7: Hello, beautiful II

When we walk through the wicket-gate of my hostel, I'm glad to see there's light. The caretaker didn't really lie. This place is a different breed of Lagos.

“You guys are enjoying light here o," Eric says as we approach the stairwell.

“You guys don't have light like this?"

“Have light ke? It's mostly at night and that one doesn't pass two hours before they take it.”

“Ah-ah. So how do you guys survive? Where do you charge your phone?”

“One of my flatmates brought gen when he resumed, and that's what we're using. He's connected it so everyone in our flat has light when it's on. We all just contribute for fuel.”

“Wow. That guy is nice o. If it's some people, they won't care.”

“Harry is a cool guy. He's not greedy in any way.”

We get to my flat and I'm surprised to see an unfamiliar face coming out of the room next to Amanda's, an older guy behind her. The dark-skinned girl's wearing a bum short that shows off her long, slim legs and she's got a full stop-ring on the left side of her nose.

“Hi,” I greet.

“Hi," she returns and moves on with the guy who doesn't utter a word of greeting as they reach the door.

“Your flatmate?” Eric asks after he turns from getting a look at them as they left the house.

“I guess,” I say and unlock my door.

We enter and I don't move any further as Eric hits my back.

“What is it?”

My room is a fucking mess!

Whipping around, I smile nervously. “Why don't you give me a minute?”

He gives me a look. “Your room is unkempt, right?”

“Just a bit.”

“Okay.” He turns to go so when I've let my guard down, he pushes his way into my room.

“Eric!” I hurry after him.

He stands in the middle of my mess, hands on his waist as he takes it all in. “Dora, Dora. You can never change.”

“I was in a hurry this morning," I say as I close the door and begin to pick up my clothes, pausing to stare, agape, at the underwear close to his shoe.

“You're always in a hurry,” he says, oblivious to my panicked state.

He's about to turn when I run over and pick up my underwear, his knee ramming into my forehead.

The force causes me to stumble back as I fall with my butt hitting the floor. “Ow!”

“Sorry,” he hurriedly lets out. “What do you think you were trying to do?”

“I was getting my clothes,” I say as I rise to my feet, the underwear balled in one hand while I rubbed my forehead with the other.

“Did I hurt you?” He removes my hand to rub my forehead.

The proximity causes goosebumps to trail the length of my arms as I bask in his scent.

“Does it hurt?” He rubs my forehead furiously and my head goes back, my neck beginning to hurt.

“Break my head o,” I say and slap his hands away.

He laughs as I go over to my wardrobe to keep my underwear.

“How many clothes have you sown since you got here?” he asks and plops on my bed.

“Two. Both are mine.”

“What of your flatmates? Have you told them?”

“I already told Annie and Amanda, and they assured me if they want to sow or they get anyone, they'll come to me,” I answer as I pick up my clothes from the floor, bed and chair.

“Alright,” he says and takes out his phone from his pocket.

“Where are we going to start from in the Chemistry?”

“Where and where don't you understand?” he asks, not removing his gaze from his phone.

“From the beginning.”

His head snaps up and I grin sheepishly.

“You don't understand from the very beginning?” he asks.

“The man kept speed talking so it was hard to get anything.”

“But it's not hard. All we're doing now is a repetition of what we did in SS3.”

“Doesn't mean I understood any of it in SS3.” I scowl as I go over to my wardrobe.

“But I taught you everything.”

“Yes,” I say, folding one of my dresses delicately. “But unlike you, I'm not cut out for school.”

“The more you say it, the more it becomes true.”

“No matter how much I say it, it doesn't change the fact that I'm an airhead.”

“You're not an airhead,” he says with a frown that makes my heart melt. “You don't remember it now doesn't mean you can't understand it when your memory is refreshed. Stop downcasting yourself.”

There are so many butterflies in my belly that I feel afloat. “Okay.”

After packing my clothes, I put other things in order while Eric picks up the broom and helps me sweep, unaware that I'm watching him with a smile on my face.

When he's finished, we get down to the Chemistry note and he takes his time explaining it to me. Although he's taught me the topic before, he's patient and answers all my questions.

This is one of the many reasons it's hard for me to get over him. Eric doesn't judge me. He's always patient with me. Always by my side.

***

Eric left a while ago and I had just taken a shower when my phone rang.

Still dripping wet with my towel wrapped around my chest and feet on my rag, I shuffle over to my plugged phone. My brows crumple when I don't recognize the number.

“Hello,” I answer the call.

The voice that answers is familiar and it sends chills down my spine with its response. “Hello, beautiful.”

“Goo— good evening, sir.”

His laughter does nothing to ease the tension in my shoulders or loosen the knots in my stomach. 

“My name is Victor. Why not call me that?”

“I'm sorry, sir, but I can't.”

“And why can't you?”

“Because, not only are you my lecturer, but you're also old enough to be my father.”

“So? Am I your father?”

“No, sir.”

“Ehen! So why should you be addressing me as though I'm your father?”

I start to believe that Mr Victor enjoys throwing trick questions my way, so I don't answer him.

“Anyway, I'm sure in due time, you'll get over this your sir attitude.”

In due time, I hope you'll stop calling. This man gives me the creeps and the fact that he's my lecturer leaves me clueless on how to tell him off.

“I called so you can save my number,” he says. “You'll save my number right?”

“Y-yes, sir.”

“Good. If you have any problem, I mean, any problem at all, you give me a call, okay?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Okay, ma,” he says, laughing to his own joke as I spare him a faint chuckle. “I have to go now. Talk to you later.”

“Okay, sir.”

“Sleep well, beautiful.”

...

Words/phrases and their meaning:

* Gen: a short form of generator

* SS3: Senior secondary-3, the final class for High School in Nigeria.