SILENCE

All you have to do is make them laugh.
There wasn’t an iota of doubt in his voice
as he said those words. They just came;
soft and easy. Perhaps that was the way
he had it with the ladies; soft and easy.
Like the grace of angel. Ife turned to me,
his eyes fixed on mine.
“Do you think you don’t like girls?” Ife
asked.
I thought about the question for a while. I
had always asked myself this, but now
that it was being asked by someone other
than myself, it felt somewhat new. I
looked at my wristwatch; it was a few
minutes past six.
“I better hurry home. My parents will be
worried.” I said.
“Why did you avoid the question?”
I hated how I was an open book to Ife.
How he saw me without even trying. I
remembered once in secondary school
when the Principal caught me smoking
with some other boys. An investigation
began, and Ife was called to answer some
questions. He stood alert in the principal’s
office in his blue and black uniform, fitted
to his skin like that of a military officer.
The principal shifted in his chair, adjusted
his glasses and began, “I know you must
have heard what your friend, Gbolahan
was caught doing.”
Ife remained unfazed, his dark, large eyes
staring down at the principal’s table. I
remembered I had never seen Ife that
serious. It bugged me, and made me feel
like I had put him in a bad position. Ife
nodded his head, in reply to the Principal’s
question.
“Since you are his closest friend, I have
cause to believe you are an accomplice.”
The principal’s baritone voice enthralled
and threatened anyone that heard it. He
was a dark, bald man, in his early fifties.
There were rumors that he had been a
police officer before he retired. When he
hurled those words, naturally, I expected
Ife to cringe, show signs of shock at least.
But he simply smiled, “No, sir. I believe he
was forced to do it.”
“What?”
“He called me last night, but I was unable
to pick the phone…”
“So?”
“Gbolahan never calls, sir,” Ife smiled. I
thought of where he was going with that.
It was true I called the night before “I just
knew something was wrong.” It was also
true something was wrong. Ife still had
his eyes on the table, unwavering. “So
when I heard of the incident this
afternoon, I understood immediately sir.”
The principal was not impressed. I could
see it in the fake smile he mustered, and
the way he told Ife to leave the office.
For months, I had been bullied, threatened
to be killed if I breathed a word to anyone.
The day before saw Sparrow, the gang
leader holding me by the collar, telling me
I would be initiated the next day by
smoking some ′sticks′ with them. Like
every other time, me telling anybody
would result in my death. Now that I
thought of it, I couldn’t understand how
death could have scared me that young. I
even hated myself for the fact that I
couldn’t stand up for myself. I was 12. But
how could I believe that a bunch of 12
and 13-year olds were capable of murder?
It was fear that fueled my belief.
So when we walked home and I asked Ife
how he knew I was in trouble, his reply
formed the basis of our friendship for
years to come.
“You were always afraid. I knew you were
hiding something. So when you called, I
knew something was going to happen.
But I didn’t know what.”
I knew. I knew. He was right; he had
always been. He knew me, just like a
hacker knew codes. I adjusted on his bed,
and turned over to face the wall.
I start, “I just think…I think I am not ready
for the girls now.”
“Or you are scared?”
I turned and stoned him with a pillow,
“Guy, I’m not!”
“You know it’s okay to be scared,” his
voice was a calm river now. “I am too…”
“No, of course not. You have all these girls
at your beck and call.”
“Is that even correct?”
“What?”
“Beck and call, those words. Sounds
funny.”
“Oh, I heard Dr. Charles use it once or
twice,” I said. It sounded like a nice word
to me, and that was all it mattered. “But
you really have the girls, don’t you?” I
drove the conversation back to him.
“Maybe. But you know I’m not happy.” Ife
raised his hand as if to catch something
then stopped midway. His overdramatic
attitude. “And everyone deserves to be
happy.”
“Do you know why you aren’t happy?” I
didn’t know what else to ask.
“Yes, I do!” His eyes glistened like a star in
a dark night. “I need love to be happy.”
Ife, always making everything sound easy.
Why would someone think happiness was
something that easy? I really wanted to
ask about his relationships, why he
thought love is what he needed to be
happy. He had love, I believed. He had
these girls who showed him their breasts
and allowed him caress them. He had girls
who wanted him to have the whole world.
“But why are you scared?” I asked
instead. He stayed silent for a while,
brooding. It looked like he was carefully
searching for the right words. For the
right reaction to the question.
“The problem is, guy, I don’t know. But I
think fear is like this thing we all deal with.
Maybe sometimes there shouldn’t be a
WHY. Maybe it’s all inside us, you know, so
we can overcome them and feel alive for a
while, until another one comes.”
I smiled, not at him, not at his words, but
at how Ife was able to conjure an answer
for the things that bothered him. It was a
superpower I wasn’t blessed with. I
jumped off the bed abruptly, “I really have
to go!”
After greeting his parents, I and Ife
walked down to street to my house,
which was just a few blocks from his. It
was dark already, and we walked in
silence. I found myself thinking about
what was going on in his head. As we
shook hands at the front of my house, I
told him, hoping it helped, “I’m afraid
too.”
I am sitting at Love Garden, waiting for Ife
to show up. Ever since I resumed at the
university, we do not have the time to see
each other as we used to. But we try all
the same. He arrives, wearing a faded Man
of Steel shirt. His hair is beautifully
combed, and his dark skin shines under
the afternoon sun. Ife is a fine young man,
and will pass for a model any day.
“How was the exam?” I ask him
immediately he settles beside me.
“It’s my third POST-UTME. Do you want a
dishonest answer or none at all?”
I shake my head, “I will go for none.” Ife
laughs and hits me with his shoulder
playfully. We make jokes, laugh like
children and reminisce about the old days.
He tells me of Mary. She studies here. He
says he has never felt like this with anyone
else.
“It has always been give and take for me.
All I had to do was sleep with these girls.
It always felt like I was looking for
something. Something I didn’t even know.
And now that I feel like I have found it, I
feel like I am not good enough.” It is scary
not to see Ife all collected and calm. Ife
used to be the sort of person that had
everything under control. But here he is,
wounded by a woman, a species he once
claimed he had completely mastered.
“I really don’t understand,” even though I
do.
He continues, “She’s a good girl. But the
University isn’t a good place.”
“Scared you are going to lose her?”
“I’m scared for a lot of things… You know,
I told her I didn’t want her going out with
someone else?”
“Of course. What did she say?”
Ife smiles, “She promised she wasn’t
going to.” He pauses.
“Isn’t that a good thing?”
“It is…for me. But then it is one-sided and
unfair. She should have a chance to
explore her youth… You know, live and
all…”
I didn’t ‘know’. I think it is beautiful what
he wanted to protect. This is the
happiness he wanted three years ago
while we sat in his room. The happiness
from love.
His words cut into my line of thoughts,
“Do you have a girl now?”
I heave heavily, “No…I guess I’m still
searching for that woman.”
“I want you to go out with Mary.” His
voice is firm. For some reason, the voice
becomes a memory in my head. Unfolding
as my principal in secondary school,
sitting behind his large office table and
adjusting his glasses on his nose. I feel
like a child, helpless.
“What? Why?” My helplessness, shock and
fear is hidden by the indifference on my
face. Talk about hiding emotions.
“I know you. You are a good guy, if she’s
to go out with anybody… I have to know
it’s someone I trust.” Ife speaks like he has
everything planned in his head, which for
some reason angers me.
“Are you even listening to yourself?”
“Yes, I am, and I know what I am
saying…” There is a long, overdrawn
silence hovering above us like a cloudy
sky. I turn my head and run it through the
garden. Lovers. Course mates doing
assignments. Friends who are clearly in
love but acting like they aren’t. Boys
hoping to find a catch. Girls making small
talk.
It is on a Friday I meet with Mary, a
beautiful, light lady. She tells me she is glad
to meet me, and has heard a lot about me
from Ife. Don’t you think Ife is crazy, she
asks, asking us to do such thing?I love
him so much, I don’t know why he isn’t
ready to make this work out. I tell her he
has his reasons. We laugh and make fun
of the way he talks, like a philosopher. We
talk about how crazy he is, yet so scared.
She says it’s like he hides who he really is
by being somebody else. She asks about
my relationship and I tell her there is really
nothing to know about it. She tells me of
this guy she has a crush on, but it’s
nothing. It’s just a stupid crush. She tells
me about the dreams she have. Don’t
mind me, she smiles, I’m just a hopeless
romantic.
“Tell me about it,” I say.
“Oh no,” she blushes, “you know, girls and
these dreams.”
“I don’t know. You tell me.” Seeing my
seriousness, she turns her face down,
smiling childishly.
“It’s always a weekend getaway and we
are both in this big fancy hotel. We’d lie
naked on the bed all day, talking about
random stuffs, kissing and having sex.
Then he’d sing to me the Silence by Before
You Exit. That’s my favorite song…”
“That’s beautiful.”
She smiles, and it is the most beautiful
thing I have ever seen.
“I have never seen anyone as beautiful as
you are.”
Her whole face gushes in delight, “You are
a flatterer just like Ife.” She turns her face
away from mine.
I really am saying the truth. She is, more
than beautiful than any woman I have set
my eyes on. The way her lips curved into a
smile. The beam in her eyes when she
blushed. Her soft and graceful way of
carrying herself. Her gentle voice, and
occasional high pitched laughter.
I walk her to her hostel, and tell her I will
inform Ife of our meeting.
“Did you kiss her?” is the first question Ife
throws at me when I call him.
“No!” is my reply, tinged with laughter
anger and surprise, “but she really is a
nice girl.” We talk long into the night
about Mary, and then some other
unrelated things. However, I do not tell
him of her dreams, or the guy she has a
crush on. I simply tell him, “I know we will
go along just fine.”
Ife’s voice drops. He tells me he saw his
POST-UTME results a few hours ago, he
failed again.
“I can’t do it, Gbolahan. That university is
not where I want to be. I just want to
paint…”
“You still paint?”
“Every time,” his voice breaks, “I have
been doing it more than usual…”
“Then do it. If that’s what you want, do
it!”
“It’s not that easy, guy…”
“Everything is easy with you, Ife. I don’t
know how you do it, but man, if anyone
can pursue their dreams in spite of
whatever, it’s you.” I hate the way I sound.
Like some sort of motivational speaker. I
didn’t like the fact that I am sounding like
the voice of reason Ife always said I was.
His voice comes on, “You know what? I’m
going to do just that. Exactly that!” He
ends the call.
For the next couple of years, I won’t hear
anything from Ife. Even when I go home,
his parents will simply tell me he said he
didn’t want to be in touch with anyone. I
was angry; how could my childhood
friend just ghost out on me? I began
thinking it was something I said when we
spoke last. Whatever pursuing he did only
becomes clear when I run into Mary one
day at the bank in Abuja. She is taller, and
even more beautiful.. Ten years has gone,
but the childish look and innocence still
lives on that face. We are both surprised,
but I perform a good job hiding mine.
She hugs me, and asks why she never saw
me after that night in school. I lie, “You
know how busy UI could be,” and laughed
it off. I didn’t tell her of how I avoided her,
how I could not continue seeing her after
what Ife did.
“Are you still in touch with Ife?” The
question surprises me after I asked, and it
feels relieving to mention his name out
loud after all those years.
She gives me that charming smile. “Yes, I
get postcards from him once in a while… “
“Oh, that’s great,” I lie again.
“He’s based in New York now, and he has
an Art Gallery.”
Pursue your dream. He did pursue his
dream.
“Do you still have that dream?” Being a
writer comes with one stupid perk: asking
stupid questions.
She stops for a moment. “That was a long
time ago, Gbolahan… How do you still
remember?”
I also don’t know how I still did.
“I don’t… I no longer dream about it. But
you know, I think about it sometimes… It
happens that I just miss him once in a
while…” There is this gloom I can’t explain
that had enveloped her face.
“So you,” Mary changes the topic, her face
brightening again, “what are you doing
now?”
“Hmmm, a lot. Writing most of the time
actually.”
“That’s great! I never knew you
write.”Nobody knew I write.
Accepting that as a compliment, I bow my
head slightly. We are out of the bank now.
“So what do you do? Are you married?” I
quickly interject.
“Well, in the advertising sector. I just keep
forgetting to get married, there’s a lot on
my plate.” That smile again. “Oh what
about you?”
“Unmarried. Well, I found myself someone,
you could say a lover.”
“Aw. That’s beautiful! I’m glad you finally
found a woman who’s treating you right.
See how fresh she has made you.”
I smile. We exchange contacts and get into
our separate cars. I sit in my car, smile and
wonder why I didn’t tell her that the name
of my lover is John, and of course he isn’t
a woman.
I hope Ife is happy wherever he is. I hope
he at least found love, one that is enough
to make him think love is the only path to
happiness.
Everybody’s looking for love to start a riot
But every time I look into your eyes, the
world gets quiet
So let it go…