Abimbola Adebayo

***

That morning, Mr. Adeniyi took his family to Emeka’s house. He wanted to talk to him about everything and he wanted to apologize for acting rashly the previous day. He planned to say, “Emeka you are my son. I love you more than this homosexualism; it is you that matters to me.” Emeka’s door was opened and they let themselves in. Mrs. Adeniyi had prepared breakfast; after speaking with him, they would all go back to their house to eat and Emeka would sleep over.

The house was quiet. Mrs. Adeniyi called out to him, but there was no response. “I hope he has not left us again,” Mr. Adeniyi said anxiously. Dami and Muyiwa ran upstairs in search of him, they both screamed when they reached his bedroom. Mr. and Mrs. Adeniyi looked at each other and made for the staircase, running as fast as their legs could take them. Emeka’s body was dangling from the ceiling. They were all shaken. The boys had not seen a lifeless body before, it was cryptic. The boys and their father managed to cut him loose; they laid his pale body on the bed, confused.

Mr. Adeniyi began to sob as if it just dawned on him that Emeka was gone. His sons joined him, they were all bitter and aching. “Son why? Why did you do this to me? Please, I’m so sorry. Forgive me. What am I going to tell my older sons?” Mr. Adeniyi blabbed.

His wife held his shoulders. “It’s not your fault. We need to call the police,” she said as tears rolled down her cheeks. She and her children knew that Emeka was suicidal, but they had come in late; he beat them to it. What nerves?” she asked herself. Suicide is one of the hardest decisions any man can make; it’s even harder than the pressing challenges that may lead him to it. Mrs. Adeniyi heaved deeply.

 “I’ll get my phone from the house,” she said as she walked out of the room. When she reached her house she picked up her phone from the dining table; but instead of making the call, she sat on the floor and began to cry, hugging herself as she did. Her heart was throbbing. From where she was, she heard the loud sobbing of her family from the next house. She managed to call the police on her mobile phone and then she walked back to Emeka’s house to await them.

When she got there, Emeka began to cough. She stopped in her tracks. Emeka’s lips moved, he coughed and stroked his throat gently. It was a miracle. They all rushed to his side. Mrs. Adeniyi hushed him up and called the ambulance, rambling into the mouthpiece of her mobile phone. They were all glad.

“I can’t wait for the ambulance. Let’s take him to the hospital; I’ll get the car,” Mr. Adeniyi said as he jumped to his feet. He thanked God for a second chance, he was going to make things right this time around.

“Emeka,” Muyiwa whispered as he stroked Emeka’s pale palm, refusing to look away from him; “don’t ever go away,” he said.

Emeka smiled weakly, his throat burned. “Going away does not do anything,” he whispered back as tears rolled down his face. He was happy that he survived.

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