ROOMIE.

The crumpled up bed sheet stares at my sorry face blankly as I try to fight back the stray tears for the umpteenth time. That was her favorite bed sheet. She adored it. I admired it. I still do. She promised to hand it over to me on graduation day; freshmen as we were. She was generous like that.

The bed sheet is just one of the many items that my already bloodshot eyes cannot avoid. They dart to her underwear which hugs the hanger on the rusted nail on the wall, like a monument. She used to say “it’s all part of the décor.” Her wardrobe is ajar and her scattered clothes fill the inside. Her weapons of mass destruction-make up kit, cosmetics, waist trainers and hair extensions look lifeless on her dressing table.

Just yesterday, she had started a vlog centered on her life in college. She was a queen of rants and dry jokes. She declared that if she didn’t get up to thirty views for the first twenty minutes, she would strip for the webcam. She got one view, from me and she stripped afterwards. I hid her laptop while she was moisturizing. I recall her ecstatic mood the day she spoke to her lover-zoned friend for hours about stuff that sounded inappropriate to me. She cringed when I tried to talk about the inappropriateness; blabbed about everything and nothing then dragged me nearer for a funny-face selfie. I didn’t make a funny face. She did, for us two. She was generous like that.

Last night, she returned from her friend’s birthday party looking tired. She flung her modesty on the floor, muttered “nighty night” to insomniac me and dozed off, naked. I found myself gaping at her, her nudity, her being. We were just two weeks into college and she was my best friend already. I watched her sleep peacefully- no snore, overturning, sleep-talking or lip-biting. That was strange. Then she let out her usual glass-breaking fart and I smiled sheepishly. I spat afterwards. She was a douche bag.

Staring at our Jerusalem now isn’t helping me at all. I’m afraid I’ll cry till my eyes go blind. Yes, she didn’t wake up this morning. Yes, I called for help and she was taken to the hospital. Yes, they said she was no more but, but maybe, just maybe, she’s still sleeping. Maybe, her deep slumber after last night’s hangover isn’t over yet. Maybe, she’s dreaming of a stunt to pull on her vlog to get more viewers. I could be wrong about these assumptions. I should be. Deep down, I know I am.

However, I prefer to stick to them for now. I’ll live by them now. If or when they fail me, I will leave. I’ll leave our room, our bond, our Jerusalem. I’ll ditch college too.

©Chisom Okwara, 2015.