Must Read: THE THORN ON MY FLESH - Season 1 - Episode 11

7 years ago

Must Read: THE THORN ON MY FLESH - Season 1 - Episode 11

After three weeks Remilekun and I have become intimate . Our friendship is beginning to graduate into a romantic relationship. Over the weeks we had one date at chicken republic and we spoke on phone every day and night.

Although that didn’t disturb us from pinging every now and then. We have shared our life experiences. I told her my past, including how my housewife left me alone. Immediately she mentioned her father’s name, which she reluctantly did, I got to know that she is a daughter of one of the richest men in town.

That, indeed, really shows in her behaviour. She always acts like ‘Ajebota’ or rather ‘Mummy’s pet’.
Although I was brought up the same way, but all that changed when I began to face the mysteries of life.

According to her, she is twenty-six years of age.

She just finished serving last year and now she is going to start working as a director in one of her father’s cement-producing companies.

During our date she told me she doesn’t like clubbing, but her friends had forced her that very night we met. She said one of them was celebrating her birthday. Remilekun wasn’t even shy to add that all her friends really admire my look.

****

When I’m returning home from the office I pack by the road to call Remilekun. I hardly dial the number before her voice lulls my ear.

“Hello, dear.” She says.

“He-llo-o, my darling, princess Remson,” I say dramatically, and I can hear her smile, “When should I be expecting you? You promised you were coming to know my place yesterday, but you failed.”

“Baby, I am so sorry,” She says with a real sorry voice, “ Mummy went out with my car and I didn’t want to take out any other car.”

“Oh, what is wrong with Mum’s car now?”

I mimic her usual babyish voice, and she chuckles.

She says her Mum’s car is under repair. She let me realize that her car has the lowest status in their house, and right from time, she doesn’t like to ride expensive cars in order to disguise her personality. She further says that her elder brother is riding the latest range rover sport, and her only younger sister, whom I met that night, is also using an expensive one.

“And Why don’t you like to show your true personality?” I get curious.

“I’ll tell you later.” She breathes.

“Okay. Is that another promise?”

“Yeah.”

At last she promises that she is coming to my place on her way back from Sunday service, which is tomorrow. They normally close from their church by 2: 0 clock. We say goodbye to each other.

On Sunday evening, around 4:0 clock, Remilekun has not shown up. I have tried her number several times, but I couldn’t get her through. I have been reading daily times in the sitting room. Every slight sound at the door seems to alert me. And any droning of a car would make me go to the windowpane to peep downstairs. I have done that up to four times, for I am staying at the third floor.

If Remilekun should bring her car, there wouldn’t be a parking space for her as the compound is already choked with cars. So the only thing I have to watch out for is a knock at the door. I have already given her my address and she claimed she is used to my area. And therefore the address to my flat wouldn’t prove difficult for her. She is the only guest I am expecting for today.

I’ve filled my bar and freezer with her favourite drinks. I asked Lara to prepare some fried chickens, noodles and salad for her before she left for her Mum’s place in the morning. Of course, I have got to know all her favourites through our regular interactions.

Lara is going to return in the night.

About fifteen minutes later I hear a knock at the door; my heart lurches with excitement. But it has started raining heavily outside. I place the daily times on the center table, and I adjust my cloth as I walk to the door.

“Oga, sir. Person dey look for you for ‘down-down’,” Our gateman says to me as I open the door. The old man is an illiterate who speaks pidgin English with a strong Yoruba accent.

“You mean downstairs?” I asked politely.

“Yes, na down-down steer.” The man points his finger downwards from the balcony.

I finally ask the man in Yoruba if the guest is a male or female, and I am glad to hear it’s a female. The old man must have asked her to stay behind. I quickly rush downstairs with the man, but who I meet there is not Remilekun.

The lady is one of Lara’s beautiful friends who is completely soaked in the rain.