Let's Bury The Past In The Past | The Ink Well Creative Nonfiction #73

The tumultuous crowd at Obalende of market women and bus conductors at the park was always busy with one thing or the other, the dirty environment and smelling canal under the bridge with some kind of green water, doesn't look welcoming. I walked with my facemask on, looking directly in my direction, smart enough to distract the hooligans around the notorious motor park. I wore a well ironed white shirt and trousers, black belt and shoes and a black tie. I looked exactly as one of those younger bankers who stroll the streets of Marina. As I walked towards the ATM machine, I felt a tap on my left shoulder.

Hi, Kel.

Who must this be? I thought, no one can know me in this trenches. As I looked back, my eyes jammed with one of the most beautiful women you can ever think of.

Joyce! What are you doing here?

Before I could complete my question, she jumped on me with a huge hug that both of us nearly fell to the ground but I held into her not tightly to cause an embarrassing scene.

I knew it was you. Your back view hasn't changed all this while. And the way you carried your body is still the same way it used to be on campus.

Joyce started carrying me down memory lane. She was the first woman I would boldly tell that I love but she was too sophisticated for me then that she didn't look my way when we were on one second year at the university.

Her right hand had a red oil stain.

I was eating Amala and Ewedu when I sighted you from over there.

She said pointing toward under the dirty bridge.

You mean, you were eating over there?

I asked. How could a normal human be eating under such an unhygienic place? I asked myself not wanting her to feel embarrassed.

How have you been, Kel? It's been over fourteen years. What do you do now?

She asked me several questions at once.

I work with an oil and gas firm at CMS now. And I am getting married in a few months from now. How about you?

There was some kind of pause before Joyce continued our conversation.

Well, I work at City Bank as operations manager. Every lunch break, I come out here to eat the popular Iya-Sikira Amala.

Oh! I see. But how convenient is it for you to eat at such a place?

You know now. Lagos life, anywhere you can find real local food is all that matters.

We spoke at length and exchanged contacts. Joyce was still.as beautiful as back on campus. The life that we live after school sounds promising but the hustle is tough.

Karolina Grabowska

Later in the night, a call came to my phone.

Hello, Kel. It's me, Joyce.

But this is another number, right?

She didn't waste time making advances at me.

Can we just begin where we stopped on campus?

My eyes tingled. It was least expected from her because she was one of the high-class babes while we were in school. Second is that right now, I am looking at settling down with the love of my life, Sandra. She is all that matters now.

Every other night, Joyce kept calling. She would plead with me to give it a try but I was done with such a life. I needed to concentrate on building a home.

Her continuous pestering made me regret meeting her again. Joyce won't just let go. I kept telling her that our brief relationship which could not survive the heat of campus was as good as gone and that it never happened because in reality, there was nothing to tell as a matter of fact about the relationship.

A few weeks before my wedding, Joyce appeared in my office with a bag of gifts, uninvited. She looks dashing in her outfit, light makeup and fair skin. I can tell that the City bank was treating her well. I didn't have enough time to see her and speak to her, then we fixed dinner at a restaurant on Marina Beach, all expenses to be paid by her. This goes to tell how desperate she was.

When I arrived at the restaurant that night, it was splendid. The whole place was lit up in faded lights, good enough for secret lovers. What I feared the most was to meet with Joyce, and what would happen if anyone who knew Sandra and I saw us.

Oleksandr P

I sat gently, looking at desperate Joyce as she stared at me, like she wanted to devour me. Despite my resolve not to begin anything that would undermine my love for Sandra, I still came to the restaurant. We were served barbeque Croaker fish with red wine as we talked about a future that I can't fathom. It was a long night. One good thing about the night was that I didn't defile myself. I ended the conversation of that night with Joyce by sending her a message on her phone, saying.

Let bygones be bygones.

That may not be what she would love to read but it was my best option and nothing more. Our first attempt at a relationship didn't work out and we moved on. I have since found the woman who can understand me and love me for who I am, something that Joyce should have done likewise.