Now? In that restaurant where I asked you to meet me, this evening, I know you tell her the same stories you tell me. She thought you travelled for work, too. She thought she knew you, too, but neither of us did, did we?
Cry? I want to wail in agony, but I can’t, not here.
Instead, I sip my tea, bland as my thoughts, and I stare blankly out the window into the wet darkness. It’s almost beautiful. The street outside is wet, the rain pouring down, car and danfo and bus lights shining through the darkness, the bright lights of the shops and restaurants, street lighting, reflections everywhere. I have no idea what I’m going to say to you, but I know that tonight is the end.
The end of you and me, and when I walk out of here, it will be just me, and I don’t know what I’ll do. I don’t know what to do.
I want you to hold me tight. I want you to keep me warm, but I know my wishes aren’t reality. I know reality. Reality is that letter to me that you wrote, with my name on it, and I know our love is finished forever. I know this is the end, there’s no more chances, not for you and me, and there’s no way for me to come with me. I’m going to lose you. Lose you forever, and my heart is torn to pieces, but I know. I know. It’s the only thing to do…
* * *
There’s movement outside, movement that draws me out of that reverie, those memories of you and I, and there are so many memories of you and I. I glance at the door, seeing it open, watching you walk inside. It’s raining out there. Raining hard, and your jacket is dripping as you hang it by the door with the others. There are not many. It’s not crowded, not on a night like tonight, and watching you, I wonder what lies you’ll tell me tonight before you leave.
It doesn’t matter. She came around earlier, and I helped her take all your clothes. Everything of yours that was in my little apartment is gone. It’s loaded in the back of her car, and tonight, when I get back, I’ll be moving myself. I talked to the rental office. I know the old lady in the office. She’s from Kaduna, from Zaria, and she enjoys it when I practice my Hausa with her.
I talked to her and explained a little, and she’s moving me to another apartment. I already have the keys. She’s asked a couple of other tenants to help me move. They’re students, she asked them, and they said sure, no problem, they’ll be there tonight when I get back. All I have to do is call them, and one of them, Balogun, he offered to come here with me when I break up with you so that I would feel safe. To start with, I was going to say no, but I realise that I don’t know you. I don’t know you at all, and who knows what you might do when I tell you it’s over.
He’s sitting in the far corner, sipping on his coffee, not watching, except that I know he is, even though he looks like he’s reading an old Chinua Achebe novel.
“Hi, sorry I’m late,” you say, bending over and kissing me, before you slide into the booth in the back corner of the restaurant, opposite me. The way you slid in opposite me, that night we first met. How long ago was that? A year ago? Back when I had just started University. It seems an eternity ago now. A lifetime and I’m not a girl now.
I’m a woman. I thought I was your woman. Forever.
Just you and me, that’s what you said.
I believed you back then.
Now? Now I know the truth, but I still can’t bear the pain of standing up and walking away, and when you reach out to take my hands in yours, I acquiesce. My hands clasp yours, the blood rushes to my head, my eyes drink you in; my body says I’m yours. Forever yours.
“Let’s dance,” I say, listening to the music, and I don’t want to talk. I don’t want to hear your voice. I won’t go back to the apartment with you tonight, or any other night now, but still, I can’t resist the urge to have you take me in my arms.
We stand together, and you do, you take me into your arms, and it’s like the first time. That first night we met, here in the restaurant, where we danced together, round and round, on and on, and now I want just one last dance before we say goodbye, and I know she’ll be here, soon.
“Let’s go soon,” you say, swaying with me, and I close my eyes, trying to pretend, but I can’t. I know I can’t, but still, I love you, and I wish there was another chance. I wish. Oh, how I wish.
The music plays on, for us, and I sing softly, a whisper that only I hear, and you can’t see my lips moving. My face is buried against your chest, breathing in the scent of you for the last time. We’re the only ones dancing in that restaurant, and it’s the last time I’ll dance in your arms.
I know that even if you don’t, not yet. I’m lost in your arms, swaying with you, round and round and round, not wanting this music to end, not wanting this song to end, but I know it will.
I know it will, and I know how this night will end.
I see her, she’s at the door, walking inside, closing her umbrella, her hair wet from the rain, just as mine was, on that night we met, and I know that moment I’ve been dreading is here, now.
“I love you,” I whisper, my heart breaking anew as I say those words, and I do, I love you so much, and this time, you hear my whisper.
“I love you, Temi,” you say, softly, looking down at me, and I wonder if that’s a lie too, like all the other lies you told me. I know it’s a lie. I read your letter to me. The one you haven’t given me yet.
The one you will never give me. Not now.
“I love you,” you say again, your arms holding me, and I want to believe you so much.
The music’s playing on. On and on and on, as we sway and turn round and round and round, but she’s standing there, watching, waiting, and like me, she has tears in her eyes, and I never want to leave your arms. Never, but I must because I know you’ll never leave her.
Not for me. You’re married to her. To her wealth. To her family. To everything you have, everything you value over me, and maybe you do love me. Maybe you mean those words you’ve said, but I don’t think you do, that’s just wishful thinking, a dream, and you’ll never leave her.
Not for me.
Not for a twenty-year-old young lady, and I know what I am to you. I think I do, anyhow, and my heart is broken glass, splintered into fragments, as shattered as my dreams.
“Shall we go back to our apartment?” you ask, again.
I know you want to, and why, and my body wants you. My body longs for you, and even now, even knowing what I do, I would go with you for the ecstasy you bring me to. I would go with you for the joy of giving you what I know you desire so much, except… I know. I know it’s a lie, and it’s not my love you seek. It’s my body, it’s the pleasure I give you, not the love I thought I was giving you, and I want to, but I can’t.
“I love you,” I say, just as softly, gazing up into your eyes, and in this moment, I do. I love you so much, and I can’t do this. I can’t, but I have to. I have to do this for myself. I love you, and I’d love nothing more than for you to hold me tight, keep me warm, hold me in your arms forever, but I know you won’t.
I know the truth, and now, when I gaze into your eyes, I love you, but that love was always mine, and mine alone. Only mine.
Never ours.
You’re leaving me.
That love was never yours.
“I love you, but you lied to me, didn’t you? You’re not going to leave her, I know that. I know you’re moving. Not just moving. You’re leaving the country. You’ve got that new job, running that company for her dad, and the baby’s due soon, isn’t it?”
My eyes hold yours, and your face? Your expression? I know it’s true. Every word she told me, everything I found out over this last weekend and today, it’s true, and there are no more chances. No more hope. There’s nothing except pain and sadness and hurt, and whatever hope that remained burns to ashes in that long silence as we stand, frozen in that last step of that last dance.
Your face tells me it’s true. It’s all true, and all I have left is my own strength and my pride. That’s all I have now, and I know I’ve been living a dream, and it’s as if I’ve been robbed. Part of me has been stolen, my love has been violated, and yet, still, I love you, and the pain is beyond anything I’ve ever imagined.
“You have to go now,” I say, my face buried in your shoulder, my tears soaking into your jacket, and I’m trembling. Shaking. Shivering, and this is an agony I’ve never imagined. “It’s over. It’s ended.”
“Temi?” you say, and if I didn’t know the truth, I believe from the anguish in your voice that I’m mistaken. That it wasn’t a lie. That you really do love me, but I can see her, standing there, watching us, and her face, she’s hurting too. She’s hurting, and she’s carrying your child, and she loves you too. I love you, but it was true, all of it.
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