serendipity

CHAPTER 2

Clouds of thick, black smoke rose from the burning houses to the sky, the rustling of flaming clothes and furniture and the smell of burning flesh filled the air. It was a gory site to behold. Pandemonium en suite, people running helter-skelter, screams of dying men, cries of mothers holding the lifeless bodies of their children; it was terrifying.

In the darkness of a room, a woman and a boy are hiding inside a wardrobe. They are both gripped by fear and the woman has her right palm firmly cupping the young boy's mouth. The boy is wrapped in her embrace and they wait for death to come.

"Nobody leaves, kill anything that moves." An angry masculine voice screams. From behind the closed doors of the wardrobe, the woman can hear the footsteps of the assailants. This makes them even more terrified. The men seem to be ransacking the room, they can hear the thudding of things being flung around. After the ruckus, a quietness sets in. But there is something off, something eerie about this silence. The woman tries to control her breathing. She strains to hear but to no avail. The two begin to wonder whether the men left. They consider the unlikely possibility that their seemingly unavoidable death somehow missed them.

Suddenly, the wardrobe doors are flung open dashing away the flimsy thoughts the silence had brought to their minds. Standing in front of them was death. No, not a hooded figure with a sickle but two men brandishing blood stained matchetes. Their clothes were soaking red like the apron of a butcher and in their eyes was a desire to kill. These were motivated men; men who were out to take lives.

"Please!" The woman shrieked. In that one word there was so much emotion. The woman who had earlier tried to be as quiet as possible let out the loudest sound in the room. The men did not bulge. One of them lifted his blade high above his head and without an iota of hesitation he struck it down forcefully in the direction of the woman. She let out a scream in agony and just before the blow could land, the ringing of Max's alarm clock woke him up from his deep sleep.

Drenched in sweat, chest heaving and heavily breathing, Max sat up right on his bed still obviously troubled from the images of his nightmare. For a very long time, his nights have been filled with the horrors of his past which hunt his subconscious, howbeit, very persistently. Max turned his head towards the direction of his phone which doubled as the ringing alarm. He pressed at the side buttons to quieten the device.

"Allahu wa akbar!" Cried a loud voice through the speakers on the roof of the mosque some houses away from Max's apartment. This call to prayer was what woke him every morning; it was clockwork. For the larger part of his life, waking up by 5.30am every morning had become a routine for Max. In his younger days, it was by the Angelus bell at the Abbey of Saint Xavier, the monastery he was raised in and now it's the call to Fajr prayer; how ironic.

Max sat down on the bed with both his feet now on the cold morning tiles of his room. The room had a simple design for he was a simple man. There was a bed with two pillows, the casing of the pillows matched the bedsheets, a bedside table with two drawers, leaning on the wall opposite the foot of the bed was a wardrobe and next to that was a reading table and chair.

For a few minutes, all he did was stare blankly at the wall right in front of him. On other mornings, he would ponder about the snippets of his nightmare he could remember or he would have just laid in bed, eyes fixed to the ceiling fan thinking about his life, the decisions he had taken and the possible outcomes if he did not take such decisions. But this was not like every other morning, oh no, something was different. This was the morning after the day he met the most amazing person he had ever met in his life. For the first time in a long time, he was actually excited to go to work.

He stood up and did some stretching with his arms raised above this head. He brought his hands to his waist and tilted his upper body from side to side and from front to back. After this, he sprang up and down like a boxer in the ring except unlike the fighters, his fists were not up. Instead, his arms were by his sides as he shook his hands at the wrists like he was trying to wipe off some imaginary water on his palm and fingers.

After about thirty seconds of stretching, he took out his airpods and placed the little black devices in both his ears. He picked his phone up from the bedside table and after scrolling through his music app for a few seconds selected a song out of the many he scrolled past; Imagine Dragon's Believer.

Max got on all fours and then began to do some push-ups. There was once a time in his life when workouts in the morning were a regular routine but that was a long time ago. In more recent times, he did not even have a routine. His mornings consisted of him trying to convince himself to get out of bed and prepare for work; a constant struggle between the urge to be lazy and lay in bed and actually getting up and going to make a living.

Palms flat to the ground, abdominals and glutes fully tightened, teeth clenched and eyes closed, Max was struggling to do his final rep and after much heaving, he finally pushed his body up. After this he laid down with his back to the floor, breathing heavily. When he was still very active in his workout, he used to do five sets of twenty reps every morning and every night before bed. Now, he could only manage to do three sets. That's the thing with working out, the longer you stop the harder it is for you to get back in.

He got up and went into the bathroom taking off his clothes on the way. When he got into the bathroom, he brushed his teeth meticulously looking in the mirror as he did so. As he moved the brush against his dentals, he could feel his bicep contract and relax in accordance to the motion; an after effect of the push ups. After brushing, he stepped under the shower and turned it on. The cold water rained all over his body, from his head to his feet. He always took cold showers.

Schooling in Sardauna University made him build some kind of resistance to cold. London's cold was child's play when compared to the unforgiving frigidity of Zazzau.

As he washed his body, he had a hard time reaching the middle of his back as his muscles were still tensed from the push-ups. After more effort however, he was able to reach all the necessary crevices and just like that, he was done with his morning bath.

He got out of the bathroom and used a towel.to dry the water off his skin and hair. He placed the now damp towel over the door to the room. He walked around unclad for a few moments bending to pick up the clothes he earlier took off his body. He put them into a cylindrical, blue basket that was beside the door to the bathroom.

Max sat on the side of the bed closest to the bedside table. While most people had lamps on there, he had his little collection of cosmetics; Pears baby lotion, Nivea roll-on (for men of course), Soulmate hair cream and a bottle of Smart Collection perfume. He took his time rubbing the cream on his skin, making sure to get in-between the fingers and toes. The last thing he wanted was looking ashy on a day like this.

He walked to the wardrobe and got out the clothes he was going to wear; a white sleeveless round neck vest, a floral patterned blue boxer, a pair of plain black trousers, a royal blue polo shirt and a pair of black socks. He put all the clothes on the bed and stared at it for a few seconds with his arms akimbo.

Max put on his underwear and just as he was about to wear his trousers, he noticed it was a bit squeezed. Normally, he would not have bothered but today, he was hell bent on looking his best. He got his out pressing iron and began to straighten out the fabric making sure to enunciate the two parallel lines that flowed from each trouser leg. Once he was satisfied with the straightness of the clothes,he proceeded to put them on.

He walked to the mirror attached to one of the doors of his wardrobe and there he inspected his outfit. He got out a black leather belt and passed it through the belt loops on the trousers he now wore. He tucked the polo shirt in and fastened the belt.

He sat at the edge of the bed and wore his shoes; black, laced, round tipped derbies. After meticulously applying the hair cream, Max used a brush to lay his hair down making sure his waves were visible. He had good hair; wavy hair. Even though he often neglected it, the waves were still there and like Thor's Mjonir, showed up whenever he beckoned on them.

He took a step backwards as he looked in the mirror, he was happy with what he saw. As finish touches,he sprayed the perfume and applied lip balm.

He made his way to the little kitchenette in the one bedroom apartment he called home and there he whipped up a little breakfast. It was nothing too complicated; two fried eggs, half a loaf of sliced bread and hot cocoa. Max even wore an apron to avoid getting stained that morning.

After his meal, he checked the time on his phone and it read 6:26am. He went back into the room to grab his bag and a black V-neck sweater vest as the weather was a little cloudy that morning. It was September afterall; surprise rainfall was one of the month's features.

The drive from Streatham to Knightsbridge would normally take about thirty five minutes but thanks to the complications of public transport, Max arrived at his destination at exactly 7:31am.

It was a Tuesday, so there was no general assembly today. The form teachers of each class give a pastoral talk or engage the students in some group activity to kick off the day. Mr. Maximillian was not a form teacher and so he headed straight to the staff room with hopes of seeing Ms. Vashti there but to his disappointment she was not in.

"Good morning Mr. Okafor." Said Mrs. Cumberbatch with a very hearty smile. She was the Social Studies teacher and she was known for her energy.

Mrs. Cumberbatch was a woman in her mid-forties but judging from her body, one could tell she had a killer shape growing up. She was always making jokes with the young male teachers some of which were a tad inappropriate but no one ever called her out on it. Why would they? She baked free cakes on everyone's birthdays.

"Good morning Ma." Max responded smiling back. He did not smile as freely as she did but if he did not smile back after all the effort she made, it would look very weird.

"You look stunning today. Now there's a handsome looking young man; you know if I was still a little younger we could have…." Mrs Cumberbatch said, completing the sentence in hush tunes and winking rapidly at him. He burst out laughing. The woman was a bundle of joy and her energy was contagious.

After the exchange of pleasantries, Mr. Maximillian took his and checked his time table after which he turned his laptop on and scrolled through his notes. While he was still on his laptop, the bell went off indicating the start of the first period.

Mr. Maximillian picked his laptop up without shutting it down or closing it and he slung his bag across his shoulder. He then proceeded to walk to his first class; year 9A.

"Good morning class." Mr Maximillian said as he entered the class. There was a quick scramble as those standing and chatting promptly took their seats.

"Good morning Sir." The students responded in unison.

"Hope you all slept well?" He asked with a smile. That was new. Mr. Max wasn't one for unnecessary salutation. There was something different about him today.

"So, today we are going to learn about Genetics." He said as he simultaneously wrote the topic body on the board.

"What do you know about genetics? This word is not new to us. You must have heard it before. So, any ideas? What is genetics?"

There were a few raised hands. Mr. Maximillian had his left hand on his waist and his right hand on his chin as he scanned the room with his eyes dramatically as though he was thinking of who to pick.

"Ah ha! Kelvin, tell us what you know about Genetics." He said finally pointing to a student in the middle row with his hand while the other remained on his waist.

"It has to do with like… inheritance, inheriting stuff from your parents. Like if your mum has blue eyes you have blue eyes and stuff like that." The student said in response to his question.

"Good attempt Kelvin but what exactly do you mean by stuff. Inheriting stuff, you could be talking about inheriting an old house from your great grand uncle for all we know.

You see, in the sciences, the right lingo is very important. This is what we call technical literature. He has an idea, a pretty good one at that but his in ability to properly explain it to us is where the fault lies. How do you explain it colloquially to the lay man and how do you address a gathering of scientists? It's all in the technical literature.

You know it's like Einstein said, "If you cannot explain it to a six-year old, you don't understand it yourself." Mr. Maximillian said passionately, that spark burning brightly in his eyes, gesticulation and everything.

The class ended as swiftly as it began. Sometimes it's as though the forty minutes per period is too short. On one hand there is Mr. Maximillian trying to fully expunge the concept of Mendel's laws of independent assortment and on another there is a student who cannot just wait for the class to be over. To Mr. Max, forty minutes is a short tome while to that student, it seems as though they sat through eternity.

"See you all on Thursday and don't forget to turn in your assignments." Mr. Maximillian said as he exited the class. He had two more classes to teach that morning and he briskly walked to the next.

Throughout the times in the class,he was constantly checking the time, not just because he did not want to spend too long on one topic but also because he wanted the classes to be over quickly so he could meet Vashti again. And so like the student waiting for the bell, Mr. Maximillian was equally eager.