after tasting fake excitement for a few hours, ordinary life began to look dull.

That was when I should have been afraid.

Because anything that makes your normal life look useless after one experience is not fun.

It is a trap.

Mark came into the room later. I expected questions, a sermon, or at least for him to stand by the door and say, “Matthew, let us talk.” But he said nothing. He only looked at me once, changed his clothes, climbed into bed, and slept.

No questions.

No warning.

No Bible verse.

Nothing.

His silence was louder than his preaching.

By morning, I woke up with the pill on my mind.

Not prayer. Not school. Not my scholarship dreams.

The pill.

I hated myself for it.

I woke up feeling ordinary, normal, like Matthew. Before that day, ordinary had never been an insult, but that morning, ordinary felt too low, too slow, too dry.

I remembered the strange highness from the previous day. The loud joy, the fake courage, the running, the laughter, and the excitement that had no source.

I wanted to feel that way again.

Today.

The thought scared me, but it also attracted me.

I stood up quickly, as if movement could chase it away. Mark was still sleeping, snoring softly like a man whose conscience was not doing wrestling competition.

I had my bath and dressed for school. Then I went to Mum’s room.

To my surprise, she was already up.

Not only up, she was dressed.

“Mum?” I said, stopping at the door. “Where are you going?”

She adjusted her scarf and smiled faintly. “I am going to work.”

“Work?” I asked. “But you are still recovering.”

“I am better,” she said. “And I don’t want you going there again to clean for your mates and get distracted.”

Something inside me dropped.

“Mum, it is fine,” I said quickly. “I can still help. You should rest today.”

“No, Matthew.”

“But Mum…”

“I said no.”

Her voice was gentle, but final.

“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, but you need to focus on school. You and Mark should go to school. I will handle my work.”

“Mum, please…”

“Matthew,” she said, looking at me properly, “I said I will handle it.”

There was nothing else to say. She picked up her things and left the house.

I stood there, feeling restless, like I had lost a battle I had not even admitted I was fighting.

I went to the sitting room and sat down. Then I stood up. I walked to the kitchen and came back. I checked the time. I picked up my school bag and dropped it again. I could not sit still.

Something in me kept pulling towards the Alabi house.

Not even Sikemi alone now.

The feeling.

The excitement.

The thing I was pretending not to want.

Mark came out of the room, rubbing his eyes. He saw me pacing and, for a moment, he said nothing.

Then he said, “I’m happy you listened to Mum.”

I turned to him.

“Listened?”

The word landed strangely.

Listened.

How did Mark know there was something to listen to?

Then it made sense. Mark must have told on me. That was why Mum suddenly decided to resume work.

Anger rose inside me, hot, fast, and unfamiliar. I was not an angry person, at least not like that. But that morning, anger jumped up inside me like it had been waiting for permission.

“So you reported me?” I asked.

Mark frowned. “Reported you?”

“How dare you?”

He blinked. “Matthew, what are you talking about?”

“Don’t pretend. You told Mum not to let me go to the Alabis’ house.”

Mark looked at me for a few seconds, then sighed.

“I told Mum she should not send you there again if she can help it.”

“Why?”

“Because you are acting foolish.”

The word slapped me.

“Foolish?”

“Yes, foolish,” Mark said, now fully awake. “Since that girl entered your life, you have been behaving like somebody removed your brain and put cotton wool there.”

“Don’t insult me.”

“Then stop acting insultable.”

I moved closer to him. “Do you even think? Mum is sick. What if she falls while cleaning? What if something happens to her because you are trying to prove you are the Holy Spirit’s assistant?”

Mark’s face changed.

“Don’t use Mum to cover your nonsense.”

“My nonsense?”

“Yes. You don’t care that Mum is going there. You care that you are not going.”

I pushed him.

It happened before I could stop myself.

Mark staggered back, shocked. For one second, even I was shocked.

Then he pushed me back.

“What is wrong with you?” he shouted.

“What is wrong with you?” I shouted back.

And that was how the fight started. Not an argument. A real fight.

A real teenage-boy fight.

We grabbed each other’s shirts. We pushed, dragged, and stumbled against the chair. One pillow fell. My school bag fell. Mark’s shirt stretched at the neck. My collar bent in a way no iron could straighten quickly.

“You are blind!” Mark shouted.

“You are jealous!” I shouted back.

“Jealous of what? Disaster?”

“Jealous that someone like Sikemi likes me!”

Mark paused, breathing hard.

Then he laughed, not because it was funny, but because it was sad.

“Listen to yourself, Matthew.”

“I am listening.”

“No, you are not. That is the problem.”

We went at it again until both of us became weak. Finally, we sat on opposite sides of the room, breathing like two goats that had fought over plantain peel.

My chest was rising and falling. Mark’s shirt was rough. My heart was rougher.

For a few minutes, nobody spoke.

Then Mark stood up and picked up his bag. His shirt still looked like it had gone through tribulation.

He walked to the door and stopped.

“This fight,” he said, without turning fully to face me, “is the last one I am going to have with you over the Alabis.”

I looked at him.

He continued, “Do what pleases you.”

Then he walked out of the house.

The door closed behind him, and for the first time, Mark’s words did not sound like mercy.

It sounded like judgment.

To be continued…

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

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