Young Writers Society

One.

I lay on the harsh granite, my legs akimbo in a pile of my own vomit. My sequin dress sparkled marvelously in the bright light of the street lamps that lined the path way up to the house. I attempted to roll over and secure some of my dignity but pain shot up my spine. I felt the vibrations from the loud music booming inside the house.

What the hell happened to me?

I rolled slightly to the right, feeling the rocky ground beneath my head. I managed to open my eyes a crack. It was very dark out and there were no stars in sight. Some kids were gathered around a small black Toyota, laughing and drinking. A few vague memories flashed by: Five of us sharing a beer Rotimi had stolen from his dad’s fridge, dancing in the lounge with some friends, in the bathroom with this boy that was shorter than I was for 7 minutes in heaven; the groping, the kissing, the gagging; rushing out here to throw up in the Adebayo’s well tended rose bush after three glasses of the spiked lemonade and the pulpy taste of Ribena residue. I must have passed out for a few minutes

I arrived here early with a very pissed off Ginika. We had been trying to find the house for about two hours and she was pissed she had had to pay her dad’s driver 2oo0 naira to shut up about our whereabouts (I was sleeping over at Ginika’s and we were definitely not meant to be partying) She was also desperate to touch up her make-up before any boys saw us; the blue eyeliner just had to be perfect.

She was also done listening to my complaints about the afternoon heat and my incessant pleads to go home. She was only more than pleased to dump me in the hands of Chioma and some of the girls from our history class. I stood awkwardly at the side, barely engaging in the girly conversation, eating my gala roll. I think one of them might have asked me a question but my mouth felt rid of saliva, either from the dry, pink meat of the gala or from my own nervousness.

She stood in the middle of those boys, slightly out of place. One of them was talking and gesturing wildly about something and she was laughing hard, clutching her drink. Adeniyi was fiddling with her hair and she giggled, pushed him away but not enough to mean she didn’t like it. Two years ago, we would have been rolling our eyes at that. Maybe we would have been braiding each other’s hair and she would have paused in the middle of a braid to oil her hands with more Soulmate and she would have said, ‘Can you imagine the idiot?’ Back then when boys were still a taboo and we used to listen to what mummy told us. Back when we used to have go to each other’s house every day, wear the same colour of shirts and steal plantains from the frying pan.

Someone ran past me. I think his name was Taiwo or was he Kehinde? “Ah! Kam? Babygirl are you okay?” I shook my head, no. “What’s wrong? Kai! You’re smelling sha.”I wanted to say: I’m hurt and I have a headache and my best friend has abandoned me and I want to go home. I managed a weak smile. “What time is it?” I asked. He shrugged. “Not sure. It should be like 10:30 now but I need to rush back, they’re about to play Spin the Bottle again.” He paused for a bit, wondering whether to be nice and help me or just to run along like he wanted to. I noticed that his top four buttons were undone, exposing his chocolate coloured chest. Someone shouts his name. “Sorry o. I’ll get you some help.” I thank him, knowing he won’t come back.

I sat up and pulled my dress down. Gingerly, I stood up and dusted myself off. I picked up my heels and stalked back to the house. I was walking slowly and my thoughts were milling about rapidly. I thought how I didn’t want to be there and how I didn’t fit in and why had I let Ginika bring me, in fact I’m never talking to her again and I just needed to get home before midnight. I was so into my thoughts that I didn’t even notice there was a couple sitting on the front steps of the verandah, making out ferociously. They stopped abruptly when they heard my footsteps and the boy shoved her off just a little, out of fear. The girl glared at me as I walked by. He doesn’t love you, I wanted to say. I mumbled an apology and ran up the stairs.

The huge brass door swung open and some of the balloons taped to the handles popped. I made my way through the ante- room with the painting of a lion and entered into the overly-big living room. A crowd of boys were seated on the sofas in front of the television, watching football. There were so many some of them had to drag chairs from the dining table. “What the fuck!” Somto screamed at the screen. He jumped around and knocked over a glass of Cranberry juice unto the carpet. “He could have scored! Did you see that?” Niyi glanced over from the screen and noticed the darkening cream rug. “Are you dense? My guys will flip! Better clean it o!” Niyi yelled. Somto promptly ignored him, eyes unwavering from the would have been goal. “That could have been a bloody goal!” he insisted and his short frame jumped up again, theatrically waving his hands in front of the huge television. Niyi hissed and went to get a rag to clean it up. An argument erupted among the boys, some pointing and gesturing. “They deserved it abeg.” “Bullshit!” Some more screaming and yelling and then, the house shook a little and the lights went out.

The room became pitch black and people started to shout and clap. “Your bride prices o!” someone said. Laughter erupted. “Niyi what happened to your gen na?” Someone whisphered something and there was more laughter. I tried to feel my way to the bathroom and nearly tripped over some stairs. I made my way past a door. Through the moonlight, I could see the room was lightly furnished with a large bed in the corner, a flat screen television and an arm chair. A few suitcases stood in the corner, resting on the wall. I sat on the edge of the bed, feeling the soft comforter.

A toilet flushed and I heard a belt buckle. Tuck, zip, buckle. I stood and stumbled out of the room, bumping into someone. I mumbled a sorry and turned a right, knocking my head against the glass cabinet. There was a hum as the light came back on and I blinked twice.

I tried the door to my left and caught a couple making out. The girl looked up, the boy did not. Before I could apologize, the boy hissed and slammed the door. I mumbled a sorry at the door. I could feel the hot urine about to spread and I wanted to cry. Hurriedly, I tried the door on my right. The shiny beam of the ceramic toilet stared at me. I attempted to find a light switch and a drop fell unto my underwear. In a panic, I shut the door and felt for the toilet seat.

When I was done, I flushed and shut the toilet, sitting on the lid. I began to cry. Hot tears streamed down my face. I tried to wipe them quickly and they just came back even more. I rocked myself and formed fists, squeezing them into my eyeballs. I felt everything like your typical antisocial misfit. I was there for some time and then I stood, feeling again, unsuccessfully for the light switch. I turned on the tap and placed my hand under the warm water till it turned hot, allowing the heat to sting my palm. I stared back at myself in the round mirror above the sink. My lipstick had dried, my eyeliner was almost completely smudged off and the concealer I so carefully applied was barely there. I washed my face and dried it with some tissue.

I looked around the small bathroom. There was a roll of tissue on the toilet, a bottle of Dettol handwash next to the tap and a white hand towel. It must have been the guest toilet. On the left, there was a small tub with the shower curtain spread across. I stared at the bath tub for some time. Then without thinking, I drew the shower curtain and climbed in.

I’m not sure how long I sat there. I sat with my knees bent and my right arm across my eyes.

Suddenly, there was a hurried knock at the door and not waiting for an answer like the typical Nigerian, the person bundled in. I didn’t have time to react before he unbuckled and began to pee, sighing a little. I was not sure what to do or whether to do anything and so, I sat there quietly, watching him with my right eye.

I had hoped he was the kind of slob that did not wash his hands and he would just leave but. He put some soap on his hands and lathered, ever so slowly and he even went between the fingers and under the nails. He rinsed and turned on the lights. It was next to the mirror! He turned slightly and our eyes met. Time was frozen. There could be no explanation for this.

Refusing to be the awkward one, I sighed and sat up. “I was hoping you’d just leave.” I said. I attempted to stand up and slid back down. He coughed, uncertainly but did not look away. “Well, I was here first.”After another failed attempt, he gave me a freshly cleaned hand and I stepped out.

We were both unsure of what to say. I was straightening my dress and trying not to look as shaken as I felt. “Have you been crying?” He asked. His voice was deep and warm and wonderful and it gave me goose bumps. “No”, I croaked, failing at concealing my shakeness. He cocked his head. I knew my red, swollen eyes gave me away. I wondered whether to leave then and escape the awkward situation. He didn’t go to our school. “I’m fine, it’s fine. I could just leave. I’m about to go home anyway.” I looked around as if I had dropped something. He looked away and then looked back. “It’s okay. Neither of us seems to have been enjoying the party.”

He sat on the edge of the bathtub and got out a lighter. “You smoke?” I said in disbelief. Smoking seemed like one of those things you saw on TV and saw a few men do and you heard American teenagers did but you never actually saw. “Do you see a cigarette?” He asked, slightly amused. I felt stupid.

His fingers played with the lighter, rapidly flicking the cap back and forth. It made a small, metallic clicking sound. The small fire was exposed and then it was not. Fire, no fire, fire, no fire. In truth there was no cigarette. I have no idea why I did not just leave. “So you like to just play with cigarette lighters.” I said. His gaze left me again and he looked at the lighter, as if he was just seeing it for the first time. “Some people bite their nails, others chew their lip. I play with my lighter.”

I couldn’t leave the dark haired, dark skinned boy who played with a lighter all alone in the toilet I reasoned. I was convinced he was slightly mad. What if he burned himself? What if I was the only one who could stop his suicide mission? Wouldn’t I go to hell if I left him here? “Why?” I asked. I sat cross legged on the floor, staring at the square patterns. “Why not?” He answered. I nodded.

“You should talk to your friend Ginika” He said. I looked up, a bit confused. “Why?” He paused a little, thinking of what to say. “She’s a bit…I don’t know. All my mates downstairs have passed her around. Her dress is probably dirty from all their hands. It’s just a little uncomfortable watching. She just keeps drinking and…it’s somehow abeg. You just need to talk to her.” I laugh a little. He thinks she would listen to me. Ha! “Why do you care? I bet you’re just like the rest of them.” He looked up again. “Don’t do that. Don’t slot me into that category you have in your head of older boys. I’m not one of those boys your mumsi warned you about. I would never do something like that with a girl that’s so vulnerable. Ah! I fear Baba God if you don’t.” He resumed flicking his lighter.

I was a little startled. My brain had finally begun functioning again. I smoothed down my hair and my eyebrows, grimaced at my now exposed imperfect face and made my way for the door.

. In the smaller living room, below the bright lights, some girls were passed out on the floor. I pitied for them when their mother’s heard. Ginika appeared and dragged my arm. She was swaying and she reeked of drink. “Kambili! I’ve been looking for you since.” She hadn’t. “Eniola’s driver will soon leave. He’s meant to drop us at your house. Have you forgotten? Come, let’s go. This party is rubbish sef.” She sniffed and her mascara ran down her face, making her tears black. “Have you seen my bag?” I asked. She shrugged and dabbed at her eyes.

I tucked a braid behind my ear and looked around for it. I was on my knees, bum in the air, searching under the couch when cigarette lighter came out, dangling my bag from his arm. “Aunty mi, is this yours?” I did not even remember leaving that there. “Yeah” I said, embarrassed. “You left it there when you were rushing to escape me.” Ginika stared from me to him. I could see the gears turning in her head. I took it and walked away. “Thank you”, I said. I couldn’t leave fast enough. I felt his eyes boring into my back.

A Mercedes jeep was parked in front of the house and the driver horned for us to hurry up. “You guys have fun?” Niyi asked. He sat on the front steps, sipping Pepsi. I turned around and gave him a small, polite smile. “Thank you for coming.” Ginika kept walking like she never heard him. I thought I heard him laugh. He said something mangled and I heard the word “slut”. Ginika had started to cry and she sprinted to the car.

I climbed in the back next to Ginika and shut the door. The driver sped out of the black gates. Eniola turned up the air conditioner and changed the radio station. Ginika’s crying had become louder. I glanced at her and sighed, pulling my best friend into my arms. She sobbed into my lap and I played with her hair.

We were young and we wanted so badly to be free. There’s a certain thrill, doing things your parents would kill you for if they found out. Especially as, they hide and restrict us so much. “Girls, close your legs!” “Boys, don’t bring home a pregnant girl o!” In some ways, I don’t blame Ginika and IJ and the rest for what they do. The car turned unto third Mainland Bridge and I began to doze off.