Running Away Solves Everything

Tomilola

I hear chants as I sway to the gates of the courtroom, and espy figures raising their hands which held some kind of signs. The closer I get makes me realise that they are cardboards. A protest? I think, feeling rather too indifferent.

But it is all for me.

Justice For Tomi, one sign reads. You can't punish a victim! Another dictates. Then, amidst of this all was the one that got me dumbfounded. It is held so high in Kamsi’s long hands and I hug her immediately I see her, even without reading it, and again, after I read it, some drops of my tears, dampening her satin. A Heroine Would Forever Be A Heroine. I never could imagine this. That a handful of wonderful ladies could see me as a woman and hold a rally in my name. I hadn’t heard of such before, so even though I wasn’t too pleased being referred to as the victim, I swallowed that in, with the gratefulness in my heart crowding all other feelings.

Then, I cross paths with the only non-family member I ever disclosed my personal businesses to, and all she still longs for is trouble. If not, why would she always come here, to this court, at the time I have my trial? To constantly remind me that she was free, and I wasn’t? The last thing I want to do when she drags my arm is be patient with her, and listen to what she says, but like I said, gratefulness had subdued my other feelings. A little too much. If it wasn’t the gratefulness, it was Kamal then, eyeing me from the court’s steps.

“How do you do this everyday?” she asks. “How do you have the courage to wake up every morning knowing very well that you don’t own yourself anymore?”

What nonsense talk is that. A cheap hiss is all I leave her as I walk away now.

But she grabs my hand. Gratefulness is gone now, and it’s just Kamal. If he just as scampers out of sight, I am going to tear out this girl’s wig, not minding my trial.

“Don’t you even want to know why I did what I did?” She speaks to the back of my head.

I tell her the cold truth, still backing her being. “No.” Then, she leaves my hand, and I turn, so as to pierce my eyes into hers. “You’re just a bad person. It’s my fault for not realising that earlier.”

“So, I’m a bad person for wanting to serve justice?”

“Don’t you…”

“For myself and Nathan.” I scoff at the two-in-one pathetic reason.

“Tell me what wrong I’ve ever done you.”

“Don’t act like you’re so perfect,” she condemns me. “Like you’re so pure, and you don’t know.”

It’s just now, as I’m about to speak that I notice we’ve been communicating in whispers the entire time. “Know what? That I gave you shelter for a long time, allowed you to wear my clothes, and never expected a Thank You? Or did you ever say that?”

“Did you see how fast you made that about you?”

I am so angry now, I could wrestle her. “Will you shut up? You’re the attention seeker.” Just give me a beaker filled with concentrated acid, and her face would be the dartboard I aim at.

“But I don’t get it.” She still uses the accusing tone on me. “That’s why I keep on seeking it.” She pulls out her phone and unlocks it. “Do you know how many guys I was interested in that were interested in you?” She has her phone in my face, and all I see is green and white, and before I knew it was Whatsapp, I thought she was binding me with the Nigerian flag. She discloses her chats to me swiping and tapping, like it was some merchandise she was advertising. “Frank? Seun? Destiny? Emmanuel? Olumide? Celestine?!” She almost tosses her phone to the Earth. “Even Chibueze!” Her voice and words dissolve into a high-pitched presto, as in a piecemeal. Loud, faster than an allegro and gradual. “Like, what didn’t they see in me? What couldn’t I offer?” Then, she pulls out my phone, pointing at numerous Hey B  and Hello beautiful texts from unknown numbers. “Now, tell me. How did they get your number?”

“Does it look like I care?”

“That’s what makes it worse! You don’t give a shit!” I didn’t know this girl I had considered over-confident was just another girl with more insecurities than the regular. But she was too smart and beautiful. If only she focused on why she was in school and not digressing to the male folk every minute of the day. Only then would she attain her full potential. It wasn’t too late.

“So, don’t care. Then you’ll catch as many as you want… Unknowingly.” That was supposed to fix that, but villains will be villains. They remain as they are, unrepentant and proud for a reason. But they’re the ones that get banished or locked up, not the person they attack. Not the heroine. So was I the villain in this scenario?

“It’s too late for that, Tomi.” Unrepentant! “But that’s why you’re here. Now, every month you’re gone, to honour your memory, I would spend that with a different lad.” Proud! “One lad every month. And no Tomi.” What such foolhardiness! On her part and mine.

I wouldn’t let her have the last words though. I would be petty like that. “Don’t sha die of Gonorrhea before I return.” I wanted to add, “Because then I’d still have those lads”, but really, no matter how bad I would have wanted to vex her ghost, it wouldn’t be worth it. Taking her leftovers, and risk contacting her gonorrhea? Nay! Nay!

And with that single sentence, I sprint to Kamal and the other lawyer, whom I now knew from Kamal, was Teremun, who had been his counterpart and major competition since university to Law school, and even during the Bar exams— which I seriously laughed at. And now, here he was, still being a thorn in my attorney's flesh.

It was time.

The deep oxygen I inhale anxiously may have inhibited many from inhaling too, or deprived some. The skies at the entrance to the courtroom stare at me and I stare back. They sing, I listen. I admire their smile, and from their rays, they let me know they fancy my gaze. But the beauty of nature could never dismiss one from doom. And like that, I return to the polluted earth. It remains verdict day.

Nothing could ever remove the fact that I was a little tense. No one could have expected me not to be. But something tells me that tension could be eased. That it needed to be. There was no way I wouldn’t spend one or two years in prison. Nothing could change that. I had made Manslaughter the dominant history of my Google searches in the last week I had with my phone and the various things I saw weren’t pleasing. Fifteen years, Twenty years, Thirty years. One article even pointed out that from the S.325 of the Criminal code, the punishment for Involuntary Manslaughter was Life Imprisonment. And that’s exactly what I did. I had fired the gun, just like how Okonkwo had when he killed that old man’s son. Inadvertently.

“Would the defendant rise?” If I weren’t paying any attention, I stood anyway. My entire being comported as ever. Hoping for the good. Hoping for the best judgment I could receive. Aunty Aruma is just behind me and she makes sure I recognise her presence.

The court loses me at “The defendant has no prior convictions.” My nervous frame floating in the air around the courtroom, with a strong desire to elude all this dismality, most especially, the hate I sense in the judge’s tone. For me or the Governor’s household, I wasn’t sure. But if I sought for clarity in his spoken words, I finally found it three seconds before the wooden hammer jams its brother. “I hereby sentence the defendant, Miss. Tomilola Olarenwaju, to seven years in prison.”

In other words, it was time. For chaos. Tumult. The never ending abyss.