Ada: A Shade Of My Mind
I walk around the supermarket feeding my eyes the goodies since my money cannot even come close let alone sit at per with them. I look at my watch involuntarily. It’s not like I’m in a rush, but I’ve been in here way too long already. The attendants are looking at me one kain. It’s not like I care though. Looking is free. It’s the reason I’ve been doing it without restraint since I picked the last item on my list over an hour ago.
I don’t like anything coming between me and my joy so, whenever I’m at a supermarket, I save the best for last: the books section. My birthday is in a few days and I make it a habit to buy myself a new book to mark the anniversary. The smell of new books kiss my nostrils deeply as I get there. As usual, I am indecisive as I begin to look through.
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“Can’t I just take you all home?” I whisper. “I can take very good care of you.” “Is there a genre you especially like? I could offer recommendations.” For a moment, my mind goes blank as the sweetest sensation rushes through me. The voice is to my ears like crisp Akara and milky custard to my tongue on Saturday morning. When I turn to look, the sexiest thing I have ever seen is standing right in front of me. I try not to drool, but it comes driveling. Then he asks the question again. “Is there a genre you especially like?” Just when I am about to tell him that anything as interesting as he is will do, three resonating sounds interrupt me.
I jerk out of sleep and for a moment, nothing makes sense till the pain begins to settle in on my rump. Sleepily, I rub the spot simultaneously with my eyes. Then my mother lands another slap on my shoulder and I am jolted back to reality.
“Ah!” I scream. “Ada! Did you come back to sleep? I mean, you have the guts to sleep? So, I now have to beg you to go to church ókwaya?”
“Church?” I asked absurdly.
“Hey! Chi’m! So you forgot about today’s evening service? Ehn?! What is wrong with you? And when I talk to you now, you are so quick to tell me you are an adult…”
“Mommy…” I try to explain myself.
“Shut up! Shut up when I’m talking to you. Look at the time. We have about one and a half hours to leave. You better get up from that bed before I blink my eyes and start getting ready. This house will not contain the both of us if I get to that church before you.” She storms out of the room.
Heaven knows I am not feeling the whole church vibe today. But this is one area in which my mom is not prepared to reason with me. It’s one rule I must keep while I live under her roof. “Go to church as and at when due.” I reluctantly get up and deliberately select a dress that does not need ironing out even though there is electricity power supply. I am too upset to get into a war of words with her.
We arrive at the driveway all dressed up and the car refuses to start. It must be sharing my unenthusiasm. I would jump for joy if I do not know that my mother would not stop here. And even though I know it’s a futile exchange, I try my luck anyway.
“Mommy, can’t we just stay today? Please. There must be a reason why the car is refusing to start. Or we can just wait till Daddy returns.”
“If you are the one the devil is using, I rebuke you in the name of Jesus,” she thunders at me. I saw this coming. “Don’t you know that your father is not returning home anytime soon? Òya madam, start trekking to the road.” End of discussion.
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We jump molue and finally arrive at the church a few minutes to the start of the service. I left my wristwatch. The huge clock on one of the walls of the auditorium has stopped and I’m too lazy to even bring out my phone and take a peek to confirm the time. The praise and worship session begins and manages to douse my unenthusiasm a little bit. After a while, we are permitted to sit down and since it is a special evening service, the moderator invites the guest speaker to the stage. I am not paying sufficient attention, so I don’t catch his name.
Immediately he mounts the stage, I fully understand why Toni Braxton wishes she is in the arms of the Spanish guitarist because I want to be that suit that cleaves to his perfectly cut out body. The spiritual must indeed work the physical. This feels like a continuation of the dream I had earlier except that I can still feel the outline of Mommy’s fingers on my bare shoulder. The cheers from the congregation seem far away because, in this auditorium, there is just me with him.
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He flashes a smile, says something and we all rise. He sings a few worship songs which I do not sing along to. I am too busy drinking him in. After all, it’s not all the time the eye gets served candy. I can hear him, but I’m not listening. When we sit down, I produce my pen and jotter only to save myself from being scolded by Mommy. All my actions are reflexive of what the congregation is doing. So, way into the sermon, when Mommy leans in and whispers into my ear, “Did you catch that?”
I can only reply, “Ma?”
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