The Alpha in my Pool

KEHINDE The goat’s beady eyes bore into mine. My watering eyes stare back as my chest heaves. This is where life has gotten me to. I’m crying in front of a goat. I wipe my face with determination. The goat blinks and continues to chew the leaves like my emotional breakdown is none of its business. Zero sympathy whatsoever. Which is pretty rude. "You’re not even going to tell me sorry?" I ask it. Chew. Blink. Chew. "Oh, wow," I mutter. I stand up and dust off my bubble skirt. I look around to make sure no one saw me talking to the goat. Then I take a deep breath to calm myself. I look back at the goat. It’s still staring at me but this time it’s head is tilted and I get the feeling that it’s judging me. "Don't look at me like that. You don't know what I've been through. If people see me talking to you, they’ll think I’m crazy.” The goat resumes eating. I watch it with envy. Goats don’t have shitty bosses or annoying jobs. They don’t have stupid exes. They just eat grass, sleep, and do it all over again. I sigh. wonder what that feels like—having no responsibilities, no stress. Just living. I sit back down and bring my knees up to my chest. "Can we switch lives?" It just stares. I stare back. We keep staring at each other and for a moment, I actually think it feels sorry for me. Then it sneezes. Right in my direction. I gasp as some mucus lands on my face, and I fight the urge to vomit. "Why did you do that?", I whine. I can feel my eyes stinging as tears threaten to fall. I pull a napkin from my clutch and wipe my face. A tear rolls down my cheek, so I wipe my eyes. My mascara is probably all over my face, but I don’t care. I don’t care about anything anymore. I know you’re wondering why I’m talking to a goat. Well, it’s because my life sucks. It has always sucked. But it feels like it sucks even more. Especially these past few weeks. How? I’ll tell you but before that, allow me to introduce myself. My name is Kehinde Jola Ajibade. I know from my name you can already tell that I’m Nigerian. Yoruba to be precise. I’m also a twin. I was born in Ibadan but I grew up here in Lagos. Kehinde is short for Omokehinde which means, ‘the one who comes after’. My twin Taiwo; the first, died at birth. So, I came into the world alone. My mom died right after she had me. My dad died of a heart attack after the doctor told him my mom had passed. So, yes my life was already shaping up to be amazing. I was raised by my maternal grandma because my dad’s family thought I was bad luck and they didn’t want to have anything to do with me. It was just me and my grandma. And it was great. She raised me with everything. She was very big on spirituality; she was an Osun devotee. We used to go to Osun’s grove in Oshogbo for the Osun festival. Everything was great until she left me too. Seven years ago, a day after my graduation. Well, enough with the sob story. I was going to tell you about my shitty week. It all started on Monday, when my boss gave a presentation that had the room erupt with applause. I sat there with my jaw on the floor because he presented my work. My work that he dismissed as not good enough. My work that he threatened to put me on probation for because he couldn’t believe how daft and incompetent I was. I watched him accept praises from the clients and the executives. I watched him smile at me afterward like he expected me to be grateful that he stole from me. Three months of research, revisions, and late nights at my laptop gone. Three months of drinking coffee for dinner and eating nothing for breakfast. Gone. And there was nothing I could do about it. Then Tuesday came; my landlord raised my rent. Again. I stared at the message on my phone and considered moving back to grandma’s house but I shook the thought away. I left because it felt empty without her. I can’t go back. And then there was Wednesday. My ex-boyfriend, Femi, got engaged. Not only did he get engaged, but he got engaged to the woman he told me not to worry about. The woman that was "just a friend." The one he used to take out on dates with my card. The one he used to tell me I’d be prettier than if I lost some weight. I found out when I was stalking his social media. Yep, I know. I no longer have IG, so I’m good. On Thursday, my car broke down. Again. I took it to the mechanic and there was nothing he could do to save her. And like that wasn’t enough, on Friday, my clueless supervisor told me I wasn’t working hard enough and decided to “boost my productivity by giving me more responsibility.” And Saturday? Today is Saturday. The grand finale. The day I realized that I’m twenty-eight years old, working a job I hate, living in an apartment I can’t afford, and nurturing a dream I’m scared to pursue. I look down at my hands. My grandma used to say my hands were made for cooking. Not because I’m a girl, but because it’s the one thing I don’t suck at. I was so good at it . She couldn’t imagine me doing anything else. I stare at my long fingers, my strong wrists. Hands made for feeding . Not typing reports or designing marketing campaigns for products I don’t care about. Food. That has always been my dream. My restaurant, my recipes, my name on the sign. But dreams need money. And courage. All the things I don’t have. A familiar scent interrupts my wallowing. Lavender. I flinch but I don’t move. How did she find me here? I’m four streets away from my estate. “Kehinde.”, I can hear the exhaustion in her tiny voice. "Kehinde," she calls again. I ignore her. "Kehinde." Still ignoring her. "Kehinde." Still ignoring. A sandal hits my shoulder. "Ow!" I look up. "Bibi, why did you do that?" My best friend stands tall, a few feet away from me with her arms crossed. Her beautiful brown skin is wrapped in the yellow silk dress that accentuates her curves. I’ve tried and failed to steal it many times. Her curly fro is wrapped in a colorful scarf. Golden bangles adorn her delicate wrists, and her waist is decorated with waist beads and belly chains. Her round cheeks are flushed, and her sharp eyes are slanted. I know I’m in trouble. She takes a step forward and leans down until she’s staring directly into my eyes. The goat bleats. "Kenny, why are you spending the first day of your annual leave crying and talking to a goat?” “I wasn’t talking to the goat.” “I’ve been watching you from a distance for ten minutes. You were talking to the goat.” I open my mouth and close it back. “He listens better than most people. Wait, you’ve been here for ten minutes? How did you even find me?” “That’s a she goat and I should be the one asking questions. Why are you crying?" “I’m crying because my life is so great. It’s amazing. These are tears of joy.” She tilts her head and gives me her, ‘I’m not buying your bullshit look.’ I sigh. “Fine, everything f*****g sucks. And I’m sorry I didn’t pick your calls. It’s just... I didn’t want to bother you. I’m always disturbing you with my problems. Besides, she gets me.", I say with a corny smile. Bibi frowns. “How many times do I have to tell you that... You know what? I’ll lecture you later. Get up." “No.” “Get up.” “No.” “Up now. I’m not letting you spend your month off talking to goats.” Silence. “Get up.” “No.” “Up.” “No.” “No.” “Don’t make me carry you.” I groan. She straightens to her full height and offers me a hand. I take it and she drags me up and pulls me in for a hug. Her sweet lavender scent fills my nostrils and I bury face my face in her neck as my tears roll down my cheek.