LEAVING HOME, HEADING HOME
The contigo water bottle has never looked so ugly to me. The water spewing into my mouth from it’s fancy lid stings my tongue, while my throat clenches at the. liquid’s acridity. I stretch from the backseat to drop the hideous bottle on the cup holder, right in front of the car’s stereo. An angry voice coming out of the radio seems to be yelling at the government about withered corn and the prices of pesticides. Mom, in the front passenger seat, attempts to reduce it’s volume. but the voice screams on. It refuses to be silenced. Dad takes one hand from the steering wheel and with a smile, squeezes my shoulder gently, still looking fixedly. at the Abakiliki-Afikpo road as a hefty oil tanker drives aggressively ahead of us .
“Are you okay?”, he asks. Mom has succeeded in reducing the angry farmer on the radio to a murmur, enough for me to still hear him. She’s looking at me now, her eyes are asking the same question.
I quickly say the. usual “ I’m fine” with a nod, while reclining to the back seat and patting. Fifi’s little head as she sleeps beside me.
Mom looks at me for sometime and smiles, returning back to her health magazine lying decoratively on the dashboard.
I am not fine.
The unpleasant taste in my mouth still disturbs me seriously. It isn’t the fault of the ugly water bottle if I’m being very honest. It’s the pointless medication. It’s making my tongue feel like a wet sock , making me hate the innocent water bottle, making me hate this whole road trip.
The angry farmer has become calmer , the plea more soothing, almost to the point of tears. A calm voice is more persuasive and compelling. I’m certain Dr. Samson must have. this philosophy. Which is why when he proclaimed in his office, two weeks ago, “ …your daughter has. at most five months to live”, he was as calm as a black and white photograph.
“…It’s acute Myeloid Leukemia. Even with aggressive chemotherapy we wouldn’t be able to stop it..”. Myeloid. It sounds like the name of a villain, who seeks to. conquer the planet and obliterate every single thing in his path for no reason. It fits perfectly
Dr. Samson must’ve been really compelling because afterwards, . I saw Dad cancel his business meetings and try to be home more often. I heard Mom cry silently in her room when she thought no one would hear her. I saw them lie to five year old Fifi about the family road trip to grandma’s house. They didn’t tell her it would be my last.
Now, we’re on our way home after spending the last five days at grandma’s beautiful cottage in Ugwuoba. We went to malls in Enugu, bought a lot of unnecessary items along the way and took a lot of unnecessary pictures as well. My parents would hide the tears for now.
Fifi is awake and she disturbs me to roll down. the window. I oblige. The wind ruffles our hair and we laugh childishly at this. We stop to admire the colorful evening sky, further embellished. by the setting sun. Sunset has never looked more beautiful to me. Dad throttles hard, urging the car to go faster as we drive homeward. My eyes swell even faster and I begin to cry. I do not want to go back home yet.
Collins Undelikwo
