PERFECTING LOVE IV

When asked who my first ever boyfriend was, I wouldn’t need to think to mention his name. Some years after we had gone our separate ways, after being with a number of other young girls, he arrived at the same conclusion about the relationship. We were however agreed on one thing – it was too intense for our ages and stages in life.

The conversation about how we could not continue to live like that was actually the end of the relationship. That conversation was brought on by a pregnancy scare. You want to be asking me how that happened? You are on your own. The conversation held between Christmas and New Year in 1998. I had stopped going to class since I had been assured of my change of course. He went home not knowing if I was pregnant or not. I went to see him at embryology practicals when he got back to reassure him that I was not. We practically ran joint accounts since we both held our money in trust for each other. I did grocery and toiletry shopping. He did the cooking mostly. We were stuck to each other like white on rice. At 18 and 19, how long could we keep that up? We were actually shutting out each other’s options, without ever discovering them. The conversation made too much sense.

I was on my way across the university compound and I also knew that several people were waiting to move into my shoes as soon as I moved. Anyway, I carried my shoes with me when I was leaving. No one can fill my shoes. Tufiakwa!

Weaning each other off each other took months, maybe years. Friendship is difficult to corrode while romance can be turned off more easily. Comparison was a blight that killed many relationships before they took flight. He had one small girl who never lived up to my image that was larger than life. The day she met me, she understood how she couldn’t fill my shoes. He had given me the comb for his hair before he remembered we were no longer together. Watching the unspoken chemistry hurt her so much he had to let her go. He didn’t like my relationship with Gabby (not real name) much either, my own little boy. Gabby was my literary friend. We went everywhere together and wrote poems. Arnold called me a cradle snatcher but we both knew that we couldn’t fill shoes. So, we just put the respective shoes in museums. This is what makes this such a fantastic love story.

Gabby died in 2010. I heard about his demise by chance. I attended his funeral in Lagos. That funeral was what inspired me to write the fictitious story, At the End. You can read that story here – https://jummycaxton.art.blog/2021/12/23/at-the-end/. May God rest his soul.

Arnold and I talk from time to time. I guess I don’t know how to break up properly. I never learnt, even though Wesley tried hard to teach me but his is another story. Isn’t it odd that when asked to tell a story of falling in love, you think of one person, and when asked to tell a story of heartbreak, you think of another? Is it possible for your heart to get broken if you didn’t fall in love? The human mind amazes me.

Any time I had troubling decisions to make, I went to him. Anytime I needed suitor assessment, I went to him as well. I remember the day he met my husband… should that be story for another day? Lol

Caxto and I had gone out on a date that lingered till very late, after 9pm. At about 7pm, Arnold had called me that he was in town and he was hungry and UCH didn’t have anything good to offer. The Abrahams’ (not real name) in Ring Road was too far and the other options had all been ticked off. I was already out on my date so I told him to just go home and use his charm on my mum. She wouldn’t let him go without feeding him anyway. So, he did. When I got back from my date at almost 9:30pm, Caxto walked me into the house. The tray Arnold ate with was in my mum’s hand. Apparently, she didn’t let the help attend to him. He was sipping cold Harp, my dad’s beer, with his legs on a stool in front of him. This confidence must be the guy’s undoing. He was so at home.

So, this is where I became sure that Caxto was my husband. He came in to say hello. Arnold’s standard suitor test was applied – he told him Janice had told him so much about him. Caxto naturally replied, same here. Now, the clincher for me was that Caxto said “Nice to finally meet you”, shook his hand, turned to me and said “Good night, Janice”. Did you get that? A virile, hot-blooded, handsome hunk was in my living room and Caxto did not bother to play the waiting game to see who would leave first, as men who try to show possession do. He just left me with him and never ever asked when he left or what we did after he left. That was the first time, (most likely the only time) that my handsome and influential friend did not have a man in my life fear his overwhelming influence. For that, he liked Caxto, though he didn’t like the fact that his jackets were too short.

Meanwhile, I had been looking for a guy who would not feel threatened by my plethora of male friends and Caxto checked that box completely with that encounter. He even got along famously with Julian (not real name), the threat that must have chased Wesley away. Unfortunately, no one told me that was a temporary thing; that when I grow a potbelly and look like a zebra from stretch marks, my husband would suddenly feel that all the men in the world are after me… oh well, that is another story for another day. I think this is a good place for this series to end, don’t you?