A Letter to Remember (Episode 3)
Tabitha was on a bus destined for Kaduna. Her thoughts were shattered into minute pieces of memory. She continued to fondle with her phone even as she hoped that Tade would call, or maybe, reply her mail. She was disgusted at the noise of other corps members who were on her bus. Their unhindered joy disgusted her; the joy of going home brightened up the face of these corps members. Perhaps they had other roots of happiness in their mind, Tabitha couldn’t tell.
She looked out of the window, bewildered at the tall trees that blossomed, amidst the thick cloud of the forest, running after their Coaster Bus, unlike the short trees and short grasses that she knew in Kaduna. She wondered how love and forgetfulness could intertwine, forging a series of letters in her mind, in the mail she sent to Tade.
She stirred at her Android phone. She tried to catch some fun, playing the game, “Temple Run,” on her phone. The soundtrack of the game continued to play an ominous music in her mind, though she continued to jump the barriers as she ran through the mysterious temple of a strange beast.
And her phone beeped. Tade had mailed her. She opened her Gmail, a little bit scared, a little bit unsure of his reply. Yet she proceeded. And she began to read. Every word of Tade in the mail shocked her.
She felt betrayed. She felt empty except for something else within her. She didn’t know what to say, neither did she understand why Tade could keep his mother from her.
She looked out of the bus’s window, closed her eyes to the gushing wind but the tears didn’t come. Her eyes were dry and her palms were itching her. But, she needed to write a reply.
“Tade,” she began to write, scribbling the words on her notepad.
I have to remove the “dear” in the salutation because I am not sure again whether you love me or not. I am unsure of the long day you spent in my room, they appear to be an illusion. I am unsure whether those days ever mean anything to you. I am not sure you recall that you even spent a night in my bed.
Now, I am your stranger. I am the stranger you didn’t want to take to your mom. I am the stranger you laughed with, tasting the bud of real happiness in my tongue.
Yes, I always know I was never a part of you, I was never a part of your home. So, don’t even use the word, “home” to describe me. I am not your home, I am your stranger.
Anyway, I am pregnant. I just want you to know that your baby has found a home in my womb.