“What is going on with you, Pam? You’ve been unusually quiet.”
I turn and look at Mfe who is leaning against the shelf, her brows furrowed in a knot. I sigh and drop the bag I’m carrying.
“What do you mean? We’re here shopping for travel bags so that I can cram twenty-five years of my life into them and move to England. Is there something else that is going on?” I mentally wince at the iciness of my words. I didn’t mean that.
“I’m sorry, Mfe,” I walk towards her and stand before her in an imploring manner. “I’m sorry I snapped. I just feel overwhelmed by everything, I’m just…tired.”
“It’s OK,” Mfe’s voice comes out in a whisper so small that all I can hear is the hurt in her words. She leans forward, hugging me and patting my back like she is fond of doing. “I know this move is hard and nearly unbearable for you. But I promise, we’ll try all we can to make it less lonely or hard. You have me, you have your family and you have Torngu too. We’re all here for you.”
I feel a lone tear escape from my eye and trace its way ungracefully to my lips. I wipe it off and sink deeper into Mfe’s hug. My mind is now swirling with some of my darkest fears and I don’t know how to share them without drowning her in them.
“Mfe, maybe it’s all in my head but…” I scramble frantically in my mind, looking for the words to tell her that since I got the job in Manchester, a tacit fear has settled in my mother’s eyes and refused to leave.
I want to piece words together and tell Mfe that my mother now sees me as air; present but impossible to embrace. She now talks a lot about the day my father travelled to Aba to buy goods for the provision store and how his mangled body was found in the car that crashed. I want to tell Mfe that my mother’s laughter no longer reaches her eyes and these days she either hugs me too tightly or too limply as if her desire to hold onto me is as strong as her resignation that I won’t ever come back once she lets me go.
I want to tell Mfe that Ava, my younger brother, the quietest person I know, has become a storyteller. He now talks a lot about the days we walked together from school and chewed goody goody, singing loudly to the songs that blasted over the speakers in the shops on our street. Now, he often enters my room and sits at the edge of the bed, telling me stories of how we used to sneak out of the house to buy suya at 9pm and how we once took money from our mother’s purse to rent bicycles that we didn’t know how to ride. We laugh at these stories, our voices cracking as we fall over each other with hilarity. And beneath the cracks in Ava’s voice, I hear desperate pleas. Mfe, my brother now offers me stories and laughter in a desperate plea that I remember him, that in the upheaval of a new life, I should not uproot him from my mind or forget the memories that bind us. Without my least inclination, I have suddenly morphed into a merchant of fear in my own home.
“But what?” Mfe breaks off the hug to examine my face, holding me by the shoulders. “You wanted to say something.”
I click my tongue and gently shrug her hands off, bending down to pick up the pink suitcase beside her.
“This looks pretty. But it’s also quite pricey,” I turn and look at her, twirling the price tag with my fingers. Her eyes are still questioning me, so I smile.
“You’re one of the most serious people I know. Sometimes I forget that you’re my friend and not my auntie.” I let out a small laugh that sounds too dry and ends abruptly.
“This girl, it’s not me you’re trying to fool. I’ll still hear the gist later. Thank God I’m staying over at your house today because, with the way you’ve been so laid back about this journey, I have to stay to ensure you don’t miss your flight tomorrow.”
Mfe playfully pulls my ears and we continue our search for a bag suitable enough to pack in both my belongings and my memories. We pass a set of Burberry print bags and Mfe stops, checking the price tags.
“These are so lovely, Pam. We should get two. What do you think?” She holds up the biggest bag and we examine it. They’re actually lovely and I tell her this.
“And besides, this should remind you of Torngu, I think he has at least five outfits in this print,” Mfe laughs as she says this, picking up the smaller bag and weighing both with her hands.
“By the way, where is he? I hardly see him these days. I mean, these are the days that he should be around you all the time. His woman will soon leave and he decided to be MIA…”
Mfe’s last statement snaps something in me and the dam caves in letting torrents of tears flood down cheeks. Mfe rushes to my side and holds me, her mouth opening and closing in a wordless rhythm.
“Mfe, he left. Torngu left. He asked me to choose between him and Manchester. After I chose, he left. He said my dreams were no longer his and now we have become nothing. Mfe, five years have become nothing.”
I fall to the floor, drowning in an enveloping grief that breaks my heart at the reality of the loss that comes with leaving.
Torkwase Igbana is a Nigerian storyteller and development enthusiast fascinated by language. Her stories represent the nuanced lives of people premised on her belief in the power of literature to influence social change. When she is not writing stories, she’s watching enthralling sunsets and writing screenplays for film. Some of her works appear in Lunaris Review, Bodies and Scars Anthology 2019, The Shallow Tales Review, ANA Review 2017 and Praxis Magazine.
