The Freedom Of Her Absence

"God damn it!" I cursed as I bounced away in the freedom of her absence, missing greatly the bondage of her presence.

This morning, I partially woke up around 10:48 AM, retaining some early morning rolls on my bed while thinking about the day ahead. What was I having for breakfast? I asked myself, looking at the beverage shelf suspended on the wall opposite where my bed was laid: my focus steadied on the Quaker oats can beside a blue one I couldn't see clearly from the bed, though I was certain it was the milk's and not sugar, because I always made sure to line them up in an extended file, from the right to the left in their order of importance; they stood still, side by side like soldiers on sentry in the uppermost glass section of the shelf.

Still lazying on the bed, it suddenly occurred to me that I had finished the last grist of oats in that can about two days ago, so it was just an empty and worthless soldier standing up there. I jumped out of my bed with an epileptical flush of warmth, and life-like someone overtaken by a legion of spirits: I did a rushy teeth brush, hurried into my autographed baseball shorts; Adesanya Israel had gifted me when we had met in a sport's club in Victoria Island, Lagos; with a matching polo shirt, I stepped into the streets, and started out seamlessly to Kenyatta market to get a new dark purple can. 

With my arms suspended openly by my sides like I was indeed the latest UFC Champion, I bounced like a spoilt brat on a pair of new trainers: tricycles kept on horning, screeching, and speeding as their riders rained insults on me, "Onye Ara, o bu mpa gi nwe okporo a?" A question with sarcastic intentions to know if my father had built the road. 'Weytin concern me?' I said aloud to myself even though the bustle of the streets drowned my voice as I jounced on inflatedly. "If you get mind, brush me," I cursed loudly at the last rider who almost brushed me. 

Still, in my vibe, a lady with a low haircut called my attention from a red container she used as a provision store. "Chiido!" "Mummy Muna. Good morning ma." I greeted, slowing to a halt. "How far, na?" She said. "A nokwa m ya," I replied in my native tongue. "Onyinye kwanu?" She asked me. Then. I remembered that some weeks ago, I had walked this same road with my girlfriend 'Onyi,' and she kept dragging and pulling me away from those fleeing rough tricycles as she worried and complained that I was walking rigidly and that those rough riders might hit me. ''Chiido oh! I don't want to be a widow now,'' I remembered her lamenting unseriously as she tugged at my muscular right arm, expanded from the regular routine of dumbbell lifting while looking up into my subdued eyes in a lowered head.

I laughed merrily and asked why she worried about what those riders could do to me, not considering what I could also do to them in return. The beautiful thought of her made me smile bitterly as I felt a spasm in my lower abdomen; suddenly, my soul shuddered with pain as I knew I might never walk that same road with her again. 'God damn it!' I cursed as I bounced away in the freedom of her absence, missing the bondage of her presence greatly.

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