Category: Zero EXPECTATIONS

It was a stupid question. Why did I leave them all this years? Who leaves who? Or wait! But I calmed down to avoid hitting her where it hurts again.

“You should start going,” I said. *You’re married now.”

“You don’t have to remind me,” she nodded, silently. “I already know I belong to somebody else.”

I didn’t reply to that. She opened her purse and counted up to twenty thousand. She put it on the table and knelt down.

“You always got mad if someone didn’t respect you,” she said, glaring in my direction. “I don’t even know how I got myself in a situation like this. But it’s okay, I will take it as fate. I know you needed to use this for your subscription or whatever you’re using to write online.” 

She looked up at me. “Should I stand up now?”

I was surprised. Not that I wanted her to kneel down. I was surprised she could, in one ugly mess of a situation I put her in. Can she even do that to the man she is married to now? I doubted it.

“You can stand up,” I said.

She hissed and glared one last time and stood up.

“So,” she was packing her stuff. “When are we seeing you?”

“We?” I glanced at her.

“My husband want to meet you.”

“Was he smoking?”

“You think everyone will be like you?”

“I don’t smoke,” I said.

“But you drink alcohol. And you carry women all around. I pray one day you stop all these, because it has no good ending.”

I nodded to her. “Tell him he might get his ass kicked.”

She paused. Then she laughed.

“You know who my husband is?” she said it with a pride.

“Was it that guy that got one rank lately?” I said. “After the silent operation of Kayamo Papi-Ayolo.”

She stopped laughing. Suddenly I saw fear in her eyes. And I guess that will be the first time. She was the kind of girl that always thought she’s above of everything in the world.

“You know my husband?” now she was asking out of fear.

“I didn’t,” I lied. “But I do read paper once in a while.”

She shook her head.

“No! We don’t put that kind of operation on paper.”

“We?” I said for the second time.

“Shit,” she said. A second after she started crying. And somehow I started doubting the claim of science. It was recorded that women are emotional. But to which extent, nobody knows. And the science didn’t say how far a woman can cry. And how fast. So I started wondering: are these science people not worrying about this, or they’re just turning a blind eye to it?

The money was still there, smiling at me. I smiled back and picked it up. One, two, three, four, five, six… Twenty pieces of one thousand naira notes. Twenty thousand naira. What a lucky guy? I didn’t work for this, did I? I even made the good Samaritan woman cried. I glanced at her, poor girl. I stuffed the money in my pants pocket and stood up. I thought about leaving her behind. But thinking about the twenty K I changed my mind. So I walked up to her.

“I know why you’re feeling that way,” I placed my hand on her hair. It felt oily. I rub it lightly. “But I wasn’t interested in destroying your marriage, so far your husband is smart enough to know the right thing to do.”

She swallowed some saliva. “I know.”

“Very good,” I said and lifted her up. I felt she had gained some weight. But I wasn’t sure. Our serious relationship was 14 years ago. And back then I was about to graduate secondary school. So I didn’t know much.

“He said he couldn’t blame you. That if he were the one he can even did worse,” she was resting her head on my chest for the second time. Which unintentionally confirmed that women are idiots. I let her talk.

“I’m sorry,” she finally said. “I was the one that told you I wasn’t ready. I was still small and too young at the time.”

“You’re still too young up till now,” I said.

She looked up at me and punched my chest. Just some time fraction of strength.

“So you think I am still young for you now?”

I nodded. “And you will always be.”

She smiled. “I prefer it that way.”

“You’re dumb.”

“I agree,” she said and kissed me. Faster. Then passionately. Two seconds. Three seconds. Before the forth second counted I stopped being at the receiving end. I carried her straight to the room and we were all over the place. We tear and tore our clothes off. After the crazy match she slept off and woke up smiling at me.

She said, “Do you want me to sleep here?”

“You should be worrying about divorcing your husband instead,” I said.

She laughed. “I’m okay being with him.”

“But it put him in danger. He might suddenly get killed.”

“I trust you. You wouldn’t allow such to happen to him.”

“Nobody is paying me to be his nanny.”

She placed her hand on my mouth and whispered, “I am right here paying you with everything I got.”

She was rocking me the next moment. Eventually I agreed she should sleep over. She felt happy for my sudden change of mind. I took her around the kitchen and waited inside. We ate together. She even fed me with her spoon. In the middle of our lovey dovey nonsense her phone rang. She didn’t pick it but replied with a text message instead. She showed me before sending it. It read: Take care of the kids okay? I will be back tomorrow.

“Just like that?” I asked.

“You already thought he’s an idiot. So he is,” she smiled and placed her mouth on my lips. I didn’t know how we started eating each other instead of eating the food.

She woke up tired the next morning. I woke up refreshed. I checked the time. Ten after six.

“You have strength to cook?” I said.

She glared childishly at me. “So you can’t even say good morning?”

“Will that earn me another twenty K?”

“Maybe,” she replied with some pride.

“Okay, good morning,” I said.

She covered her eyes and shouted Aww like a cat. Although I already know that women are stupid. But she surprised me more. Her stupidity is top notch.

I was satisfied throughout the night. So I didn’t stressed her again. We only ate and went to the bathroom together. We both felt like a new born baby.

“Don’t switched off your phone after I left,” she said and kissed me. “I might missed you and wanted to say hello.”

“Don’t be optimistic,” I said. “I have two women who could climb Mount Everest just to be with me.”

“That’s not something to worry about. At least I am the only one who carried your gene,” she grinned and left me smiling to myself. Somehow I felt like I am starting to like her.

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?”