The Things We Do

THIRTY THREE

(The following chapters will contain a lot of typographical errors, forgive me. And it will also contain triggering scenes, be warned.)

There was always something about having a peaceful abode-having somewhere you could come back to after going through hell. It was soothing. It restored sanity.

But some of us didn't have that. For some of us, it was simply jumping from hell to hell, having no resting place. No peace of mind.

And what gave us the right to not go mad?

◈ ━━━━━━━ ⸙ - ⸙ ━━━━━━━ ◈

ＦＩＶＥ ＹＥＡＲＳ ＥＡＲＬＩＥＲ

The feel of the cold marble tiles against his bare feet was enticing for some reason. He loved being in that large room filled with fabrics and unfinished clothes. The sound of the sewing machine was also something he could never forget. He loved watching her look so focused and determined to finish whatever she was sowing.

"Desmond, don't you have homework to do?" she asked the same question she always asked whenever he would sit next to her, watching her do her work.

He smiled sheepishly-his way telling her that he'd done his homework and she couldn't chase him away.

"Mum, what are you sowing?" he asked her when he noticed it wasn't the same fabric she'd been using in making a trouser for him the previous day. This one was an Ankara material-the kind he had only seen being used for asoebi in weddings.

"I'm sowing a shirt." His mother took a second to smile at him. She had deep dimples that reminded him of making a hole in a chocolate bar. Chocolate just like his mother's skin.

"For who?" he asked, standing from the plastic chair he'd been sitting on to get a better look.

"For you, of course. Who else do I make clothes for?" She gave him another sly smile.

"But, it looks...big."

"You'll grow into it, dear."

He exchanged smiles with his mother even though he knew there was no way he was wearing an oversized shirt until it fit him perfectly.

He went ahead to grab one of the plain blue fabrics and tied one end around his neck, letting the rest of the cloth fall behind his back. It was his cape and he was Superman-at least for that moment. And that was how he ran around the house, barefooted, in his cape, pretending he could fly while his mother was busy in the workshop. They called it the workshop because there was nothing else to call it.

Soon, he heard the large gates open and he watched through the upstairs sitting room window as Ezekiel, the gateman waved at Mr. Akindele who drove in without responding.

Dele quickly got rid of his cape and ran to the workshop to announce his father's arrival to his mother. She looked perplexed on hearing her husband was back and Dele was equally confused. He wasn't supposed to return that day.

"Beatrice!" Mr. Akindele's voice boomed and blasted throughout the mansion, officially announcing his arrival himself.

Dele watched his mother tense up and shake as she put everything in the workshop away and led him out of the room before closing the door behind them.

Mrs. Akindele breathed out on walking into the large sitting room and finding her husband. "Dear, you're back."

Her husband turned to her with a glare. He was clad in a brown senator that fitted his bulk, muscular frame perfectly. "Where were you? I've been calling your name. S'eti e ti di ni?"