The borrowed shirt

I think the popular saying of borrowing what one is capable of letting go should only be attached to money and not items like clothes. If one borrows out their finest and costliest jewelry to a friend and it gets lost at the end, they should let it go, right? This happened to me and whenever I think about it, it makes me hiss, sigh, smile, and brush it off my mind.

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Immediately after we finished our HND phase in school, a lot of students decided not to return home but rather to stay in the school environment to source for a job while waiting for the National Youth Service Corps. I and one of my closest friends, Boniface, were among the many people that stayed put in search of a job in the town.
For me, I received many interview invites which I attended but never accepted the employment offers, even when they called to offer me the job because the pay was not encouraging.

My friend Boniface, who had been avoiding interviews due to fear of the official inclination of the interviews, decided to give one a try. However, he didn't have corporate attire; all his clothes were casual (polo shirts and jeans), while I was known as the church guy with plenty of packet shirts in different colors and black trousers.

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"It's this sky blue long sleeve and black trousers I'll be using," Boniface said as he rummaged through my tarpaulin-like wardrobe, pulling out my sky blue shirt and black trousers while holding them in front of him.

"You want to use them for what? For church ?" I paused, chuckled, and stifled a laugh.
"Of course, it can't be church unless maybe you saw in a dream that rapture is about to happen."

"Hahahaha!" We both laughed because church and Boniface were parallel lines.

"It's an interview, I thought I told you yesterday. I have an interview at UBA bank in the next city tomorrow," Boniface replied.

"Bank? How? When did you study banking?" Although it's possible for civil engineers to work in banks in Nigeria, I never thought that Boniface could channel his attention to sourcing for job in a bank.

"Yes, it's a bank, ooo!" He said as he folded my clothes into a black nylon and rushed away from my room while I shouted at him to remember to return my clothes immediately after he's done because I often use them for church, but he didn't hear me as he rushed off.

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I waited for him to return my clothes, but he didn't. If I called him, my calls would go unanswered, and sometimes, he would hang up on me.

What could be wrong? I thought of many things, and I decided to stay calm, maybe he was involved in some issues.

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One week, two weeks, three weeks passed, and I didn't see or hear from him despite my numerous calls. I went to his house to see if he was around and intentionally avoiding me, but his door was locked. According to his neighbors, he comes home once in a while, mostly at night, and leaves very early the following day. Upon hearing that, I became very angry because how could someone I gave my church clothes decide to keep them, even though he knew I used them often? My anger could only boil in my heart, and there was nothing I could do. So I let him be and tried to find ways to replace the shirt so I wouldn't appear odd in church every time that particular color was to be worn.

When I got home that day, I sat down and checked my bank account to see if I could buy another shirt, but the ever-alive instinct in me slapped me hard with "you're a big coward if you go ahead to buy another one. Can't you go and fight for your clothes?" I sluggishly lay on the bed with many thoughts clashing in my head, and when my head got tired of entertaining all those clashes, I fell asleep.

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When the church day came for which we wore the particular shirt, I felt totally out of place among my peers, and my mouth was dumbfounded by the many "why are you not in uniform?" questions. I couldn't explain myself, and I hissed all through the service time due to how odd I felt.

After the service that day, I decided to leave the zone and went to buy a new shirt, which cost me a lot. To be at peace, I decided to stop calling him and let go of the grudges I held against him.

Two months later, on a hot afternoon when I went out to get a soft drink from a place a bit far from my house, as I was returning, walking under the hot sun with my left hand shielding my eyes, I saw a bike drive past me with some distance and then block my way. I removed my hand to see well, and behold, it was Boniface.

"Kingsley, I know, I'm sorry," he said with a pretentious laugh on his face, attempting to apologize.

At that moment, the memories I had erased flooded back into my heart, and anger began to boil within me, but I decided to let it be and consider it water under the bridge.

"The thing is, even myself..."

"No, don't worry, I've forgotten. Don't try to awaken dead feelings. See ya," I interjected and walked away from the spot, leaving him in awe on his bike.
I didn't bother to turn back to see if he felt bad. I thought he would follow me on his bike, but he didn't, which made me feel better because if he had followed me, I would have shared my soft drink with him.

I didn't get the shirt back from him, and for sure, our friendship dwindled greatly.

Thanks for reading!