Panic

The man on TV is upset. Every time the presenters on the morning talk show ask him a question, his voice pitch shoots up. There is a volley of questions and soon his voice, the pitch, reaches cartoonish proportions.

Screech!

Screech!!

The issue is serious; there were floods recently in Ogun and Lagos state. Which is bad enough, but there has been nothing done, no reparations from the government, so the man is incensed. I listen closely, but I am bemused. When the questions dim in intensity his voice drops down to a more natural baritone. He does this a lot, it is obvious, the vocal gymnastics, to portray hurt or passion. But I think, this is discourse, not an aria, there’s no need.

I am standing in the bedroom watching the news. I slept over, took a shower and now I stand in my underwear with my blouse in my hands. The man in the room with me, in whose house I have spent the night has a very bad habit. When I put my arms up, to pull my blouse over my head, he immediately comes behind me and digs his fingers into my armpits. I have slept over fifteen times and he has a 100 percent hit rate. I stand watching the high-pitched man and his voice mirrors my panic. I am terrified of putting this blouse over my head.

Deji doesn’t do much to get me here. On Fridays, fifteen in a row save two or three; he will slide by my desk at work and ask very casually what I am up to that night. I will feign indifference and answer equally casually

“Nothing”

On the first Friday, we did the pretense of going for a movie and dinner, but the point was always this bedroom and everything that comes with being here.

I just did not bargain for the armpit attack.

Now, when I am alone in my house, in my own room, I feel scared to put on my blouse. I have developed a phobia for putting my arms up above my head. At various points of an otherwise ordinary day, I get a shiver of disgust, and feel fat poky phantom fingers digging into my armpit skin, the cave of soft flesh there.

I have rationalised that he has a fetish, and fetishes fit into the game we are playing here, and as long as I continue to play, for as long as I say “nothing” every Friday night and sleep over, this is the way it would be.

So, I have decided to burn all the blouses I own and purchase button down shirts. Just to be safe.

www.avosilver.wordpress.com

One clap, two clap, three clap, forty?

By clapping more or less, you can signal to us which stories really stand out.