After the assembly, Rich says in a whisper, “How would you guys feel about going out tonight?”
“Where to?” I ask.
“This bar my bro got a job at. They’re having a party. He can get us in.”
“No thanks,” Max answers.
“I just asked you out of courtesy. I knew that would be your answer. How about you, Dan? Your dad’s not around. Think you can convince your mom?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t. You know how strict my parents are. I’m sure she’s slated four hours of night reading for me tonight.” I really don’t have a life of my own, do I? My parents own my life.
Rich considers this. “Then tell her you’re coming to read at my place. It’s close to yours. She knows my parents. She wouldn’t suspect a thing.”
“You shouldn’t go,” Max says.
I want to. I need to have a life at least once in a while. I also want to go because I know there’d be alcohol. I haven’t been able to resist a chance at one since Becca gave me my first taste of it. That moment was magical… except for the vomitus. My mom and dad beat the shit out of me that night after my mom caught the smell.
“You’re boring, you know that?” To me, Rich says, “Think you can convince her? I really don’t want to be the only minor there. At least with two of us, people won’t look twice. They’d just think we have a small stature.”
“I’ll try. What about your parents?”
“They’d be sleeping by then. You should come before seven, okay?” I nod.
The math teacher, Mr. Ade–dubbed ‘Thunder’, because that was the sound his whip made whenever he used it–took nearly three periods that morning, making the start of my school day horrible. With half the time he spent in class he tells us WAEC horror stories, and why we need to be geniuses in order to pass it. He tells us it’s the most important examination of our lives. I on the other hand disagree. It’s just one of the exams that will determine if I’ll go to college. It’s important on that account, not in determining my entire future.
The remaining classes that day did nothing to make my day better.
None of us see the new student teacher that day. I guess my dad was right about students. Mrs. Odion’s office is still intact.
I get home, eat my meal, and then take my bath. Mom’s not at home and I can’t imagine where she’s gone. I lie on my bed, drifting into what would’ve been a lovely evening rest. Then I remember that there’s a prayer service today.
I check the time. Its ten minutes to five. Mom must’ve left forty minutes ago to something that doesn’t start for another ten minutes. Her commitment scares me.
I dress up to join her in church because I wouldn’t hear the end of it if I missed it for any reason apart from a near death experience.
Our house is at most a ten minute trek to the church, but I take my sweet time getting there. I take a seat at the back of the ridiculously long hall. The church is too big, and the chairs too many for the amount of people that worships here, even on Sundays.
My mom feels me when I enter. She always does. She turns around and jerks her head from back to front, telling me to move closer. I do what I’m told, but I still seat a good three rows behind the last person.
The pastor teaches for eternity. My mother shares her attention between listening to the word and checking to see if I’m sleeping. I’m sure even at that she hears everything been said. That is if she doesn’t already know it.
I on the other hand didn’t hear a single word that was said. It isn’t that I wasn’t listening. I just wasn’t hearing. Prayers last twice as long as the teaching.
After the service, mom glares at me for long before going to praise the pastor for a wonderful teaching. I go home. When she gets home she demands to know why I came late–at least now I know why she glared. I can’t tell her I had forgotten, and I sure as hell can’t tell her I took my sweet time getting there.
“The bus didn’t leave school on time. And I had to bath and eat before coming.”
“Spiritual food is far more important than that of the physical. After all these years it’s a disgrace that you don’t still know this.” I’ve been called a disgrace many times–by both my parents–and it stings every time. I’ve tried not to let their words get to me, but I never can. I think it’s because they’re my parents that I cannot help but be hurt by their words. “The next time the bus drops you on a service day, go straight to church. Early or late, it doesn’t matter. Pray for your family and yourself if you get there early. You’ll see you won’t die if you do it.
I had to wait for her to calm down before asking her about Rich’s. Nearly an hour later, after she’s eaten I do. She gladly accepts. “I thought that boy Rich was always a bad influence. Maybe I was wrong. It’s a good thing he thought about this. Maybe a study group will help you be smarter.”
That stings too. I mean I don’t understand why she does this to me. I already know I’m not smart, I don’t need you telling me that every chance you get.
I’m glad to be able to leave the house though. At least tonight I won’t be reminded of how incomplete I am.