FUNMI: When It Rains, It Pours

'Maureen was a good friend to me, she was not just a friend, she was my sister. When I had any fashion crisis, she was quick to set me straight...'

A hint of a smile crossed my lips as I remembered Maureen trying to educate me on what made for fashion blunders. I looked up briefly and saw a few of the members of the congregation smile sadly. I continued.

'…When I was confused about what colours would match, all I needed to do was pick up the phone and call her. She was a great designer, a very creative young woman, probably the most creative of all my friends. She was so full of life…’

I couldn’t go on. I choked on my words as tears rushed to my eyes. I sobbed unashamedly into the microphone. My friend Maureen was gone and I would never have her back. I had tried to deal with it in my own way these past few days but a burial ceremony seemed so final. Reading my tribute to her was like finally acknowledging that she was really gone. Gone, out of all our lives!

I tried to regain composure as my shoulders shook and I put the microphone away from my mouth. I took a few moments and continued reading my tribute. If I didn’t look into my booklet, I could read it by heart. They were heartfelt words, exactly how I felt about Maureen. I only hoped I said half as much to her when we had her with us. That thought alone was enough to bring tears to my eyes again. I managed not to let the tears spill this time.

I lifted up my eyes from reading and my eyes met that of Wole’s. I quickly averted his gaze and went back to reading. What was it with the guy anyway? Why did I have to meet his gaze of all the people at the funeral? I was too sad to even want to bother myself about him. I had dealt with my jealousy of Lola and it would rest there. I finished my tribute sniffing and wiping my eyes and nose with a handkerchief I had held for the purpose.

I picked up my pamphlet, lifted up my eyes and saw an apparition smiling at me. It looked like it was Ebuka. I knew I was beginning to see things. Maybe Maureen’s death had affected my brain and I was beginning to hallucinate. The apparition was seated at the back of the auditorium and he winked at me and raised his right hand slightly nodding at the same time as if he was saying, ‘it’s ok, I understand what you’re going through’. I walked back to my seat like I was in a trance. It couldn’t be true and I did not want to make a fool of myself at Maureen’s funeral. If I was having a meltdown, I would hold myself together till her body was committed to mother earth.

He was still at the back of the auditorium looking so handsome. I tried not to turn back as I took my seat and pinched myself to be sure I could feel. Could it really be? Would Ebuka come to Maureen’s funeral? How would he even know the venue? I remember replying one of his text messages with an abrupt ‘Maureen died’. All his attempts to reach me since then had failed. If he was real, then I would be impressed. I just needed the funeral to end for me to know I was still sane.

The last tribute was read, the last hymn sung and we filed out of the hall. A few people milled around and I deliberately avoided looking at Maureen’s hearse. I noticed Titi talking to Dayo and the kind of anger that I didn’t know I possessed came over me. I tried to contain myself when I noticed I was shaking. Titi was talking to a married man at our friend’s funeral. What was he doing here anyway? I was angry enough to want to slap her right now but I had more important things on my mind. I needed to assure myself that Ebuka was really there. My heart beat faster as I thought of the possibility of seeing him again after all this time.

I did not have to look far as I spotted him walking towards me looking dashing in a grey dress shirt and black pants that was tailored to fit. Ebuka had always paid careful attention to his dressing. It was one of the things I liked about him. Ebuka sure knows how to dress well. I managed to avoid giving him a warm smile when he got to me. He flashed his set of perfect teeth and extended his hand to me like he wanted a handshake. I nervously gave him my right hand and he held on to it, not for once taking his gaze off me. I tried to avert my gaze, it felt like he was looking into my soul. I found myself drawn back to him. He pulled me to the side of the auditorium where there were less people.

‘Why did you come?’ That was all I could manage to whisper as he continued staring at me. I turned and saw Lola mouth something at me from afar. Silly girl, she must have seen him looking for me and didn’t even warn me. I would deal with her later. She smiled sadly as she turned away.

‘I came for you Funmi’.

‘Really?’

‘Yes, really, I told you to give me another chance. My feelings for you have not changed.’

‘Hmmm.’ I muttered sneering at him.

‘Oluwafunmilola, I’m serious. When I got your text about Maureen, I knew I needed to find you. I was waiting for you to give me the go ahead to come to you. I couldn’t wait anymore and when I saw that text, I knew I must be here for you.’

Ebuka and my mum were the only ones that called me my full name. My mum, when she thought she had to make a serious point. She said my full name as if the emphasis would drum her point into my skull. When Ebuka called my full name when we were dating, it was personal, it was personal, like he was saying 'God gave me to him, his wealth-which is the traditional meaning of my name. Ebuka calls my name like a personal treasure. I forced myself back to the present.

‘Why should I think you’re here to stay this time? Did your mum tell you it was ok to go find me?’

He winced, I was being mean but I could not help it. Several months of crying for him had made me like this. I remember when he just left and I would sit by myself staring at his photos and crying my eyes out. Lola had done a good job of trying to cheer me up, although I didn’t allow my friends to see much of my pain.

I saw the car carrying Maureen’s hearse drive away. It was time to head to the cemetery.

‘I should go; the others are getting ready to go to the cemetary’. I felt the tears threaten again. My eyes must look so puffy.

‘I’ll come with you. I’ll stay in the car or something. We need to talk and I promise to be here till you’re ready to. I’ll drive you.’

I wanted to ask how he knew I drove but I was dangling my car keys so it must have been obvious. We walked side by side to my car without talking. I handed him the keys and allowed him to settle me into the passenger seat. I could get used to this. Since Maureen died, I had been in control of so many things; I was liaising between my friends and her family, yet trying to deal with my grief. It was nice to let someone else take control.

I closed my eyes and tried to remember how it was with Ebuka. Our relationship was wonderful. He would send me flowers for no reason at least once a week, he wrote me poetry and he just made me totally happy. Until the day he refused to show up because his mum said he could not marry a Yoruba girl…

*  *  *  *  *  *

Ebuka stopped the car at the parking lot but did not open the door just yet. I knew he wanted to say something.

‘I’m so sorry for your loss Funmi. I know how close Maureen was to you. It’s really sad and I’m so sorry.’

I nodded.

‘I’ll be waiting for you.’

I nodded again and walked inside the cemetery numb.

I watched as Maureen’s body was committed to mother earth. I had promised myself not to cry. I thought I had no more tears to shed but as her the coffin was sealed and dust poured on it, the tears flowed freely. My friends and I wept and huddled close to each other. I didn’t let my body touch Titi’s. I was absolutely disgusted at her. As I remembered seeing her with Dayo, anger swelled within me again.

The burial was over. I felt relief. It was over. I could go home and remember Maureen in my own way. She was gone, yes, but she would live on in my heart. I would always remember her for the lively and feisty woman she was. I had refused to look at her lifeless body so this would not tinker the image of her in my head. For me, Maureen lived on.

We walked out of the cemetery to the parking lot. We were exhausted and hugged each other with promises to call ourselves. I drew Titi aside as I had to talk to her about the issue raging on my mind. She gave me a quizzical look as I dragged her towards my car.

Titi opened her mouth and was going to say something but closed it after taking a look at my face. My fury must have been written all over my face.

‘What did Dayo come to do at Maureen’s memorial service?’

‘He came to sympathise with me and to express his condolences.’ She stuttered.

‘He couldn’t do that over the phone?’

She shook her head.

‘I thought I heard someone say his wife was there and slashed your tyres?’

‘Yes, we think she did it’

At that moment, I lost it. I could not hold on to my anger anymore and I lashed out at her.

‘If you have no self respect, you should at least respect the dead! Why bring drama to Maureen’s funeral and make us all look like fools? Answer me Titi.’ I bet the woman thinks we’re all husband snatchers. I must say I am absolutely disgusted at your slutty behavior and I am ashamed to call you my friend!'

I was shaking all over and Titi gaped at me with her mouth wide open. It was probably her first time of seeing me like that.

‘You will need to decide if you want to remain a mistress or be friends with me. I can’t do this, I can’t do this. I can’t do this…’ My words trailed off as I broke into sobs. Titi stood transfixed on one spot as I felt firm hands lead me away from her. Ebuka had been standing beside the car and watching us.

He rubbed my back gently and settled me in the car once again.

‘You still live at your old apartment?’

I managed to nod as I allowed him to take control. For now I would pretend that Ebuka was my man again and he was taking care of me. I closed my eyes and allowed myself to rest a bit.

*  *  *  *  *  *

I woke up to see him sitting beside me on the bed. I tried to wipe my eyes clear of sleep. I checked the clock, I had been asleep three hours. Ebuka had cajoled me to take a warm chocolate drink and some aspirin. He stayed in the living room as I undressed and when he thought I would have finished, he asked if he could come in. Ebuka, still the perfect gentleman!

He tucked me into bed and kissed my eyelids.

‘Just lay back in bed and allow yourself to rest. I’ll be here when you wake up’

I had drifted off to sleep as my head touched the pillow and true to his promise, he was there when I woke up.

He moved closer to me on the bed.

‘Funmi, can you find it in your heart to forgive me?’

I was done fighting him really, here was a man who was all over me, begging me to take him back. I had known him for years. We shared a connection and we still do. It would be foolhardy of me not to.

‘Hey, I wrote something, you might want to read’. He was holding a piece of neatly folded paper and I took it from him.

It was the same flowered pink sheet he used to write me letters. He had bought it specially to write to me as he knew that was my favourite. I smiled as I opened the note. Some things never change.

‘I almost lost you and I was a fool. I blamed myself day and night for letting you down. I would have come a long time ago but I wanted punish myself for being such a fool and letting the most beautiful person in my life go. I was a coward who couldn’t speak his mind to his mother but now I’m a man. Oluwafunmilola, I want to be a man for you, now and always. Please forgive me and make me the happiest man alive once again. I want to be yours forever, actually I want to make you mine forever, I want to spend the rest of my life with you...’

I lifted my eyes from the note, my eyes were laced with tears.

'Your mom?'

'She has to live with my choice. I was a boy, I'm now a man. I've told her she can't choose for me and she's ready to give her blessing'

I smiled. 'You must tell me that story'

'I will someday', he whispered with a smile.

I moved closer to him still and we embraced. I felt the past months of loneliness and grief wash away from me. I allowed myself to be taken away into a place of happy tomorrows in his embrace.

(c) Writefreak