Mariam is furious. She sits, stands, paces the small room, claps her hands together, hisses, then sits again… the cycle has continued interestingly for the past 30 minutes.
“But shouldn’t he have called? Not even one damn call. In fact, it is over!” Mariam fumes.
Lara is livid too. “Wait, and he didn’t say anything yesterday? Not even ‘sorry’. Not ‘let me explain’, or ‘it is not what you think’?” She questions, rhetorically. “What insolence!” She spits. The look on her face! You would think she is the one hurting.
You. You are just there, indifferent. Confused. Pitiful.
It all started yesterday when Mariam had stumbled upon her boyfriend’s phone, unlocked, lying carelessly in the sitting room almost as soon as he stepped out for a boy’s hangout. He had forgotten it in his haste. What bliss! She had dutifully grabbed the phone… And what she found thereafter had left her a mad black woman. Different pictures of half-naked girls whom he claimed were just friends, text messages from girls asking for money, recharge cards, and the likes; names like sugar, honey, bobbylicious and stuff in his contact list… in fact, she had recounted so much more you refuse to remember. Unexpectedly, Dotun had returned to retrieve his phone about 10 minutes after only to find a weeping Mariam in charge of it. She had pounced on him at once accusing him of being a cheat and a lowly lying scum of a man. But he had been too much of a gentleman (or an arse, as Mariam put it) to exchange words with her. He only picked his phone up and headed out of the house.
He didn’t return home last night.
You want to pack her in your arms, or be a girl and tell her to move on because she deserves better, but you know you wouldn’t mean any of those things, if you did or said it. Because maybe she shouldn’t have snooped around in the first place- ignorance is bliss, and what you don’t know can’t kill you, right? Because for all you know, trouble dey sleep, na yanga go wake am. Besides, what did she expect to find (or not find)?!
“There is a hand behind every curtain… and a knife in every hand.”
©The Short Black Girl, 2016.