Two Worlds - Season 1 - Episode 70

4 years ago

Two Worlds - Season 1 - Episode 70

Ivie pressed her head against the pillow. It was few weeks to the trial, and no good word from the lawyer, or from anybody, not even her mum. All her mum did since her return from Kaduna was offer unhelpful consolation that everything would be all right, that God would come down and do something.

Ivie rose from the bed and staggered to the kitchen. Her mum retied the wrapper round her waist and scurried after her, uttering words of “everything would be all right.”
Ivie opened the refrigerator and brought out a loaf of bread and a can of butter. She carried them to the dining table.
“Eze ró. I prepared rice,” her mum said. “I should set it on the dining for you.” She attempted going for a pot.
“Bread is okay.” Ivie wandered to the dining.

Her mum sat opposite her and continued with her unending talks of how Richard was a big man and had the money to fight the case to the end, even though she was aware he had been fighting it all along. And yet, would soon be facing the judge at trial. “Don’t kill yourself worrying too much,” she would say every minute.

“Mama, you don’t expect me to sit and pretend I’m okay when a man is behind bars because of me.”
“But what can you do, eh? There is nothing you can do.”
“I can worry. Let me worry.”

Mama stood up and adjusted her wrapper that was slackening off her waist. “You know what worry can do to your health. It could worsen it.”
Ivie downed a gulp of the cold tea. “My urges are the last thing I worry about right now. That man is the one who worries about my urges. I cannot afford him sleeping in jail. Mama, abeg help me think of what to do instead of telling me not to worry.”
“I can’t stand seeing you like this,” mama said with a lowered voice.
Ivie tried loosening her face. Her mother deserved a better look to prevent any worries. The woman need not worry for her health sake.

“Mama, odiamenmen. Don’t worry about me. I can’t pretend everything is okay, but I’ll try not to be overwhelmed by the situation.”

“You are. The whole thing has swallowed you. You no more care about your illness. When last did you take your antidepressants? I’ve been in this house with you. Your urges have completely taken over you. You have to lay off some of the load and attend to your health.”

Ivie dropped her bread on the plate. “It’s not the antidepressants or the medicines that kills the urges. It’s not them,” she said. “I don’t want to think about my condition. The more I think about it, the more I fall prey to it. I’m sorry to have you see me like this. My worries affect you, too, and I’m really sorry about it. I wish I could do anything.”
“You can’t do anything but depend on God. Osenebra is whom you should leave the case to.”

If that’s what she could do, then that’s doing nothing. “Thank you,” she said. “I should go return to bed.”
Mama uttered no more words, but loads of them hid between her lips. Ivie rose and made for her room, closed the door and hoped for nothing resembling a knock.
There was no knock, no words of “everything would be all right,” and no lies of “everything would be okay.”