The Way We See The World by Ikechukwu Henry
My parents’ tight lips, creased eyebrows intensify my sobbing. They've been staring at me as I holler. I asked them about you, but they're only saying one thing which was that you're back to the street you were found. Why will I faint and be taken to the hospital when all this was happening?
Returning back to the street reminded me of that cool afternoon the sun retrogressed deeper into the cloudless sky, spinning its spherical ball towards the east horizon where we found you sprawling, mist pivoting within the brown shades of your eyes. You're sobbing when we found you or, when I found you. Your body was convulsing. I stopped. I glanced at my parents to see them trudging forward without minding if I'm right behind them. I scanned you again and squatted, stretching my hand to lift you because the angle in which you lay might bring you pain.
You probed at me, at my outstretched hand and said. “Please, I'm hungry. I have not eaten.” Your voice sounded shaky, your mouth quivering that each word seemed weak. You took my hand and stood, and I caught the trail of tears trickling down your cheeks. My heart crashed at those tears, at the enclosed palms of yours which you tendered forward.
“What happened? Why are you crying?” I didn't realize how moronic my questions are until I saw you trying to crumble back to the floor. I caught you. You smelled of kneaded earth with your hair disheveled.
“Just help me. If you don't want to, go.” you said, as I let you down to the floor. “Wait. I'm coming.” I jolted to the nearest kiosk and requested snacks under my parents’ name. The first shop I visited rejected, the second, third and I realized I'm heading home —close to our compound now—and this was the last kiosk before I could step into our compound. I cringed. I recoiled. My heartbeat quickened when I sighted my mom at the gate, posed akimbo as her eyes surveyed me.
“What have you been doing on the road, Chinemerem?” her voice was boisterous, fingers constricted and her eyes glared at me.
I wanted to tell her about you. About your famishment and the fragility of your body. Of how coercive your words are. “There’s no water in the drum.” she reminded. My jaws clenched because I might not be able to see you again.
*****
It had been three months since you came to live with us. Each of your actions reminded me of how it started. On that day my parents and I headed to the community center a few days before Christmas to watch the coming out of the masquerade. Everywhere at the square was brimming with people that had to squeeze their way forward, brushing against each other. I meandered off when I heard that Okorosha—the masquerade—would be out.
My excitement, pulsating at my stomach doubled as I viewed you in a neatly trimmed dress. My eyes rolled, jaws slacked, my hands trying to muffle the gasp bursting out of my lips. I almost couldn't have recognized you if not of the gleam of your eyes. I teetered forward and held your arm, trying to remind you of that day you were famished but your eyes altered into a glare. You brushed me off your arm.
“It’s me, the boy from the other day.” My stomach churned at your hiss as you strolled away and I followed you, determined to get you to remember me. I didn't realize we weren't at the community center until I followed you to an uncompleted building.
“Go away and stop following me,” you said, scowling.
“Just say you remember me. I'm sorry I couldn't return back because my mum—”
“I don't need it!” your hand poked at my chest. I didn't know if it was your punch or the pain that clenched around my chest because everywhere became blurry and darkness welcomed me.
When I woke up, you were beside me in my room. My eyebrows creased.
You pulled closer, holding my hand. “My name is Okenwa.” you smiled. I wanted to ask you what you're doing in my room but the door creaked open as my parents plodded inside.
“Thank God, you're awake.” my dad ruffled my hair and strode out.
“You have been sleeping for three days.” I sensed the lie in her tone. Something was behind it but she wasn't going to elaborate. Till date, the reason behind your stay with us remained unknown to me but I adored every moment we shared together.
Of those times while washing our clothes, I splashed soapy water in the air which would spatter on your face. You frowned, and I did it again until you retaliated, splashing water directly at my face. I yelled and lunged at you, cupping water at my palms which slipped before I could get you. You stuck out your tongue, pulling the cheek below your eyebrows down. I shook my head, returning back to scooped more water.
Of those times we bustled up inside the bathroom, clustering at the bucket of cold water. My body shivering in the chilly air of the early morning cold. You scrubbed my body with a delicate precision, asking me if the cold was still getting hold of me. The trail of your hands on my skin creating ripples of pleasure were enough to chase the cold so I shook my head and scrubbed yours.
Of those times at night when we lay beside each other. The proximity of our bodies intensified my thudding heart and I inched close to feel your skin. “I like your skin” you said. “I like your eyes.” you didn't reply and my stomach twisted in sadness.
I remember the ember circulating in your eyes when you caught me with the paper I tore from the book you cherished that housed your notes. Your slap stung and you plunged your fist at my chest for the second time.
“Why do you have to tear it!” I gasped, every object rolling upside down before I black out.
I'm trying to remember what happened next but my memories seem hazy. I wonder why I woke up at the hospital I always visit every weekend with my parents. The tests I underwent at the hospital, the ‘don't accept any alcoholic drinks anyone gives you’, ‘drink a lot of water’ and ‘avoid going where there's much smoke’ and daily meditations are ringing a bell in my mind. I stand, dusting my dress. I ignore the stares of my parents scanning my movements. This is the fifth time I'm asking about you, Okenwa.
I scurry to my room, hustling beneath the bedsheet when I catch sight of a similar book to the one you punched me for, at the top of the drawer behind the door. I dash at it, culling the book as the air evaporating from it smelled of dampness.
I skim the pages, finding a lone paper folded in the middle of the book. I unfold and read the familiar handwriting of yours.
Dear Chinemerem,
I believe you may be reading this after I have left. I didn't die as you might be thinking but I have to leave without your parents notice. I'm sorry for punching you which triggered the kidney failure (Acute intrinsic kidney failure) you're experiencing. Your parents had warned me not to let you know about it after the first punch at my former place —the incomplete building.
You're alive because of me and it gives me so much joy that I could help for your kidneys transplant. Now can you guess why I lived with you? Restricted from searching for me, I have returned to my community to ask for my father's forgiveness for running away after he caught me having sex with our neighbor’s grown-up son.
I cherish every moment spent with you but the desire to do what led me out of my hometown was so overwhelming that I have to leave before I turn you like me.
Your friendship is the soft colors of nature, the delicate browns and the sky that deeps to show us the stars, it is an earthiness that lasts a lifetime. You are the friend who believes in me, you believe in any wind or in the face of any rumor. You are the ones who make the cradle for my soul, the very fabric that keeps me warm. And so I thank the universe and every star above that we have made our way together, that our life paths are woven so intricately.
“The Way We See The World was rejected multiple times by magazine that publishes queer-themed fiction. Each rejection came with ‘We love the story but...’ . But what? It wasn't good enough? It doesn't have what you are looking for? Questions like this was what I asked myself and writing began to lose hope, regretting writing it in the first place.”
Ikechukwu Henry is a Nigerian-based fiction writer, and a myth enthusiast. He won the first runner up in RoNovella Writing contest first edition and awarded at Tenacious Writer's Award 2022 for fiction and nonfiction. You can connect with him on Twitter @Ikechukwuhenry_ , Instagram @Ikechukwu01