Grieve: A Short Story

Grieve Short Story

Hello.

It’s been a while. As we wrap up 2016, and as things wind down (or wind up, if you’re the type who attends every end of the year party you’re invited to), it’s time to put some thoughts to paper.

In the coming days, I will be sharing some thoughts about 2016, the highs, the lows and many lessons learned – professionally and personally.

Till then, here’s something just for you.

Today’s post is a short story I wrote about two years ago. I honestly don’t know what I was passing through when I wrote it. I hope you like it. Please leave your thoughts in the comment section.

……………………………………………..

Her window pane rattled.

It had been so long since Femi threw pebbles at her window. Almost three months.

She smiled.

She ran down to meet him, throwing herself on his neck, as his arms slid around her, driving all the months of loneliness away. The same loneliness that the soap operas and the ice-cream and her friends had failed to expel.

She pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes. She leaned in to kiss him.

But he pulled away from her.

Fear shot through her, setting off her alarm system.

“Do you have a girlfriend?” She asked him.

“No.” The question confused him. “Do you?”

She shook her head. Still puzzled, she said, “So why did you pull away…?”

Femi smiled. “I just want to see you. I haven’t seen you in so long”. She laughed, an easy laugh, a farewell to the hell of the past 3 months as he lifted her and spun her round and round.
…………………………………………………………………………………………………………

“We can’t continue this way. How long will you be gone this time?”

She was lying down on the couch, her head in his lap as his hands played with her braids.

“About 4 months.”

Her heart sank.

“I can’t wait that long again.”

She’s lying. She will. She knows she will.

………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………………..

Black. It’s curious how it’s called the color of death. The dead don’t see, can’t appreciate the solemnity of a funeral. The crowd of bodies arrayed in black, attendees at the solemn event desperately holding onto every bit of memory of the deceased. The sight of the coffin being lowered earlier in the day was a glaring revelation of their own mortality.

She stood in the corner, trying her best to look inconspicuous. She probably shouldn’t have worn the heels though. Her fair legs rode high, a sharp contrast to her black dress. Eyes glanced regularly her way. Experience had taught her where to place her eyes when people stared at her.

But experience rarely teaches us how to deal with loss. Is there even a way to deal with it?

Strange thing about funerals. Grief and loss wear out the heart but company makes it a little bit bearable and these people were milking every ounce of respite from one another. A symbiotic gathering, if there ever was one.

Her heart was the only one which stood out, unable to connect with the room of strangers, shattering and aching viciously in a looping vacuum.

She didn’t know who to talk to. She had no one. She was an unknown.

Femi’s mother stood in the corner, fighting back the tears while Femi’s sister gave her moral support. Femi’s friends and other family members filled out the room. They made small talk, exchanged condolences, gathered in small circles.

She caught someone looking at her, a man. He had the look in his eye, as if he maybe recognized her, however unlikely. Nobody could know her. She’d never met anyone in Femi’s family, never been introduced to anyone in his life, not even his friends. She’d been his best kept secret.

When she finally decided she’d had as much as she could take, she headed for Femi’s mother to pay her respects.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” she said.

Femi’s mom blinked away tears. “Thank you my daughter. I don’t know you. Were you friends with him?”

“Yes, I knew him,” she wasn’t sure how or if to proceed further. “He was an amazing person.”

The mother nodded solemnly, managing a smile.

She left immediately after. When she got into her car, the noise of the world outside receded. She was alone. And then almost in slow motion, her face broke its steely frame, her countenance yielding to her heart after so long.

The tears flowed.

And the weight pressed her down and pressed her hard, pressed her till she couldn’t stay up anymore. She lowered her head till it rested against the car’s steering.

The car’s blaring horn was her farewell ode to the love of her life.

END

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12 thoughts on “Grieve: A Short Story

  1. Now I know… You can write… #Best_Kept_Secret

  2. You’re Lonely When You’re Dead.

    Nice. Let’s talk.

  3. Ibukun the romantic……….made me cry……….good writing…….very good in fact…….don’t stop here

  4. Sad story. Amazing writing.

  5. 😳😳😳😳😳😳😳
    Oya let me started reading old posts…
    Ibukun you can write ooo… 😳

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