Tamilore.🌟

It was a warm thursday in January, and people had already began to get over the festivities of the Christmas and new year. Decorative lights had been removed, and everything was slowly going back to normal. For some reasons, I chose to sit at my balcony rather than lay in bed as I always do. As I sat there, watching the world from where I was, I could see a hawker walk past, and two women in front of a house talking. Everywhere was calm, and the air had an unusual freshness. I was about dozing off when I heard the sound of the landline ringing. The last time it had rang was when Funsho was still alive and moreover, who still calls a landline, I thought to myself. I decided to ignore it, because I felt that it might be a network provider calling to advertise something. After about a few minutes after it had rang out, I heard it ring again and decided to go and answer it. Sluggishly, I pulled myself up from my chair and walked into the bedroom.On entering, I glanced at the landline. It was one of the few belongings of Funsho I kept. I walked over to it and placed the receiver beside my ear and answered the call.

Immediately, I heard a familiar voice ring out, ‘Hello computer, how are you?’. The only two people that knew me as ‘computer’ were Mary Anne and Kelvin. And Kelvin died years ago, but this voice didn’t sound like a female’s. ‘This must be a mistake’ I say, ‘My name is -‘ he cut me short and replied, ‘Tamilore Funsho-Peters, a.k.a, computer’. It was at that moment my heart began to race, this voice sounded exactly like Kelvin, but Kelvin was long dead, I thought to myself. Kelvin was my classmate and a member of my clique back in the University. We had dated for a while before I met, fell in love and got married to Funsho. After our graduation, I had tucked my certificate in a corner and settled down to becoming a fulltime housewife. Funsho was a great husband and we hardly quarrelled or disagreed. After about six years into our marriage, I had our first child, a beautiful baby girl, we called her ‘Ewaoluwa’ which meant, ‘beauty of God’. She constantly brought joy and laughter to us. After about two years following Ewaoluwa’s birth, we had a son, ‘Olufemi’ and after two years, we had our last son and child, ‘Omotayo’. We were a happy family, and our joy knew no bounds. When Omotayo, our last child was about three years, Funsho was diagnosed with terminal cancer. His condition began to depreciate at a very quick rate, and about seven months following his diagnosis, he died. I felt like my whole life was shattered. I became a shadow of my old self. I began to ignore my children and sit for hours in silence. Funsho left behind a very large fortune, so I was able to continue living comfortably, send our children to the best schools and still not work. It took the intervention of my sister, to pull me out of my self created gloom. I had to attend series of sessions with a therapist and get a live-in nanny to bring myself back to normal. I even took on a part-time job, in a firm, writing and editing letters. I didn’t need the pay, but getting up in the morning to do something was really exciting. It was one of my off days and my nanny had gone to the market , hence why I was at home alone.

’emm, computer ‘. The voice continued, shaking me out of my thoughts, ‘I know you may be suprised, hearing from me and all, but it’s me, Kelvin James. I tried messaging you from Facebook, and also visited your parents old house, but I couldn’t contact you. I had to go to your husband’s office to ask about you and I was given your house line’ I remained mute, but he continued. ‘Can we meet?’, he asked. I still remained mute. ‘Computer are you there?’ He asked. ‘I am,’ I replied, ‘so how about that, can we meet?’. ‘I’d have think about it’ I say.

‘What’s there to think about?’ He continues, ‘We need to talk, no pressure’. I see that Kelvin hasn’t lost his temper and sharp tongue. ‘You don’t just walk in and out of people’s lives’, I say, ‘Untill five minutes ago, I thought you were dead, the news carried it, about the young journalist who was shot by the terrorists, and now you call me to ask me on a date. For all I know you may be trying to lure me into a trap’, I say. I could hear him breathe heavily and then after a few seconds, he said, ‘Okay, I’d call you back in a few days, I expect your answer by then’ he said. I couldn’t help but notice how much more arrogant he had grown, but this was typical, entitled Kelvin. I sighed as I put down the phone. In a few hours my children would be home and I had to start cooking lunch.

Published by AderemiChukwu

I love writing, I'm an equalist and a strong promoter of egalitarianism and Feminism. I hope to touch lives and make an impact in this world. I'm the next big thing.❀

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