Running Away Solves Everything

Ekene

St. Rita of the Impossible, pray for me. This I’ve learned to say.

Not chatting with any of my guys from school since that incident brings me to the conclusion that I didn’t need them. That I never needed them in the first place. But, I don’t know if it’s thrill or shock that makes me skip when I see a message from Vick. I signal a somewhat hot sensation down my spine and I am positive that this may be neither, but it most definitely is a next level terror.

Guy have you heard that waec is coming out on 7th. What the fudge?! I ignore his mediocre punctuating skill and focus on the reality that 7th, the day after tomorrow, of all days, is the day they’d release WAEC results. July 7th. What the fudge?!

Now, I couldn’t let anyone know that I just wasn’t sure of myself anymore. Me, not being sure of what I wrote is a complete understatement. I am terrified of the uncertainty and distrust that lies within me. I am terrified because I really can’t remember how the series of exams went down; which day was good, which papers were awoof, and which had overly strict invigilators. I am terrified because my whole life depends on whatever I see next tomorrow. My WAEC results.

Now, with Egodi, Ezechukwu and Dad back, so we could prepare for our trip to the village for Grandma’s burial, no one would have time for me. Or so I thought.

“Mummy, it’s July already,” Egodi sits beside Mummy as she plots a list for things to buy as food and souvenirs for the funeral—this she has been doing since yesterday. Being the first child, this was Mum’s prime responsibility. “Isn’t this the time when WAEC comes out?”

I just started brushing my teeth in my mum’s toilet when she utters that, and my reflexes kick in so fast, I almost choke on my toothbrush. “Erhemm…” I cough.

No one pays attention to me though.

“You are right o.” Mum gives my older sister her full audience. “Ekene!”

I raise my head, then gaggle the water in my mouth before I spit it into the basin. “They said it’s on 8th,” I lie. Well, because if they think it’s on the 8th, I’d have time on my hands to ponder on my result, and create the perfect excuse to why every of my subjects possess the grades they do.

Of course, a busy body would never change, as the more it’s still, the restless it’s mind is, hence, it is even prone to carry out more damage after it can hold it in no more. Egodi is this busy body.

She jumps to my room and makes me more miserable than I already am. “See how smelly your room is? This is how you and Emelie live?” She picks up my boxer shorts with her finger nails, avoiding it from touching her flesh. “Just smell this nonsense,” she tosses it at me. “Now there is light you will not wash.”

I grumble, but don’t utter a word. I may be able to call her a busy body and think it, but never to her hearing. “They did not buy five years in the market,” she would say. “Look at this nwanpinchoro mmadu! I will tell Ezechukwu to do something and he will do it, and then, it’s now you…you! That will now open your stinky mouth to argue with me.” And that was the truth. But the truth in the past. And she never ceased to exaggerate everything. Ezechukwu had never been anyone’s problem, so she couldn’t compare me with him. He was always the kind who went to primary school and came back with his uniform twice as neat, his homework done, and food flask cleared. He was too good of a child. Even now. Studying Chemical Engineering in Awka, even though he had always felt Law was his calling. I believed it was. When he argued, he was no more this quiet, fair-skinned Ezechukwu, who wouldn’t hurt a fly. When he sprung up to oppose whoever spoke, everyone would listen. In Bells, in CKCC, at home. He would cut and slice the topic in two halves, like an avocado, for all to see that round and brown seed, which was the point he was making. This would leave his contender so speechless, some cried. He didn’t hurt a fly. He mentally dismantled a human being. Without raising a finger, with just the act of his tongue rolling, flapping, hitting the roof of his mouth, and producing mere words. And now, he recites all these chemical compounds as though they were ABC. He’s gifted, that’s all. And a gifted person like Ezechukwu would succeed at everything he laid his hands on.

I wouldn’t say that about myself. The boy who was born into the pressure of shining stars; a surprisingly bright, but talkative fashionista and an incredibly mannered Einstein. Obscured all his life, and all of a sudden, was expected to surpass the clouds that hovered above him. Even with a jet could he do that? And who would lend him that jet?

“So, when’s your WAEC coming out?” Egodi presses me, then takes the tab from my laps. “Read for POST UTME or you will not enter school this year.”

Mind your own business, I would have thought if I weren’t so consumed in a delirium. The same one that got me to the crossroads at JSS3; what department would I enter? Commercial or Arts? At the end that wasn’t my decision to make. Science was somehow engraved on the bones that connected my arms to my body, and I didn’t have the permission to depict otherwise even though it was my future that was being dealt with. And now, the fruit was to be reaped. Presently, the questions are, “Would I surpass my siblings and finally see beyond those clouds? Would I enter school this year? Or Would I fall on reaching the clouds, into the ocean with a weight around my ankle?” I got the answers myself, as it wasn’t far-fetched. They were negative. Because I wasn’t dwelling in some Disney show were the dumb kid becomes the elite of the class. This was real life.

How ever could I outstep seven A's, a B and a C?