Chapter 3 Overture: 3

I saw a man carrying something quite heavy, bust the door open; he staggered with the burden on him, the weight of the burden made him turn his toes, hit the door, nevertheless he didn't flinch. A closer look, it was the lady who was burden, strapped her legs round his midsection and belted her hands round his neck. They kept biting and eating their lips aggressively, the lady went up and down his torso like a tidal wave. She reclined and rid him off his shirt, then they began again. He staggered forward and hit the lantern.

It burnt his feet; they were so passionate their performance that the man didn't feel pain from the burn. I stood on my feet to drive them away, " Hey! You are in the wrong house!" They both turned to me. My eyes recognized the lady. Immediately, resemblance flushed in my brain. That was my mum! The man wasn't my Dad. My heart started over- working and I was afraid I was going to fall and black out. She gave me the most scornful look that could detach my head from my body. I retreated, because I felt I was risking a slap from her, the man wanted to drop her but she said " Let's continue..." She sank her mouth into his and caressed them violently. He pushed her face and said

" don't you care there is a boy?..."

" There's no time for guilty conscience, let's finish what we have..." She didnt care to finish; she plunged her mouth into his, proceeded to removing their clothes till they moved into the room and banged the door behind them. Soon I heard both of them making disturbing noises. The bed kept creaking violently, back and forth. My Grandma was asleep on the only couch we had. She could hear a thing, she had ear issues. I found my Dad's ear piece on the ground, I inserted it into my ear holes to dampen the noise. I saw my Dad walk through the open door like a ghost; He was about asking why it was open, and mosquitoes were freely making there way in... but the noise he was hearing stopped his words halfway; He skipped steps towards the door and busted in. The door closed behind him, I began to hear him scream angrily at the two. Different noises came from the room. From what I presumed must have been happening behind that door, my Dad was beating the crap out of him, because I could hear my mum telling my Dad to stop hitting him. My brother rolled over his belly, He was asleep on the floor. He slapped a disturbing mosquito against his cheek, he froze, his snoring resumed. I almost jumped when I saw that man scamper out of the room naked, covering his private part with his clothes and out of the house. Minutes later, my Dad angrily struggled with his bag towards the door, pulling the bag by it's corners because the straps were gone; with mum, half naked, non-challantly begging him. She stopped eventually and sat on the couch, at Grandma's feet. She lit a match on a cigarette and puffed at my father as he carried his remaining luggages. There weren't any baggage and stuff to carry anymore, he stopped and turned to me:

" pray you never find a woman like your mum!" He turned to my mum, she was still smoking. The smoke came out of her nostrils. He went back into the room to check if he left anything else. Grandma choked on the smoke. From the episodes of frightening coughs, wheezing, complaints of headaches and belly pains, there were perhaps latent diseases we didn't know of; like I thought she must have had Asthma- her eyes opened, She began to inquire what was happening. My Dad came out and snatched his remaining pack of cigarettes from my mum.

" I have nothing to lose man!" She cackled, " there are so many men wey dey this world and I fit pick my spec. I just have to shake wetin I have for them!" She bellowed in pidgin tongue. Grandma nudged her and told her to wear some clothes; the old woman begged my Dad to stay. He out of some sort of respect and reverence told her he couldn't stay. I heard my mum say to me,

" hey, yo, can't ya beg your father?" She always had her YA for YOU. I think it had to do with her profession and sometimes if she was trying to be vivid, she forgets to say YA.

I did try to beg him but I was weak. Everything was happening so fast. I just got to school that day and my Dad was leaving that day. I looked at the clock - the only thing which seemed to remain in good shape, because it hung on the wall - It was 8:30. My Dad had finished packing. I was about telling him goodbye before he banged the door behind him.

" Hey! Ya couldn't say goodbye?!" She called after him.

" Go and die!!" he yelled back. My mum ignited a hysterical laughter, kept whooping and dancing till she entered the room. It meant more money because he had been living off her. I looked at my Grandma who was staring blank at the door of the room. She stretched her body on the couch and closed her eyes. Sometimes, I wondered why my Grandma couldn't be a responsible adult. My mum always told her to hold her tongue and never interfere in her matters, and Grandma would sheepishly agree. My mind would eventually resolve that it was old age. All these drama happened in a poorly lit room by a hurricane lantern, losing light, wick and kerosene. I placed my body on the ground, where I slept, when I felt my head beating. Pictures of what happened that day slideshowed before my eyes in mirage resolution. It was hard to fall asleep; I used a method I always used whenever I was finding it difficult to fall asleep - I imagined I was drowning...

Crash!

I jounced from my sleep. The light in the lamp was almost dead. In it's weak light, It revealed the leg of someone walking across the room.

" Go back to sleep" the voice said, I felt chilly until I digested that it was my mum. She broke something. I turned to my side, Grandma was still asleep. The light only made me see a part of her face. Next to me, was my brother, marooned on the rug. They both didn't hear the noise. I turned outside and the sky was dark and blue. A distant rooster cried out with its strength from afar. It must have struck 5. I heard my mum walk out the door.

I stood up slovenly, and walked over my brother's dead-like body to the couch, where that towel with holes -which was for us all -was spread. It was still wet and it was smelling. I quickly undressed leaving me with my boxer short; it was my third time wearing it that week. I was going to wear it again so I spread it on the burglar proof. I took a whiff of it, and it smelt like urine. No, not again! My brother's urine had spread during the night to my side. He always rolled over to my side and did his business there- an air freshener definitely could never exterminate the stench in that house.

I stretched my hands towards the only toothbrush we shared too. The bristles were already falling off bit by bit and there wasn't much left. The remaining stood erect and took the shape of a toilet brush; I dipped it into the sachet toothpaste which had been ripped in half, two days ago. Like I hoped, there were smears of paste in it; then I swept the remains into my mouth.

I had my bath there after, dabbed my shoes with my hands, dusted my bag and flung it on my back... Rip! My bag ruptured. I sighed in despair. Walked across the room, over my snoring brother, to the needle and thread on the window. The needle had bent a bit, the thread remained a few rolls. I bent the needle with my canine. I tried inserting the thread into the eye of the needle but I failed. Then I remembered I didn't have my glasses on. I went back to the spot I slept in, I wore the bifocals to have a better view, and that time I saw that it was a Coke bottle that shattered on the ground. Who drank coke? I had only drank that cola drink only twice ever... At that time though. Only the dregs in the bottle, that I managed to see in crates; the one outside Mama Iyabo's window, the 50-year-old-looking woman with excessively and hideous bleached skin, whom had had a blade draw two straight lines on both cheeks like trenches... whatever sweat or tears could pass freely. it didn't do much to her face, even if it was erased, she remained as ugly as ever. Nevertheless, she had many men who always held her behind and call her their wife.

I turned to my side, up the wall, to the clock. It was 6:59; I galloped to where I placed my bag, I held up the bag towards the window so that I could see. I closed and enclosed the rip with stitches a couple of times and over and I was done. I dashed towards the door, and bump into my mum. I had forgotten she went out this morning.

" Where are ya off to? Are you leaving like your father?" I nodded sideways. We both knew she shouldn't have asked a kid whose dad left the previous night, such question but there was no heart in there, so I thought.

" Good..."she mumbled, I was expecting more questions but she left. I made my way out.

I got to school, fortunately, that back seat was still reserved for me. I sat in it and decided to bury my head in my arms on the table for a while, with a vain hope that someone would raise my head. I wanted that teacher to do it. The air that swept past against the little strands on my bald head felt like the other students slapping my head and their hurling insults. On the desk, away from any eye view, I saw something, written, carved with something really sharp like a mathematical set's compass. It said:

' I LOVE MISS NEVILLE'

Did I write that? If it was that teacher I was beginning to have a love-at-first-glance for, I didn't get to know her name. When I was trying to wrap my head around it, someone's hand touched my shoulder. I raised my head, and behold... disappointingly, it wasn't that teacher, one of the students. Female.

" Are you okay?" The girl said

" Sorry, is this your seat? Let me change..."

" No..." She stopped me, " I saw that you were down and I thought you were sick or something."

" Ohh...I'm fine. Thank you." I blushed.

" My name is Lola." She said, stretching her hand at me. I shaked it.

" My name is..." It was embarrassing, " - You know already"

" Yes." She said. I recapped that she was the girl my eyes momentarily saw, not laughing when I introduced myself the other day. She was the first person to speak to me. I looked at her face, she was somewhere between beautiful and drop-dead ( meaning ravishing). She had the skin of a peach and the color of mango when it's naked. She smelt of her shampoo; had a soft voice like the purr of a happy cat and eyes of the color of a shedded cockroach's wing. I could see the effect of the sun's light on the lipochrome of her eyes, which look like an egg broken into the midst of baking flour. She sat on the seat in front of me, and kept talking to me, and I replied in monotones, trying not to make blunders.

" Hey!"

We both turned to whom called out. It was a boy, with company of two or three other boys. They arranged themselves behind him like they were his body guards. Classic high school bullies.

" You want to get your head shaved?" the other boys laughed in respect for the one that stood tall like he was their boss.

" Raheem, scoot." Lola said to them.

" What are you doing with this..." Raheem said but he paused when Lola stopped the words at his throat with her beady eyes.

" Let's go boys." He said and they left. It was two things; it was either she had an influence on them or Raheem had a stupid crush on Lola.

" Don't mind that dope."

It dawned on me that if I was going to survive and avoid Raheems advances in that school, I had to stick to Lola. The noise surrounding us drowned when the teacher entered. Lola moved to the chair next to me. I rose to stand and like I had thought the others did, I said, a little high on the pitch

" Good morning ma..." The others weren't with me, same with Lola. I turned to her, she whispered and said:

" We don't do that here." I was really embarrassed.

" Sit..." I recognized that voice. It was that teacher that made me spellbound. I sat on my chair and I caught Raheem giving me one of those looks that said many bad things. Thank goodness, Lola was an aisle-to-my-side, on the other row, I seized the moment to ask:

" What's that woman's name?", I hoped her niceness had not worn off.

" That's miss Neville." That name ultimately describe how she looked. It described her as showstopping and a hot teacher. I began to wonder what kind of feeling I was having for her as a eleven year old. I didn't even know the name to give it...

For a damn reason that I couldn't figure, I had that name somewhere but I couldn't remember where I had seen it earlier.