Chapter 1

A very big mistake anyone can make in life is to believe they’re here for a purpose. All of us are sons and daughters of bitches. We amount to nothing in the face of møtherfücking universe. You were born. You are going to die. When and where is not necessarily important. But the fact is, we’re all going to die.

It was fourteen years ago I got a woman pregnant. I was about to graduate secondary school. The girl was an idiot. Whereas I was a big giant motherfucking dude of an additional idiot. More worse than her, I didn’t have a life. Not that I have a life now though. But at least there’s difference. And the same girl was sitting opposite me. Now a woman. Now a married woman with two extra kids. Plus the one she had for me making three. I had additional nothing. And I didn’t even care about the one she gave birth to, for me. She was glaring at me. All blue in the face. I remain silent.

We both keep on staring at each other. And I’m sure she couldn’t win. Put me in a room full of shouting idiots. And I will be the only one saying nothing for the whole seven hours. I waited.

“Damilare,” she said. She was the only woman that call me with my middle name. Isaiah Oluwadamilare Lasisi. What a weird name. It sounded so complicated. And it always affect me when filling a form anywhere. They would asked: Are you a Muslim or Christian? But I would be looking at them. I wasn’t a Muslim or a Christian. I was absolutely nothing. But at the end I would say: Christian.

I looked at her. Somehow she’s still beautiful. Still gorgeous. And maybe interesting. But I wasn’t sure if I liked her. Maybe.

“I’m hearing you,” I said. 

“Is that how a good father treat his own kid?” she said through her red face.

I thought about it. But I already know the truth: It is not how a good father should treat his kid that I am treating my own son. And the reason is obvious. His mom and his dad didn’t like each other.

“I don’t know,” I said and didn’t say anything else.

“I regret I ever know you,” she jumped up. “Why Damilare? Why are you doing this to your own kid?”

I just shrugged. Why am I doing this? Why would I know? You hate me and I hate you, and now you’re asking me stupid questions, right?

She sat back down and didn’t cry. I was expecting her to, since women do it all the time. But I was disappointed.

“Take,” she stretched her hand to me. It was her phone. An iPhone something. Seem like she’s still successful more than me. I am using Tecno Spark whatever.

But why wouldn’t she be? She married an idiot right? A fool! A fool who already know she got pregnant for an asshole when she was younger but still chose her anyway. Was love that blind? I guess. 

And that guy is successful right? Maybe not successful in other areas of life. But financially he is successful. Because how else would she be using iPhone something? Maybe I will try to take it from her. Not stealing it. I can tell her I love the phone. Or tell her I’m a writer now. An unsuccessful one. Unsuccessful writer talking to somehow successful woman who was once his wife but now another man’s wife. I got rid of the thought. Not good if I did that to her. I wouldn’t know how to use the phone anyway. iPhone useless. iPhone something. And iPhone whatever. They rarely had battery. I’d be going around with power bank in my pocket. That’s a lousy deal I wouldn’t want to sign.

I checked the phone. The person on the screen looked exactly like our son. All grown up now. The last time I saw him was about four years ago. I passed the phone back.

“No,” she shook her head. “Check all the pictures.”

I didn’t know there’s more. The kid was smiling in the pictures. His mom on some. His friends on other. I wasn’t in anyone. I gave her the phone.

“So?” she said.

“It’s good,” I replied.

“And?”

“Well, he is doing well.”

“Dami…la…” she started crying. I was expecting her to. So in the end I’m not going to be disappointed. When women cried for you, you mean much to them.

“It’s okay,” I said. “Main reason I didn’t get married up till now is because I already know I will never be a good father. So don’t feel bad.”

She was sobbing. I wasn’t sure how to pacify her. So I remain rooted on my chair. I hope she stopped crying soon. And secretly I felt great this is not a restaurant. It was my brother secret apartment. Anytime his wife started giving him trouble at home he will come here to relax until the problem clear itself out. A very smart ass brother.

But I stood up. Maybe consciously or unconsciously. I took her hand and pulled her up. Somehow she followed. I directed her out of her chair, she followed. I didn’t know how she landed on my chest, crying her heart out. I patted her on the back.

Finally she calmed down and looked up at me. She said, “Why did you leave us all this years?”