YOU WILL BE MY BANE

FIRST FIGHT

I am now sure of two things; one, I am at least sixty percent sure that I might be gay and two, I am one hundred percent sure that I am doomed.

It has been exactly twenty minutes and fifteen seconds since we left those boys to their fate at the hands of the belligerent mob.

You are silent, Usher's there goes my Baby is playing softly on the car radio. I look at you again and you are still frowning, your eyes on the road and your fingers tapping gently on the steering. Anger? Anxiety?

I try to close my eyes and meditate but flashes of those boys haunt me. I open my eyes and look at you again.

"You know, we could have helped those boys. They had consensual s*x, they didn't kill anyone" I tell you.

You laugh sardonically and take a long look at me.

"What are you? A gay sympathizer?" You ask with anger written all over your face.

"What? No! No! I am not" I scream defensively.

"You know what's worse than those disgusting cretins? The sympathizers who condole and explain their disgusting lifestyle with words like 'that’s just how they were made'. f**k that! No God would willingly create anyone like that" you say.

"Why do you hate them so much? They're not as evil as you make them out to be" I tell you. You close your eyes for a second and screech the car to a stop. You unlock the passenger door.

"Get out!" you tell me.

"What?"" I ask, flabbergasted.

"Get out, you are right, this is a job for a private investigator. I'm sure Barrister Wale can spare one of those PI's he has looking into his politician friends. Take a cab back to the firm. The firm will pay for it" you say and drive away.

You leave me on the side of the road. We have our first fight and you literally kick me to the curb. Why did I ever say those words to you? What was I thinking arguing with you about such a sensitive issue? What if you tell your father that I am a gay sympathizer? What if you begin to suspect me? What if you hate me?

I flag down a taxi. I am depressed. It's being barely six hours I met you and I have given you reasons to hate me. But was I right? Are gays not that bad? Are they normal biological variants?

They?’ Am I any different from those boys being mobbed?

I get back to the firm and I go to my tiny cubicle located close to a miniature window. I sit down at my desk and breathe in slowly. I think of the hatred I saw in your eyes back in your car. What could have made you hate gays so much?

Were you molested as a kid? Are you secretly gay but hate the fact that you have such inclinations?

I rest my head on my desk and breathe in deeply again. I wish I never went on that ill-fated journey with you. I wish I can wind back time to the first time I saw you. I will freeze time at that moment forever and stay with you there.

“Hey Newbie, you sleeping on your first day?”

I raise my head. A tall black young man on afro hair cut is standing beside me.

“No, I’m not. I..I..” I stutter.

“Well, don’t let any of the senior barristers see you napping on the job when we have a lot of active cases in court” he says with a warm smile.

“Okay, thank you” I reply.

“I’m Larry, I work with Barrister Ejiofor, and he is into Civil Law” Larry says with a smile and I nod hoping he will leave but he doesn’t.

“So, ummm, Barrister Ejiofor needs a case file in the filing room. Ogunka Vs. Zenith Bank 2017. Think you can get it?” he asks.

“Why should I be the one to get it, aren’t there paralegals or other administrative staff who can do that?’ I ask.

“Yeah, but you are still green so you should do it. Every one of us here did it when we started” he argues.

“Okay” I say and he leaves. I sigh heavily and twirl on my chair, I look left and I see you sitting on your desk in your small glass office. You look up and wave to me to come to you.

I look back to make sure that I am the one that you mean. You wave again at me and I almost bolt out of my seat to run to you. Yemi, the effect you have on me is astronomical. This can’t be healthy.

I tap on your glass door and you wave me in. I enter and I am graced by the amazing sea breeze fragrance of your office. I can see the ocean in the distance as the waves thrash on the docked ships. I look at your desk, your name is boldly written on a name tag beside your laptop. I see a picture of you and Berry butting noses adorably and staring deep into each other’s eyes and I wish that is us. I begin to wonder what you see when you look into my eyes, perhaps an ocular discharge?

A picture of you, your dad and your two brothers all formally dressed sits close to that of you and Berry. Your family photo looks like the picture coworkers take at the end of a tiring year; cold, formal and devoid of love and happiness. Next to the picture of your family sits a picture of you and two other males that make me wonder if you were ever a model. You and the two other boys are laughing heartily; I can feel the love and happiness. Who are they? They can’t be your brothers. They are even more attractive than you. Wait…oh thank Goodness you didn’t hear my thoughts Yemi. No one is more attractive than you are.

You stand up and walk towards me, “See Nathanial….”

Uh…oh, Nathaniel? What happened to Nate? No! You said you are going to call me Nate. Nathaniel is too long to pronounce.

“I am sorry I acted the way I did back there in Marina road. I shouldn’t have let my emotions take charge. I should have realized that people are free to follow their own train of thought. However myopic such trains of thought might be” you say and look directly into my eyes. You are standing close to me now. I look like Hawkeye in the shadow of Thor.

“So, I was thinking. Maybe I shouldn’t have requested that you give me your urine. It was not great of me to have done that. So I am sorry and I would like it if our relationship is strictly professional. I am still supposed to be showing you the ropes here. I am always here when you have questions. So let the past stay in the past?” You say and hold out your hand.

I reluctantly offer mine and yours envelope mine in a warm embrace. I wish it was our bodies hugging not our hands. You pull your hand away slowly and then you go back to your seat. I make to leave.

“Wait, please help me get this file from the file room” You dribble on a small notepad on top of your brown shiny mahogany desk and extend your hand towards me. I walk back to you and take the file. You disappear back to the opened apple laptop on your desk.

‘The State Vs Hassan 2006, line 34, cabinet 12’ I nod and try to leave again.

“Please find it quick. I could have given it to one of these paralegals but they are all tied up with work. We need it for court on Tuesday” you say and I nod. This is what I am now to you. A paralegal equivalent, one would be surprised to hear that four hours ago you introduced me to Berry as your partner. Now I am just a paralegal equivalent. I should hate you, I should despise you. I should fight to get my mind off of you. This can’t be healthy, I deserve better. But I can’t hate you; I don’t even understand what I feel for you anymore. Love? Hate? Both?

The filing room is a nightmare. A large hall in what one can call the basement of the building (if buildings in Nigeria had basements). The air is filtered and the occasional humming and thrumming of the ventilators and air conditioners make the room hauntingly distracting. The lights are dim and the air seems dry at best.

It doesn't take me long to find your file. I begin to search for Larry’s file. I sit on a chair and begin to think about you, about my life, about Sarah. I think about how proud my father was this morning when he called me. Will he still be proud of me if he finds out that I am here, alone, in the basement of your father’s law firm, pining over you.

You, that I just met this morning, you that hate everything about me.

I resume my search for Larry’s file and it takes me two hours to find it. I pack back the files and come back upstairs. Larry and a few other Lawyers are there smiling.

“Don’t mind Larry, he does it every time to fresh Lawyers. It took me four hours down there to get those files. Those ungrouped files are already in the company’s database.” A beautiful chubby girl says and I nod with a smile.

“The files are already on the database, just use your login next time and you will pull up the soft copies” another smartly dressed girl says and I nod again, with a smile.

“You are officially welcome to Wale, Nuru and EJiofor law firm” Larry says and shakes me. The other employees laugh and I force a smile. I thank them and they all shake me. I walk to your office hoping that you will tell me that it is a prank too. I get to your office and you are not here.

I drop your file on top of your desk and go to mine. A file is already on my desk, I open it. It is from HR, code of conduct In the work place and all that. I begin to read. The day zips past and I don’t see you again. I finish sorting through files Barrister Wale sent to my desk.

I go home that night, sad and haunched over.

My uncle’s wife, Aunty Ifeoma notices my countenance and asks me if the ogbono soup isn’t to my taste. I tell her that the soup tastes just fine. I am sure she doesn’t believe me because she also asks her husband when he returns home if the soup tastes fine. He tells her that it is the best thing he had tasted all day.

“I wonder why Olileanya thinks it is terrible” she says. She thinks my foul mood is about her, she thinks I am such a mess because of her soup. I wish it is the soup that makes me feel so angry at myself. Am I angry at myself or at you? Or am I angry at myself because I should be angry at you but I am not? Boy, you got me all messed up mentally.

My father calls me to know how my first day went, I tell him that everything went as expected. He is proud and he prays for me before he ends the call. A part of me wishes I can tell him about you. About what I feel for you but that part of me knows better.

My night is uneventful as I push through it as the thought of seeing you tomorrow consumes me.

I get to work too early and sit at my desk. I carry out some assignments Barrister Wale sends to me. I look towards your office and you are not there yet. I need to see you; I need to know that yesterday happened, even though yesterday was a nightmare. It is one I will gladly have again as long as you are in it.

Good lord, am I losing myself? Is this even healthy? This can’t be healthy.

You come to work three hours after the opening time and you walk past me. “Hey” you throw my way and you disappear into your office. You don’t talk to me again; you avoid eye contact with me. It is like I don’t exist.

In the conference room, you don’t speak when I am speaking and you stop speaking when I talk over you. This becomes our new normal. A cruel nightmare. I hate professionalism.

Tuesday,

Wednesday,

Thursday,

Friday, you come to my desk. You are wearing your royal blue shirt that hugs your chest and biceps in such a mind boggling and boner-inducing way. Your obsidian trouser hugs your thighs like an unwilling soldier’s wife who would not let her husband go to war.

You come closer and bend over my desk, the tip of your blue football themed tie touches my lap, “Good morning Nathaniel, this report is all wrong. Your tenses here and here don’t match. You changed tenses, watch out for that and the client’s name is Sameer, not Samuel. He is Indian. Make the needed corrections and take it to the typist on the ground floor to retype it. Barrister Nuru is going to court later today with the document” you say and I nod, the fragrance of your cologne is distracting. It is harsh yet inviting, sharp and masculine, yet appealing and enthralling….like you.

“Have you gotten your CUG line?” You ask me and I nod.

“Okay, send it to my mail. I will send mine too. We have a court session next Tuesday, I hope you are ready?” you ask me and I nod…again…come on! Nathaniel!.

You disappear back to your office and once again, bury your face into your computer. I am now an outsider to you, a work place relationship. You don’t even want my personal cell, you want my cooperate CUG line. I go back to my work with a heavy heart. I wish I never challenged you that day. I wish I never got you angry. I wish I never sided with those boys. Maybe you are right, maybe they deserved to die for indulging in such nefarious behaviors.

My father always tells me to stand for what I believe in but even he would treat me like an outcast if he finds out that I am a gay sympathizer. Yes, sympathizer, that’s what I am calling myself right now. I am not gay, I can’t be. Maybe what I feel for you is not s****l attraction; maybe it is just a normal likeness, a normal-deep-urge-to-kiss-your-lips likeness. God! I’m damned!

The beautiful chubby girl who I learned on Wednesday is called Tope, comes to my desk. Her blue jump-suit makes her look like a model who wandered off a shooting studio.

“Hey Nathan, so, we are going to a karaoke bar on Awolowo road this evening to celebrate Larry’s birthday. It’s kind of like a surprise birthday thing. You can come if you want” she says with a smile. I look at her and smile back.

“I don’t know, I have a previous engagement at home but if I finish on time, I will come” I say and smile again.

“Well, I understand but I really hope you can make it” she says and winks. I smile as she walks away. Is she flirting with me? Is that even allowed? My criminal law professor back at college once said that lawyers commit the most crime, “they are just too legal for anyone to notice them” he had said.

I look at your office again, you are on call. You are smiling heartily and chewing the end of your pen. I begin to wonder who is at the other end. You grab your miniature basketball and begin to fondle it. You seem genuinely happy and I get jealous that I am not the one making you happy.

You twirl on your seat and laugh hard, occasionally nodding and shaking your head in excitement.

“Privilege, am I right?” it is Larry.

“You can sit and laugh and talk on the phone for ten minutes without getting a call from HR. Makes you wonder if truly life is fair” Larry says again.

“Yeah, I understand” I say with the hope that he will leave but he doesn’t.

“You know, he just left law school three years ago. He is just twenty six years old and he already has his own office and a mentee. Awolabi has been working here for eight years and he still shares a cubicle with Naomi. One would think that they’d make him partner by now” Larry continues with his office gossip. What makes him think that I want to engage in office gossip? They never end well.

But he is talking about you, anything about you; whether good or bad is interesting to me.

I have always known that there is more to just having s*x with girls. There should be emotional connection. There should be a form of longing to be with and protect that person. That feeling of contentment and happiness when you just think of that person.

I have never felt any of those things for anyone. s*x with my past girlfriends were more like a necessity to calm my nerves than actual fun. I have never felt about anyone the way I feel about you.

So I let Larry drone on. He talks and talks and talks and I nod and smile and gasp.

The day ends and I go home. Aunty Ifeoma cooks fried rice with grilled chicken. I smile all through dinner and compliment her. she feels happy.

The time is seven pm when I finish dinner and enter my room. I am on my laptop reading a Pennsylvanian monthly legal journal. I look at my clock again, seven fifteen pm.

“f**k it” I say and jump out of bed. Maybe you will be at the Awolowo bar; maybe I can see you again this evening.

In twenty minutes I am at Awolowo road. Turns out Larry already knows about the surprise party. He says a coworker he spoke at length with during the day divulged the secret to him. I pray that it isn’t me because I can’t remember what we talked about. I was too busy wondering why you were smiling and who you were talking to on the phone.

I scan the entire bar but you are nowhere to be seen. It is the middle of June and the atmosphere is as hot as the surface of the sun. People are singing karaoke in one part of the bar and the other part is filled with people who are clustered around Larry, singing happy birthday songs to him and urging him to tell them his real age.

“You came!” Tope squeals and I turn to look at her. “ Yeah I did” I say and she smiles. “Well, what are you drinking? Irish spring? Vodka? Scotch? No cheap stuff tonight, Yemi is paying”

“Mountain Dew?” I say and everyone turns to look at me. The people singing karaoke literally stop and all eyes are on me.

“Psych! I meant Irish spring” I say immediately and I can see a look of relief on their faces.

“Your drink sir” the Barman says and I pick up a large glass of chilled Amarula.

“So, tell me more about yourself, Nathaniel…” Tope says and I smile, we are sitting at a table close to a glass window. I wish you are the one asking me to tell you about myself. I begin to wonder where you are at the moment and just then my phone beeps.

“Still waiting for the answer to my question” Tope says.

“A moment please, this seems urgent” I say as I read the message on my phone. The message is from…You.

“Please Tope, I am so sorry, I have to go but can we go for a drink next week Friday, just you and I?” I say. Oh God! Did I just ask her out?

“Oh, okay. Fine, I will hold you to that mister” she says and I smile.

“You betcha” I say and I run out of the bar. I wave down a taxi and in fifteen minutes, I am at the Marina.

Your message sounds serious; “Please Nate, I need your help. It’s very urgent. I don’t know who to call. Please I am at Tinubu Marina. I just sent you my location on Google map”.

I am happy that you need me. It feels good to be needed by you. And you called me Nate again. Oh, Yemi. Whatever it is, I will help you with it.

“Nate? Is that you?” you ask as I get closer to the docked yachts and cruise boats on the marina.

“Come into the yacht, don’t worry about the security men, they are drunk and probably sleeping it off somewhere” you add.

I look at the Yacht, a 1962 Chris Craft Express cruiser with the name, Cecelia, your mother’s name, on the sides. Is this your mother’s boat?

“Come in man, switch off your phone's torch” you say. That should sound ominous and weird but I don’t mind. It is you, what could go wrong?

I enter the Yacht with my eyes on your spotted white and Red BYC polo.

“Oh Nate, I didn't know who to call. I don’t know what happened. I need…I need your help” you say.

“With what?” I ask.

“With her” you say and point at a long lump lying on the deck of the cruiser. I look closely and it isn’t an object. I switch on my phone's torch and there she lay, a young girl who looks like she is in her early twenties. A whitish foam fills her mouth and her eyes are open, staring blankly to oblivion.