THE YELLOW BUTTERFLY – Episode 7
BEFORE THE BUTTERFLY
I didn’t have the strength to argue with Principal on why I was late to school. Well, I would have been beaten hands down even if I chose to word-spar with her because somehow, I would get stuck on a word that I couldn’t pronounce, as had already happened in times past. “Father, please, drop me at the back gate.” “Oh no, no! That way, you’d escape punishment and that is not acceptable. You must learn to accept the consequences of your actions.”
I rolled my eyes and immediately regretted it as my eyelid hurt. Heat had been deliberately applied to it as a punishment by Father for asking him of Mother’s whereabouts a week ago. I smiled as he swerved and moved in the back gate’s direction. He was a cool Father, I’d give him that. But he was not so cool if you asked him about Mother or if he caught you looking at the cracked spot where… “I only did this because we live at Ngwo and most importantly, because I don’t have that witch’s strength. Next you’d know she’d call to ask me to buy you an alarm or wake you up myself or just do something.” I laughed. “Bye, Father.” I was climbing the hideously long staircase when my eyes befell my greatest enemy, if I did say so myself. “Jennifer,” I said in acknowledgement. “Ifeyinwa,” she said and turned her head up in that irritable way that she did. I clearly heard her cough the word ‘jerk’. “No you don’t. Not this morning,” I said, carefully trying to avoid a fight. “I’ve told you severally that you have Peter all to yourself. I don’t even look at him in the way you think I do, Jennifer.” “Tell that to Sopuru,” she said. Sopuru was the dumbest girl there ever was in my class. For half a minute or so, I was ashamed of myself for meting out judgement, for terming Sopuru as dumb but this was what, I thought, Jennifer lived for; bringing out the very worst in me. Honestly, I had already given up Peter. Jennifer could have him back because I was tired of the constant fights she put up. Though I still felt that tingling sensation in my chest whenever he stepped into the class, though I still melted into sticky goo whenever he looked at me, he was not worth the way I shouted around with Jennifer like a restaurant owner whose customer did not want to pay up. “Sopuru isn’t dumb, you know,” I said and couldn’t help but to add, “But you are.” I felt her explode like an atomic bomb which had been waiting for over a century to do so. “Oh! You have it in you, don’t you? Look who’s calling me dumb; the one who cannot pronounce C-A-T.” She laughed and I could tell it was a mirthless one. I felt like I had been punched in the face. I ran and ran and had almost made it to the class when I heard Principal’s voice. “Young lady, where are you coming from?” Her British accent was melodious with the way she didn’t pronounce the ‘g’ in young unlike most of the teachers. “Actually young ladies ” Actually, young ladies. I turned around to find out who had added the flies to ‘lady’. It was Jennifer. “From our houses, where do you think?” She answered in a nonchalant voice. Principal’s nose flared up in a startling shade of pink. “To my office now!” She said to Jennifer. To me, she asked, “And what do you have to say in your own defence?” “I’m coming from…the sick bay. I had a slight, um, cramp.” “I‘m sorry to hear that. Now off to class, will you?” I heaved a huge sigh of relief. This had gone easy. It was interesting how many things I could get off the hook with whenever I used ‘seeing-my-period’ lie. It worked on mostly everybody, Father too. Math period crawled by. When it was over, I got my reading note and ran to the staff room and almost entered without permission. “How dare you?” Mrs. Ibekwe shrieked. She was my Catering Craft Practice teacher. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ibekwe. I truly am,” I was saying as my eyes scanned the square, fully air-conditioned room, crammed with staff tables for my English teacher. I frequently visited him to help me out with the words which I couldn’t pronounce. He said to keep doing this for him to know just how bad my ‘condition’ was, to know if to refer me to a speech therapist. “Well, when you want to get in, you do it the right way,” Mrs. Ibekwe said. “Excuse me Staff, please, can I come in?” “Yes, you can but you may not,” Mrs. Ibekwe said matter-of-factly. I had wanted to roll my eyes but I remembered that if I did, I would enrage the sleeping pain on my eyelid. “Excuse me Staff, please, may I come in?” I said this time. “You may enter, Ifeyinwa Ejike. You need to polish up on your manners though.” Mrs. Ibekwe said, beaming. My English teacher was smiling gracefully as I nervously approached him. I hadn’t quite learnt how to pronounce the word he had chosen for me to learn. “Good afternoon, sir.” “How do you do, Ifeyinwa?” “I’m fine, thank you.” I knew that if Principal were here, she would y off the handle because of my reply; she always insisted that when we are asked about how we were, we replied “How do you do too?” “Did you learn it?” I slowly shook my head. “That’s it! I’ll speak to Principal about having you visit a speech therapist regularly. I was very disappointed with myself. I knew I had tried; I had put in all my effort in trying to pronounce the words he had chosen for me. Yet, I just had to need the services of a speech therapist. I had no idea why God had created me this different. “Oh no, no!”
Father yelled at the Principal in her office. “No one, I repeat, no one is going to subject my daughter to lay off of school for a whole term just to constantly visit a speech therapist. It is not done anywhere; do you hear me?” “Please sir, calm down. I’m sure we would successfully talk on this without raised voices. Now, your daughter has, err, speech problems. She naturally finds it difficult to pronounce some words unlike other people her age. Do note that I didn’t say that for destructive comparison purposes but only to get you to know just how direly she needs the help of a qualified speech therapist.” “I am not going to have you force my daughter into this…” Father was saying as Principal cut him short. “She has already consented and of her own free will too.” Father looked at me. I had a pressing need to chew on my fingers. If they had any idea how awkwardly embarrassing the whole thing was, maybe they’d spare me of all the hassle. “Is she right?” Father asked me intently. “Yes, Father,” I said looking down at my skirt. “Very well. How do you want to go about procuring a qualified ‘speech therapist’ for my daughter?” “We have two psychiatrists, one pediatrician and three speech therapists affiliated with this school.” Father nodded his impression. “And how much would I pay for the whole thing?” Principal laughed. “Is that what this whole disapproval is about?” “Certainly not, Mrs. Principal! Do watch your tongue,” Father sharply said as I got the impression of a double-edged sword ready to smite. I saw Principal recoil into herself, the lines of laughter in her face already wiped off. “All financial obligations have been met already in the fees which you paid for the term.” “That explains the horrifyingly huge amount of money I spend here on a termly basis,” Father said and chuckled to himself.
“Well, today is Monday. I advise that she starts seeing the therapist by Friday. As soon as you leave, I would contact him to notify him of a new, err, patient.” “Okay,” Father said as he nodded slowly. Principal opened one of her drawers and got out a card “This is his complimentary card You should contact him by Thursday so that he’d give you the time Principal opened one of her drawers and got out a card. This is his complimentary card. You should contact him by Thursday so that he’d give you the time to meet for Friday.” “He better be good,” Father said as he collected the card. “Oh! He is, I assure you,” said the Principal. As Father and I stood up to leave, the Principal added, “Ifeyinwa, it will do you good to not inform your friends about this till you’re done with the therapist. I know what it’s like but I just don’t think you should talk to your friends about it. I do know that Jennifer Irokwe is not in your good books and neither are you in hers. If word officially gets out, it may ruin your reputation, ok? If you do want to confide in someone, meet the Counsellor.” “Thank you for the advice, Principal.” I said. “Bye, Mrs. Principal,” Father said with a smirk. “Jennifer Irokwe? Isn’t that Missy’s daughter?” “Yes, Father.” “You’re not in good terms? We’re good family friends now, why would both of you be quarrelling?” “Father, that her mother comes to our house every Saturday does not make both of them my friends; both Jennifer and Missy.” Father stopped walking and I worried if I had taken this too far. But the look on his face was not that of anger.
If nothing else, it was the look that meant he had just gotten a new idea. “How does she go home?” “I don’t know, on her own?” “That is just perfect,” Father had resumed walking. “I will, umm, borrow her a little.” The sun was too hot, the parking lot was still some distance away, my shoes were tight and by tight I meant so tight I could not, and did not want to pay his last sentence any mind. “Race you to the car,” Father said and took off running. I just kept on walking, unsmiling.
STORY CONTINUES…