The Search for Mr Right (E1 – E12)

E3 - The Search For Mr. Right: Maybe I’d Just Wink

Hi, there. I’m here again. The unrepentant spinster. You’re welcome back to my world. A world where I know nothing of what is going on. So, I’m supposed to be taking you through my life journey but the problem lies in the fact that there’s actually nothing story-worthy about my life. If I had a reality TV show, the videographers would probably sleep onset for having to do absolutely nothing all day.

I wasn’t always like this. In fact, back when I was in University, I fancied myself the life of the party. None of that introverted nonsense. I was out and alive. Or whatever my own version of ‘alive’ was. I had friends who would call to gossip about the newest couple in our faculty, guys who would fall over themselves to impress me, the parties and nights in the club that never seemed to stop, and a boyfriend. Yes, there was a boyfriend. I guess that’s a bit hard to believe. Seeing as I have just graduated and I am already on the lookout for man candy. Well, we broke up. Immediately after our final papers. Actually, I broke up with him. Why? You might ask. Did he cheat? No. Was he abusive? No. Unsupportive? No. Did he treat me badly? No. Did he love me? Absolutely. Did he show how much he loved me? Every chance he got. Then why did I break up with him? Well, I got bored.

Oh, the horror! How your eyes must have reached new width levels because of that revelation. Well, I wasn’t going to lie. It’s my story anyway and nobody said I was perfect. In fact, I’m going to tell you the whole story.

Omozuwa was his name. I called him Omo for short though. He’s easily the sweetest guy I have ever met. Like nobody comes close. Attentive, caring, generous, and literally the complete package. We met during our clearance days when we just got admitted. He was one of those meticulous kids who had all their files complete and in their perfect folders. Those were the kids who completed their clearance and started looking for lecturers to begin lectures even before others confirmed their admission status. Maybe that was why we actually never began on the right foot. He seemed like a busybody to me. I will never forget our first conversation.

“That isn’t supposed to be there.” He remarked pointing to my admission letter that I had folded neatly into the perfect gray folder my father had stockpiled for me since we got news of my admission into the university.

“What did you say?” I asked feigning ignorance.

“I said, that document is not supposed to be in that folder.” He repeated.

“Why do you say so?” I was always the kid who did what everyone wanted her to do. Seeking approval and validation from authorities. He wasn’t an authority to me but the fact that I could possibly do something wrong and get reprimanded for it by someone who actually matters made me uncomfortable. And suddenly sweaty.

“The clearance officer asked everyone to put their admission letter in white paper files. The letter is supposed to be stapled to the paper file with some other documents and not alone in a fancy folder. You would have known that if you hadn’t been on your phone during the orientation.” I would have listened to him but the condescending manner in which he passed this bit of information pumped me with a kind of fury that left my ears blocked and my mouth running.

“I don’t understand. When was I on my phone?” I asked in anger.

“Well, I saw you chatting and taking pictures with some girls at the back.”

“Oh, so you were watching me? Who made you the clearance officer’s assistant anyway?”

“I’m sorry. I was just trying to help.”

“Well, I don’t need your help. Thanks, but no thanks. Focus on your own clearance and stop watching other people’s daughters.”

He looked hurt but then he responded with a quiet “Okay” before he walked off to be by himself at one corner of the hall we were in.

I began to feel bad but then I stopped myself. I didn’t feel like apologizing or even changing the folder. I held on tightly to my cute gray folder and waited for my verdict. I didn’t care if I was going to be sent back, I just didn’t want to do whatever the Oversabi had advised me to do. Nobody asked him.

I eventually got sent out of the office by the clearance officer though. I didn’t complete my clearance for another two weeks. Longer than any of my peers had done theirs. It was from one silly avoidable mistake to the other.

The next time I saw Omo, we were 300 Level students, and he was running for a position in the Students’ Union Government (SUG) of the school. I did not recognize him immediately seeing as he had now cleaned up and actually looked handsome. It might have been as a result of his trying to win people’s favor for his political aspirations, or he might have taken a crash course in college boy charisma and come out with distinctions. Whatever it was, the boy had become fine and suddenly, I didn’t understand why I hated him at first. Who would hate such beauty?

“Hi, good afternoon.” He said to me one faithful Tuesday morning. “My name is Justice Omozuwa, a 300-level Petroleum Engineering student. May I know your name, please?”

How cute. “First of all, good morning. It’s just a few minutes past 10 am.”

He blushed. “My bad. Good morning.”

“Good morning. I’m Lauretta.” Before he could reply, I had already decided that I was not in the mood for a conversation. No matter how cute he is.

“And you don’t need to keep up with these pleasantries. You’re Justice and you’re running for the post of Secretary-General in the forthcoming SUG elections. Don’t worry. Myself, my friends, and my household will vote for you. For now, I need to clear my head before my Lecturer comes to scatter it.” I replied. Don’t look at me that way. I had a bad case of PMS that morning and I was in no mood to force a conversation, especially with the infamous Mr. Sunny on his merry miserable way.

“I can see you’ve not lost any of your charms. Still as sharp-mouthed as the first time we met.”

Oh, he remembered. “I can see you still watch people’s daughters and start conversations they are not interested in.”

“Woah. Calm down. I’m not here to fight, keep your fangs in.”

“What do you want? I’ll vote for you. Not because I trust your abilities but I can safely assume that you would do a better job than the other guy who wears his pajama shorts and slippers to a campaign. If your addiction to files ordering and maintenance is anything to go by.”

“That’s a really nice compliment. Easily the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“That means I’ve said too much. I’ll vote for you, Mr. Justice. You can go now.” I really was feeling so irritable that day.

“Okay, okay. I’ll go. I just wanted to know the name of the girl that put the fear of the Lord in me the first time we met.” The guy was literally talking too much at this point.

“Now you know.” I replied as politely as I could.

“Maybe next time, I’ll get a number.”

“For your own good, make sure there’s no next time. It won’t be pretty.” Totally unnecessary, I know! But mood swings do that to you. One minute, you’re Bubbles from Power Puff Girls, the next minute you’re the wicked witch of the west. The good thing is that he had actually mastered the art of letting hurtful words bounce off. He didn’t move to the other side of the hall this time. He just smiled and walked away.

Well, you know how that went. He didn’t just get my phone number, he got my heart too. At least, for a while.

I guess at a particular time, I thought he was everything I could ever need. He was responsible, trustworthy, attentive, and generous. After winning the elections, he dedicated every waking moment to winning my heart. I had never had a guy pay me so much attention and be so supportive. It was so foreign and for a moment, I didn’t know how to handle it. I didn’t know how to handle how devoted he was. How faithful he was, even when he had several girls on campus flocking around him. He received a salary too from the school for his position, plus other benefits and levies from being part of the SUG. However, he spent more than half of whatever he received on me. It was outrageous.

He was so perfect, that it became ridiculous. I no longer took him seriously. I started taking him for granted. Doing whatever it was I wanted to do without caring how it affected him. It affected him alright, but I still could never get him to act out of line. Maybe that was what I wanted. For him to act out of line. For a single indiscretion that would reflect how imperfect he was. How normal. Forgive me, but I was used to tales of guys cheating on their girlfriends. Having temper tantrums, doing the wrong things all the time. This created some kind of drama in the relationship and resolving these issues always seemed to spice up the relationship. Or at least, that’s what my friends told me. I wanted that kind of drama. I craved it. I thought I was possessed, wanting my boyfriend to hurt me. To do something out of line, and cause me grief. But Omo would never be found with a button undone. At a point, I thought he had to be hiding something. Maybe he was just too good at hiding. I searched and searched. At a point in the relationship, I even had someone mirror his phone to mine. That way, I could monitor everything he did. From every call, he received and made to his interactions on social media. Oh, the girls came. The wily and the unnecessarily friendly. I saw them all but how he managed to keep all of them at arm’s length is a course that has to be studied at all the Ivy League schools in the world.

I was obsessed. Since I couldn’t find anything wrong with my perfect boyfriend, I had to be what was wrong. I took the liberty to become the reason why our relationship became toxic. I went out to parties, got drunk, and spent several nights outside my hostel. Omo would call and I would have one of my friends pick up to tell him I was sleeping. Some nights, I would cut the call on him while he was still narrating the events of his day to me. I would cut the call and then put my phone on flight mode. Morning would come and I would blame the previous night’s debacle on the network. I even started going on dates with other guys. There was one in particular that I would have even given a chance. His name was Nathan. I went as far as picking his calls in front of Omo. We would talk for a long time and I would giggle all through. All in a bid to get Omo stirred up. But it never happened. He never even asked who I was talking to. He just waited patiently till I was done with the call to continue whatever it was we were doing before the call. It got on my nerves. How calm and unshaken he was like he knew I was just acting out.

One day though, I almost got the reaction I wanted. But it didn’t go the way I thought it would. It was one of our happy times, when I didn’t bother so much about how spotless my boyfriend was, but instead, enjoyed how doting he was. We were eating when he asked,

“Ese, are you tired?” He’s the only one who calls me Ese. My native name.

I looked up from my plate of Jollof rice while chewing a slice of plantain. “Tired of what?” I said with my mouth full.

“Of us. Are you tired of us? Of me? Of this relationship?”

Finally. At least, he wasn’t as blind as I thought he was. But I would be damned if I ever told him how I really felt. “Tired keh? Of course not. Why would I be tired?”

He went silent for a while. “Ese, do you need space? Am I choking you?”

Did this man not hear what I just said? “I said we’re good. I’m not tired.”

“Then why are you trying so hard to stir trouble? To make me doubt you? Why are you trying so hard to hurt me?” He said quietly. It was like I was listening to that little boy from 100 level again.

At this point, I knew I had been the foolish one right from the start. He knew about everything. Every detail.

“I don’t want you to feel like you need to change who you are, so I’ll be less attracted to you. That’s really unnecessary, seeing as I’m willing to keep on loving you whichever path you choose to follow.”

Okay. What exactly do I say to that? Okay? I’m sorry? Thank you? I was so ashamed and embarrassed. I didn’t know what to say, feel, or even how to communicate whatever it was I thought I was feeling. So, I did the next reasonable thing. I started crying. Surprisingly, he didn’t even try to comfort me. There I was, in his oversized shirt, sitting on his oversized chair that seemed to swallow me up, trying to blubber through words to try to communicate with a man who loved me with his oversized heart. I was a mess.

“I’m sorry, Ese. Although, I’m not really sure what I did wrong I’m really sorry.”

I couldn’t stop crying.

“Do you need space?” He asked quietly. As calm as he tried to be, I still heard the quake in his voice. “Do you need some time for yourself?”

I nodded.

Silence.

Loud silence.

“Is there still hope?” Leave it to Omo to ask all the right questions at all the wrong times. When I didn’t answer, he asked again, “Should we have this conversation later?” to which I nodded.

We later agreed to hold off any big plans until we were both done with our final papers. I finished first and so I had enough time to think things through. I finally told him it was better if we parted ways.

“Why?”

You know how you expect something bad to happen but then, you just hold on to a tiny seed of hope that things might just turn outright. Then the bad thing happens and you’re not sure how to react. Should you be consoled with the fact that you knew it was going to happen? Or should you drown in despair that it even happened at all? I saw all those feelings move right through his face and I knew I would never have the right answer.

“Honestly honey, I don’t know.”

We had a moment of silence before he sighed so deeply, his whole body vibrated too.

“I hope you find what you’re looking for, Ese.” With that, he gave me a little kiss on the forehead and walked back to his dorm to celebrate. Leaving me wondering why I just flushed a 2-year perfect relationship down the drain.

So, that’s how my sob story goes. I’ve not heard from Omo since that afternoon, in case you’re wondering. A few friends told me he traveled out of the country immediately after his national youth service program.

I’m not bitter. Or sad. Or regretful. But some days, I can’t help but wonder if I threw my only chance at love away. Like, how exactly do I start looking for a man? Will I continue to wait in my imaginary castle until one Son of Adam finds me worthy of his last name and his bed? How do I tell the man I like that I like him without looking desperate?

Maybe I’d just wink at him.

All pictures are gotten from pexels.com and are free for commercial use.