What makes a tragedy?

Context: This story has gone places. It has been rejected by many publications and for a brief time has lived elsewhere on the internet. Now I am uploading it here as a final resting place. It has a special place in my heart and I hope you enjoy it

The tale starts with a woman as tragedies often do.

I cannot remember where I met her or that it was anything special. I do not remember if she wore a dress or something beautiful like that or if she stood out from the rest of the crowd or if she was the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen or if I thought to myself that I would one day marry her. She has known me much longer than I have known her. Many times after our first meeting, whenever our first meeting was, we would meet each other at a random place like an art exhibition or a party or a cookout or a bar and I would not remember her name and she would look at me for an extended period while I strained my memory to remember where I had previously met her. Eventually, I would surrender and she would tell me her name but we would meet somewhere else and the same routine would repeat itself. On one occasion, she took my phone and typed in her number and called her phone so she’d have my number, she told me to save hers but I never did. A few days later I received a phone call from a number I hadn’t saved and a female voice that I did not recognise.

“You did not save my number” the voice accused me and I remained quiet, then she laughed and told me her name; Firdausi, then she hung up.

A few days passed and she called again. I picked up and said ‘Hello’ the way you say ‘Hello’ to a stranger, she did not return the greeting but instead said her name was Firdausi and hung up. This repeated itself enough times that I learnt her phone number by heart. On one occasion she called and I picked up and said ‘Is your name Firdausi?” She laughed into the phone and called me silly, then hung up.

The next time we saw was at a function. I don’t remember what function it was but I was not wearing anything fancy so it could not have been something special. I walked into the hall alone because I did not have many friends and I saw her standing a little ways off talking and drinking with hers. I considered walking towards her but decided against it and went in the opposite direction. She found me later when I had made myself comfortable in a little corner, drinking my little drink. She smiled as she approached me and I smiled back at her. “Nice to see you Firdausi.” I said but she did not reply instead she just smiled. I tried to reciprocate but after a while, it became awkward so I tried to make conversation.

“You have a beautiful smile,” I said. “I know,” she said but the smile did not leave her face. I nervously tried to look around to avoid eye contact.

“Wouldn’t it be weird if, after all this time, I did not know your name?” she said. “You forgot my name!” I accused, ready to pounce on her for all the times she made me look bad. “I did not forget,” she said. “You never told me.”

“I never told you?” I asked “You never told me,” she said. “I never told you,” I said and then she laughed and asked me if I planned on telling her. “My name is King,” I said, “and I am your Queen,” she said. “I am being serious,” I said “and so am I,” she said and I flushed. I tried to say something but only managed an inaudible stammer so I kept quiet and took a sip of my little drink.

“Do you go to a lot of these things?” she asked. “Which things?” I asked. “The wedding?” She asked and then there was a pause.

“This is a wedding?” I asked. “Isn’t it?” she asked, “This is a wedding?” I asked, “If it isn’t, then what is it?” She asked “A function,” I said but it came out as a question.

“A function,” she said. “A function” I repeated and we both burst into a fit of laughter but she laughed longer.

“How did we both end up at a party without knowing what was being celebrated?” I asked a little drunk, a little later. “This is Lagos. Every party is a wedding” She replied and vomited on my shoe.

I did not fall in love with her as she hurled all over my shoe. I did not somehow in the profoundness of the moment realise that she had beautiful flowing hair and flawless skin like the one goddess’ are rumoured to have. After that day, we did not see for a year. She did not call and I did not care.

When we saw again, she asked me if I believed in destiny and I said no then she asked me if I wasn’t not Muslim and I replied that I was then she replied that she was too but I did not know what she meant so I asked her what she meant and she replied that she was Muslim but I wasn’t Muslim and I told her I wasn’t and she said that I did not understand English. We were on the checkout queue in shoprite and I did not know how to behave in public so after the exchange, I tried to keep quiet but she didn’t. She explained how belief in destiny was a part of being Muslim and how our meeting was destiny, I nodded and asked if I said I believed in a destiny she’d be happier and she nodded like a giddy child that had just been offered ice cream. We walked out to the car park together and we talked about little things like the weather and the smell of bread. When we got to my car, I looked at her and said ‘This is me’. If I find it hard saying that when I looked at her, I noticed something that I never had about how her eyes sparkled or how her smile made my heart skip a beat, it would be because it wasn’t true. I did not notice a thing. She said it was nice seeing me and she hugged me and I hugged her back.” I hope you still have my number” she said and I nodded even though I had never saved her number.

Before she left, she looked at me and said it was sad. I asked her what was sad and she replied that we would never get married.

On April 14th that year, someone with the handle ‘thegirl’ followed me on twitter. Her bio read: ‘I whisper into the hearts of men’ so I followed her back. A few minutes after I followed her, she sent me a dm saying I never called, I sent her a dm asking if her name was Firdausi and this was when we became friends. The days that followed, we texted continuously, we had one of those conversations that never really ended but just continued right off the back the next day. On one occasion, she asked me when I planned to upgrade her from twitter to WhatsApp. I replied when she gave me her number and she reminded me that I already had it. I could remember the number but I wasn’t a hundred per cent sure that it was the right one so I called it. She picked after the second ring and said her name was Firdausi. I replied that she had been promoted and we both laughed but she laughed longer.

We talked till I ran out of credit and she called back and we talked some more. Before the call ended I asked her what my number was saved as when she did not know my name.

“The guy” she said.

We started going out three months later; I was the one that asked first. It was a conversation filled with stutters and ‘erms’ as well as the occasional inaudible sound. She replied to me very seriously and I thought she would say no.

“Are you asking me out?” She asked “I think I am,” I said “You voluntarily want to spend time with me?” she asked “I would love to,” I said.

Then she asked me if I was drunk and I thought it was a remark to my guts for assuming she would even consider accompanying me to see a movie so I apologised profusely and she responded with hysterical laughter. I hung up anxiously and didn’t pick up the phone when she called back so she texted saying she would pick me up at five on Saturday. I replied that she didn’t know where I lived and she replied that I should accept her friend request on Facebook. The weeks that followed, we went out together a few more times, usually to social gatherings, never romantically.

On one occasion, she called me at a little past twelve in the morning and asked me if I was asleep.

“You know what? I actually just woke up. Was about to call you” I said sleepily. “Good thing I called then,” she said giddily “Yes. Good thing” I said then a short silence fell.

“What are you doing?” She asked “I am actually picking beans” I answered “Oh that’s nice,” she said and a short silence fell again then she said “Today is my birthday” and I sat up in my bed and apologised profusely for not knowing. “Don’t apologise. Just sing me the happy birthday song” she said and I did, very dizzily sing her the happy birthday song in a voice resembling the cries of a dying chicken.

Later that day, I visited her with a cake. It wasn’t a particularly fancy cake and it didn’t have anything asides ‘Happy birthday’ written on it. She was happy to see me and happier to see the cake.

“I wanted them to write happy birthday Firdausi but I couldn’t remember your name,” I said then we both paused in response to the fact that I totally messed up the joke by actually saying her name. We both laughed but she laughed longer until her laughter became a steady stream of tears. I asked her what was wrong but this only made her cry with more intensity so I simply held her till she stopped. We ate the cake and I tried to make her a birthday dinner. The only thing I could truly call myself an expert at making was noodles but I burnt the noodles so it was a disaster. We played charades till we tired and then we watched tv till we could barely keep our eyes open.

The day I met her parents was the first day I saw her in a hijab. I stared at her longer than I usually did and she asked me why I looked at her as if she was naked and I stuttered and she muttered: “You’ve never been good with words like me.” I smiled and we walked into the party. It was a wedding ceremony for her cousin and I had worn the best native attire in my wardrobe but even then, I was still grossly underdressed. She walked me to where her mother was seated and I prostrated in greeting as I had learnt from Yoruba movies. Both of them laughed and I got up embarrassed that I was the cause of their amusement.

“Young man. Do you want to marry my daughter?” Her mother asked and I was caught unaware by the bluntness so I looked to Firdausi for assistance but she offered none. Her mother looked at her and asked if I was the one and she replied “No. this is my friend; King” then the woman asked where the one was and she replied that he was away. I asked her who the one was and she replied that she would tell me later and I acted like I did not care but I did.

I was unemployed for two months that year so when I finally got a job she was the first person I called. She picked the call after the second ring and I said “Is this Firdausi?” and she replied “No. This is her twin sister but we have the same name” and I laughed before I told her I had gotten a job. She screamed loud enough that I had to put the phone away from my ear. “Does this mean that you can finally afford to take me to my restaurant?” she asked.

“Your restaurant?” I asked, “My restaurant,” she said, “You own a restaurant?” I asked “No ode. The restaurant I like. The one with the name of a building, duplex or something like that” she said and I laughed. “You mean like a date?” I asked “Yes, with a tux and a gown,” She said, “Are you asking me on a date?” I asked “No. You are asking me.” she said.

During this time, we would go on many dates to the movies and to dinner and to arcades and to weddings and we went as a pair. When we met new people together, I would introduce myself as king and she would introduce herself as my queen and we would laugh at how cheesy it sounded. I started calling her beautiful, behind her back to my friends and family then later I would call her beautiful to her face and she would tell me she knew. On one occasion, while we were at the house of a friend of hers having drinks, one of the newer men in the gathering made a remark about her skin being flawless and she replied that she knew. I wasn’t in the room when it happened but when I stepped in, there was frenzy so I asked what happened.

’ The one’ called her beautiful and she was being pompous about it” her friend said “That’s why I only call her beautiful behind her back,” I said “And that’s why I love you,” She said and my heart stopped.

In the weeks that followed, she started talking about the one more often; finding a way to squeeze his name into our discussions. We would be talking about food and she would tell me his favourite food or we would be talking about time and she would tell me what time he came back from work or we would be talking about family and she would tell me about his family. On one occasion, she must have noticed my body move uneasily at the mention of his name and she asked me if I was jealous.

“I do not know what it means to be jealous,” I said and she laughed and kissed me on my cheek. This was the only time she had ever kissed me. “You are the King and he is the one. There is nothing to be jealous about.” She said.

The day after that, she called me and said we needed to talk, so we took a walk when I got back from work. We talked about little things like shoe sizes and the growing inflation and she held onto my arm like she never had before, the way a girlfriend held on to a boyfriend’s arm then she told me “the one asked me out”

“Oh. Where are you guys going to?” I asked “No,” she said, “He asked me to be his” and a silence fell but we kept walking.

“He is a nice guy. I think he is a nice guy.” I said but with less eloquence and a more trembling voice than this and then I heard her start to cry and I asked what was wrong. At first, she cried with more intensity but then she forced a laugh in between her sobs. “Nothing is wrong,” She said, “I am just so happy.” I have seen her cry only three times and this was the second.

After she and the one became enthralled with each other I started to see her less. We didn’t go out together anymore and our texts began to have ends. We said bye and we didn’t talk about her name and her laughter started to end before mine. She no longer was the queen to my king and till then I did not realise that I had wanted her to be. Her number was still unsaved on my phone so I would every now and then call her to ask if her name was Firdausi and she would call me silly and hang up. On one occasion, the one picked up the call and I lost my ability to speak. He asked who I was multiple times and I did nothing but breathe in reply. He called me a creep and hung up.

Firdausi came knocking on my door that evening and she was angry. It was the first time I ever saw her angry. “I got in a fight with the one today. Ask me why” she said. “Why?” I asked, “Because some guy called me today.” She said as she dove into my couch and heaved an exasperated sigh.

“Was the some guy the guy?” I asked, walking slowly towards her “Yes he was” She said smiling. “Is my number still saved as the guy?” I asked “Of course. What else am I to save it as? My king?” She said and we both burst into laughter before I replied ‘perhaps’ under my breath. “What did you say when you called?” she asked “I didn’t say anything. I just breathed into the phone” I said “You creep” she said, “That’s what he said”.

That night she stayed over at my house and we talked till late in the night about not so little things like the one and my Facebook relationship status. We fell asleep in each other’s arms and woke up the same way.

“Are you trying to steal me from the one?” She asked when she woke up and I stuttered till she laughed. “Well, you’d need better words than those Shakespeare. I am a woman that likes to be wooed.”

I did not see her for months after that day but I thought of her a great deal. I followed closely with her twitter and her snapchat so I knew when she and the one went on dates and when they celebrated their anniversary and when they travelled. I also knew when she changed houses and started wearing her hijab. On many days, I thought about calling but I didn’t.

On one occasion, I drove to where she now lived and knocked on her door. She opened and said, “Have you finally come to confess your love for me?”

“How is the one?” I said “So no you haven’t,” She said “We haven’t spoken in a while, me and you,” I said “I miss you too,” She said “Will you ask me into your house,” I said “Will you even… Why of course King, come in” she said and I went in.

Inside we looked at each in silence and I nervously said that her house was lovely. “Yours too,” she said. “But…” I said and my voice faded away till the room was filled with silence again. We both looked at each other and then burst into laughter but she laughed longer.

“I have actually missed you,” I said. “I know,” she said “How have you been,” I asked “I have been great,” she said “You? You finally got some balls did you” “Some balls?” I asked “Yes. To come here and tell me what you have been thinking” she said, “What have I been thinking?” I asked “About me, “she said. I laughed and I said “I have just really missed you. We don’t talk anymore…” “like we used to?” she interrupted “I like that song,” I said, “The one asked me to marry him,” she said. “oh,” I said and silence fell.

“He is a nice guy. I think he is a nice guy” I said, “So are you going to say it?” She asked. “Say what?” I asked “What you came here to say,” she said “Happy married life?” I said but with more uncertainty and fear in my voice than this.

“I think I hate you,” she said. “No, you don’t” I protested. “Yes I do,” she said “I don’t think you do,” I said. “I don’t care what you think,” she said. “Are you mad at me?” I asked. “Captain obvious,” she said. “I don’t want you to be mad at me,” I said “Then say it,” She said, “Say what?” I asked “What you came here to say!” she said “I love you,” I said. “I know”.

Following my confession, we sat in silence for what felt like years then I got up and made to leave but she stopped me at the door and dragged me into an embrace. After the hug, she hit my chest; once, then again and again and then repeatedly until she started to cry and I just stood there.

“Why didn’t you talk?” she said “Why didn’t you say something?” she said, “What were you waiting for?” She said “Why did it take you so long,” She said. I tried to hold her hands to stop her from hitting me but she said “Don’t you even dare” so I didn’t dare. Instead, I turned around and approached the door. She followed me still beating and saying “Don’t you leave me King” she said “Don’t go” she said “I love you, king, I always have” she said “My name is Firdausi” but I didn’t stop. I opened the door and walked out.

“Is your name Firdausi?” I asked when I called the next day and the day after that and every day after that and every time she hung up without replying. On one occasion, she picked up and talked for five minutes, asking me questions I did not have the answers to and telling me to do things I did not have the courage to do. At the end of the call, she asked me to never call her again if I was not going to do anything and so I never called her again until the day that I received her wedding invitation.

“Are you really doing this?” I asked. “Why did you call?” She asked “To tell you not do it” I said “Okay. I hate you” She said. “Don’t do it Firdausi. Is he really the one?” I said “Well it’s definitely not you,” She said “It could be,” I said “No it couldn’t. Can never be” She said, “Why not?” I asked “Because you aren’t not not Muslim,” She said “What?” I asked, “That’s why it’s sad King,” she said and hung up.