“Shouldn’t we all be downstairs for the celebration” I ask.
She adjusts her skirt, pointing to the television. The activities happening outside are being aired on television. I let out a quick gasp. She walks back to her seat, returns with a bottle of champagne, then fills her cup and does the same to mine. We begin to talk, she asks about my relationship, I brush the topic aside.
Taking in her features, I notice the way her brows crease, her pupils dilate when she tries to blink. They are fascinating.
The noises in the living room are getting louder but still cannot muffle the noises outside. As I chat congenially with the woman, it occurs to me that had I been heterosexual, I would have asked her out.
“Are you gay?” she quips in between our discussion about fashion.
I jolted abruptly, spilling the glass of wine on a tray carried by a middle-aged waiter. She had asked a waiter to drop some of the liquor and a bottle of alcoholic barley for us. The glass cup falls to the ground, the content spills along with scattering pieces of broken glasses.
“I’m so sorry,” I tell the waiter, helping her to clean up the crimson stain on her attire. It didn’t spill on anyone save for the waiter.
Occasionally, I turn to glance at the lady until I am done attending to the waiter. Although, I was expecting her to say something but she remains mute. I smile, then proceed to ask “I don’t think I ever asked for your name,”
A smirk appears across her face. “Yeah, I am Onyinye,” she says, with a fixed stare.
I glance at the empty glass cup in my hand, half-filled it with the bottle of barley liquor. Immediately, I gulp down the content. She eventually stands up and walks away. A few minutes later, I request a bottle of water to curb dizziness, but end up sleeping on the sofa after.
By nine P.M, I am awoken by Tobi. He had been worried about me driving the car home but I told him that I was sober enough to drive. He argues but eventually relents after much persuasion. I drive home with bloodshot eyes, at every traffic stop sometimes, I doze off and would be jolted awake by angry drivers honking and screaming, so I would drive like a normal human. On getting home, the gateman opens the gate, and I drive-in.
“Welcome back oga,” the gateman says, closingthe gate.
I park and lift my thumbs up at the gateman and he smiles sheepishly. Soon, he walks into his boys’ squatter, leaving me to the serene compound. The estate is silent, a familiar breeze wheezes over my head. I stagger forward, gripping myself to the same spot I had been standing earlier in the morning when I was looking at my neighbor’s wife.
Now, I feel the wind moves swiftly through the air, and through bleary eyes, I see the dark sky amidst the full moon acting like it is about to rain. As I totter to the door, I see a figure adorned in black hovers past me, then another in red-colored apparel also follows, and suddenly, indistinct shapes of varying colors begin to float along. They are look-alikes. I am not quite dizzy, and can tell it is not hallucination.