Love, a damning word. I met her in the space where the sun never deigns to shine: a barren wasteland. She was my desire. Also my everything at one point.
“Do you love me?” She asked.
“Of course. That’s a silly question, who wouldn’t love you? You’re like a breath of fresh air.” I effused, trying to be dramatic as usual.
“Then, leave me. Don’t call me; don’t try to reach out to me. If you love me, obey my wishes.”
The world tilted on its axis as her words became barbed wires, searing through my insides. I found it difficult to breathe or even think. I was drowning, literally. But I walked away. As one last act of salvation, I didn’t turn back to look at the expression she had on her face. The sun shone as usual, the trees billowed in the wind, and Lagos was still the busiest city I’d ever been in. The conductors still screamed at the top of their lungs, and passengers jostled for seats. The smell of smoke was heavy as a trailer tried to maneuver its way through the traffic. Many vehicles began to horn as the trailer kept blocking the way. It sounded like a crescendo, each horn louder than the last. Lagos was alive, but I wasn’t. I was as dead as the fig tree Jesus cursed once. There was no salvation; only damnation awaited me.
When Sylvia called me the day before, I didn’t think much of it. She lived in Surulere while I lived in Ikotun. The distance was over an hour most mornings due to the traffic-congested roads. I left early enough if I wanted to see her. Her parents were normal 6-6 workers, and because of the traffic, they left home earlier than usual. I visited Sylvia when she was home, and her parents weren’t. Since we both went to different JAMB tutorials, we could only meet on assigned days. I visited Sylvia on a Saturday; she invited me over, though. We met in her backyard when she more or less called me out of my house and made me take two buses and a bike to her place. I would have preferred she broke up with me over the phone. I used the money aside for bread and beans as my transport fare. But strangely enough, I didn’t blame her one bit. Sylvia was an enigma; her actions were nothing short of precise.
I walked away in a daze, hoping that maybe it was April 1st and she was playing a prank on me. The bus conductor almost slapped me after he asked for the fare, but I didn’t produce it on time. He probably likened me to someone trying to weasel his way out of paying. I paid eventually and went back home. The first thing I did as I pulled my slippers at the door mouth was to find a place to charge my phone. I had 100 naira left. Even though I hadn’t eaten, I needed to find a way to converse with her.
The time was 4 pm, but she’d not yet contacted me. Her last seen read 3:45 pm. Yet my messages remained unread. I couldn’t even view her status, and I didn’t need a soothsayer to tell me she muted me. I waited until 8 pm before I texted her again. This time, she opened my messages but didn’t reply. I watched my phone alert me to its low battery. There has been no light in my house for five months. There is no generator either. The transformer had issues, and apparently, nobody cared about a backwater area like my street. I needed to charge my phone, and once it crossed 9 pm, nobody would open their door for me. So, I left a few messages and left my house to charge at a neighbor’s when my phone began the countdown before going off. Using an ITEL phone was embarrassing sometimes.
I knocked on the door softly, hearing voices from within. I waited a few seconds, but no one came to the door. I knocked again a little louder, but even though I could hear the children's voices inside, nobody even bothered to open the door.
Five minutes became ten.
Ten became twenty.
Yet, I kept knocking.
I exhausted myself and went to another neighbor, but the same happened. It was almost 9 pm by then. I went back to my house, the pitch-black darkness awaiting me within. Without torchlight guiding my way, I used my fingers to feel in the darkness, looking for a solid surface. Was I sad I couldn’t charge? Yes. Was I sad generally? Hell no. I’d have whistled if I wasn’t scared of snakes appearing in the darkness. I walked into my room and shut the door with an inaudible click.
Sylvia wasn’t talking to me. Sylvia hated me.
The thought was predominant in my mind, tearing me apart. She told me to leave. I wanted to talk to her, but I didn’t know how. I couldn’t go back to her place because I used my feeding allowance for three days to go there since it was impromptu. Then, I had no phone, no means to charge, and no food to eat—such a funny dilemma. But then, I knew there was an explanation for everything, and subsequently, Sylvia would explain. I just wished she had done that while I was in her place.
The madness began the next day. When I woke up, it was as though I heard a ringing sound in my head, alerting me to something. I knew something had gone wrong, but I didn’t know what.
Sylvia. Sylvia was wrong. There was no way to explain it. I tried racking my head to remember what she looked like and how we met, but I couldn’t dredge up a single memory of what the past year was like with Sylvia. It was as though the memories had been entirely blotted out of my head. I sat up with fear ringing in my heart, trying to recall the memory of the girl I loved before I knew what love was. Nothing came.
This memory is obsolete. Delete.
This memory is obsolete. Delete.
This memory is obsolete. Delete.
One after the other, I began to lose memories of her. The voice in my head was monotonous, like an AI executing a task.
“No, no!!!” I screamed out loud, anxiety overriding my senses. Although alone in my room, I quickly covered my mouth when I realized I had screamed out loud. Mum left early; her job paid stipends, but defaulting for even a day or going late was enough to shear the meager salary into two. It was a harsh life, but we had to survive nonetheless.
“What was that?” I asked the air. No response was forthcoming, but at least the voice in my head stopped until it resumed again.
Deleting obsolete memories. 70% complete.
“OH GOD WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?” I screamed, scrambling for something, anything, to end the nightmare in my head. I didn’t want to forget her, and I didn’t want to lose what we had. But I couldn’t even remember her face. Was she dark? Fair? What kind of eyes did she have? Big eyes that are best for the puppy dog look? Small eyes that enamored people to her? Who is she? Who was she?
Deleting obsolete memories. 85% complete.
Did she have a name? A hobby?
Deleting obsolete memories. 95%
What was I thinking about? Or rather, who?
Deleting obsolete memories. 99%
I was hungry. I stood up from the bed to look for my allowance in the pocket of my faded jeans trousers where I usually kept it. Didn’t see anything. I turned the trousers upside down and shook them, but still, nothing. I knew that nobody could steal my money; I didn’t have a lot to begin with. Also, I knew that I might have spent the money; I didn’t know how.
Deletion complete. Obsolete memories eradicated.
I tuned out the voice; I didn’t recognize its source. It's probably my mind playing tricks on me again. I felt famished that day even though I didn’t have any money. I went to the tutorial I attended anyway, hoping that someone would give me something to eat out of the kindness of their heart. I wasn’t a fan of begging—not if I could help it. Even though my allowance was not significant, I made do with the little I had.
The tutorial was no different, and I went that day with my phone and charger in tow. At least I could charge my phone even though I couldn’t remember exactly why I killed it. I usually ensured it was about 15% before turning it off so it wouldn’t die completely. When I arrived, I saw some other students exchanging knowing looks like I had something on my head. I hated being out of the loop, and seeing as the lecturer gave me a knowing look, I felt like the joke was to my detriment.
A girl in a sky blue skirt entered the classroom, and suddenly, everybody stood up as though rehearsed and started to sing the Happy Birthday song. It was unnerving. But then I remembered, it was indeed my birthday. They didn’t have to go so far, though; I forgot about it in the first place. The girl in a sky blue skirt with two bows on her hair looked excited like she’d pulled a major heist.
“So, are you not surprised?” She asked, all smiles.
“I uh… I am. But, who are you?” I asked with curiosity in my voice, wondering who this pretty girl who went out of her way to celebrate my birthday was. The class became eerily silent. It seemed as though even the wind stilled.
“You’re joking… right?” She asked me, looking from me to my classmates. I didn’t get the point since I was not too fond of lies.
“I messed up, but I didn’t want to ruin your surprise. Please don’t do this. Don’t be petty.” She spoke, her voice quivering slightly. I didn’t know why the girl in front of me was almost in tears or why my classmates were looking at me like I was the world’s worst scum. This time, there were mutters and whispers. I caught a few.
…probably the unforgiving sort. Why would she even choose him?
He doesn’t deserve her—such public humiliation. I won’t be surprised if she cries herself to sleep tonight.
I heard so much stuff that I couldn’t make sense of. For one, the animosity was building up scarily fast. I couldn’t even blink, or they’d tag it as a sign of hostility.
“You’ve never lied to me. Do you really not remember me?” She asked again, staring intently at my face.
“I’m sorry, I don’t. But you seem like such a nice person; please don’t be disappointed on my account.” I said, my eyes and body finding her attractive but still somewhat foreign.
“It’s fine. I know you’re telling the truth. Give me 100 days. If you don’t remember me after that, feel free to send me out of your life. Deal?” She held out a hand. I took it.
“Deal.”
I didn’t know who the eccentric girl was, but she stole my attention immediately. She was alluring, and I didn’t know what a beautiful girl like her would want with me, but I played her game anyway.
*
On the first day, she asked to visit my home.
I’d never been a fan of strangers visiting, so I declined. No matter how beautiful she was, I still had no idea who she was or her motives.
“It’s fine; would you like a book to read?” She asked me, and my eyes immediately lit up. I loved books so much. I was shocked she could pinpoint that by discussing it with me once.
“That would be great, thank you,” I spoke, stamping down on my excitement. I didn’t know her, but I enjoyed her company already. Also, she was patient with me even though the comments from others were nothing short of hostile.
“You have that look in your eyes again, the one that shows just how much of a mad genius lurks underneath that unassuming façade.” She was all smiles while she talked. I considered it creepy. I didn’t even think of myself as anything close to a genius. She was trying to butter me up, but it wouldn’t work. Things were progressing too quickly for my peace of mind.
“If that’s all you have to say, I’ll go now. Thanks for the book.” I waved as I walked away, and instead of wearing a sullen expression, she waved back with gusto. I couldn’t figure her out, try as I did. My phone was filled with chats I couldn’t recognize, so I deleted everything and started afresh.
On the second day, she appeared in my tutorial again, this time with an apple. It had always been my favorite fruit. She got two and handed me one. I thanked her and devoured it in record time.
On the third day, she got me a music player. It had a hundred of my favorite songs. They were arranged in alphabetical order. My mouth was opened in shock. I didn’t know when she dropped it in my lap and left. She was too spontaneous, and I looked out for her return.
On the fourth day, she gave me a set of rings. Anybody would think it was a promissory thing, but I knew better. It was my favorite aesthetic. It started to seem like she knew me more than I knew myself.
On the fifth day, she didn’t come. Sixth too. On the seventh day, I was becoming anxious. She’d said a hundred. What if she gave up? I felt a pang in my chest that I couldn’t recognize. I stood outside my house on the eighth day, the wind caressing my skin. She hadn’t shown up for three days in a row. I was starting to think she had finally deemed it a lost cause, and I felt disappointed.
One day turned into three, three turned into a week, and a week turned into a month. Yet, she didn’t show up. I decided to forget about her and chalk it all up to stories I’d tell my children when I grew up about the girl who came into my life randomly and disappeared as swiftly as she came.
On the fifteenth day of the second month, she disappeared; she returned. This time, I was washing clothes in the backyard, and she tiptoed towards me, masking her presence. Then, she placed her hand over my eyes. I didn’t need to turn to know who it was because a calmness filled my soul. The smell of her wasn’t all over the place; it was fragrant, like the smell of the ocean and the wild plants. She reminded me of nature.
“Guess who?” A cliché. But since it was her, it was permissible.
“My dead cat?” I replied in the same vein, and I didn’t need to look at her to know that she was frowning.
“That’s mean.” She replied, taking her hands off my face. I turned to look back at her, and her face looked petulant, her lips protruding in a pout.
“I don’t think I need to ask how you found your way here since you’ve always done whatever you wanted,” I said without preamble, and she rolled her eyes.
“Did you miss me?” She asked, and I couldn’t tell if she was being rhetorical. I wondered about her, but that didn’t mean I missed her. Far from it, actually.
“I don’t know,” I answered truthfully, hoping she’d understand. I saw the flash of hurt cross her face before she schooled her facial features into casual indifference.
“It’s fine. What are you up to?” She asked again, and I almost rolled my eyes. She was acting nervous, so I didn’t mention it. Although I couldn’t tell why she was nervous, we’d just begun talking. Or maybe it was about the 100 days? I didn’t mind, but I needed her to stop acting like that. It was weird since she didn’t owe me anything.
“Washing.” I pointed to the clothes I was washing before she arrived. She nodded. She stared at the pile of clothes before me. She nibbled on her fingers in thoughtfulness, but I wasn’t in the mood.
“Do you know my name now?” She asked, and I raised my eyebrows in surprise. I got to know her name from a friend. Sylvia. My phone had conversations with her; I couldn’t remember. It wasn’t just on WhatsApp. Snapchat, Twitter, Instagram, everywhere! At a point, I began to feel a headache wracking my being. Try as I did to deny it, I knew that the girl in front of me was special, but I didn’t know why. It was as though a wedge was thrown into my brain, and try as I did, I couldn’t make it budge. My mind remembered everything except her. It didn’t make any sense.
“Sylvia. Since you didn’t outrightly tell me, I had to find out.” I responded as sincerely as I could, and the smile she sent my way was enough to lighten a cathedral.
“One point for you! Also, I’m sorry I disappeared the way I did. I needed to research some things. The phenomenon of your amnesia has no precedence. I’m sorry if it seems like I’m prying. But it excites me. I am getting to know you all over again. To see the nuances that you’ve hidden from the world. I know I’m just another girl to you, someone who bugs you ceaselessly. But I can’t let you go. I can’t let everything go. I love you beyond myself, beyond anything I ever thought. How do I quantify the love I have for you? How do I explain it in words that you can understand? Languages fail me; I’m sorry if it seems like I’m coming on too strong. But then… I won’t lose you.”
At that moment, I lost my breath. I couldn’t explain the feeling that overwhelmed my being. She spoke to me with such intensity I was floored. The sincerity in her eyes couldn’t be feigned; she had so much more to lose than I did. I admired her, her courage especially.
“I’m sorry I can’t say it back. I don’t know you yet. But for what it’s worth, I think you’re beautiful. Also, thank you for the gifts. I’ll always treasure them. But what did you say about research? What did you find out?” I asked, unable to bridle my excitement. Was it selective amnesia? Why did I forget just her? Why not everybody else?
“It’s fine. The research didn’t yield as much as I expected. Since it was an unprecedented case, there was little I could do. The field of Psychology showed me a few things, but none explained anything. Alzheimer’s was the conclusion at one point. Since finding out that some illnesses are not restricted to just old age, I was able to broaden my horizons. I also thought about multiple personality disorders. It was exciting. But that wasn’t it. I found a research paper purely based on a hypothesis. It talked about a memory being so hurtful the brain filters it out. The most painful memories don’t stay with us; our minds deliberately shield us from things too harmful to remember. Although, not always. Just during extreme situations.”
I stared at her in open-mouthed wonder, wondering if anybody had ever gone that far for me before. I couldn’t remember.
“I don’t know what to say… I’m just grateful you think I’m worth all this stress. I don’t know if this is presumptuous of me, but.. can we be friends?” I asked before my momentary courage could fly out the window.
“Oh. While I’m honored… we can’t. I can’t stand it.” She spoke as honestly as she could, and I felt my energy deflate. I was shot down. Totally.
“Don’t get funny ideas. I can’t stand seeing you and calling you just a friend. I’ll stop by later. I don’t know when, though. But I know I’m already more than halfway past the original deadline. 100 days. I’ll prove it to you beyond reasonable doubt. So please… wait for me.” She didn’t wait for my response before she turned away and returned to where she came from. I held the clothes I was washing and wondered if I was dreaming. It turned out I wasn’t.
The days flew past. She didn’t return. After a week and more, she didn’t return. I waited. I did. She didn’t return.
*
When did I realize I was in love with her? When did my heart begin to hurt whenever I thought about her? Her boldness, her madness. Her eccentricities. When did I start to watch the door, hoping she’d step in anytime? When did I let her steal my heart right out of my chest?
I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t remember. And that hurt more than anything else. I found myself toying with the ideas she put in my head, wondering if I’d ever had somebody go so far for me before. Probably not. That’s why it hit even harder.
When I saw her from afar one sunny afternoon, she mumbled. She looked hagged and disheveled. I ran towards her, not a care in the world. Her eyes lit up when she saw me, and she held a hand out for a handshake. I stopped in my steps. I was about to pull her into a hug—a friendly one. I scratched the back of my head bashfully, wondering how I would explain it to her. I was too forward.
“Hey. I look like a homeless kid. Don’t come too close before I rub my sweat and grime on you. Researching is harder than I thought, but I’ve made a leeway. First off, let’s leave the sun. I don’t want to be cooked more than I already have.” I nodded in concordance, and we found a shade to sit under. It's more like a pavement at the front of a closed shop.
“So, what did you find out?” I asked, trying to stifle the eagerness in my voice.
“I think you’d have to brace yourself for this.” She responded with the most severe expression I’d ever seen her wear.
“Okay. Hit me.” I responded in kind.
“You’re dying. They say it’s stage 4 cervical cancer. You lose all your brain functions eventually. But it starts with losing memories.” She didn’t go into details, doing her best not to look at me. I didn’t need to be told it was the 100th day. Her eyes were teary, but she refused to shed a tear. I understood that, too. She needed to act strong. She needed to be strong.
“I’m losing you all over again.” She said with a slight laughter that had no humor in it. There was pain there.
“You’re not losing me. You can’t lose me.” I responded, hoping to get through to her. Didn’t work.
“Do you remember when you kissed me the first time? And you said my lips tasted like sawdust? I smacked you over the head. Do you remember?” I could hear the desperation in her tone, but I didn’t want her to break. I didn’t want her to. She was too strong. I didn’t want her to hurt on my behalf.
“I don’t remember. But, we can have another first.” I replied as I pulled her close, placing my lips on the bridge of her nose. The tears she held back began to pour while I kissed them away. There was no rush, and I held onto her as my lips paid homage to her beautiful face.
“Your lips taste like salt,” I said, eliciting a burst of laughter from her. This time, it was the humorous kind.
“I’ve been crying; what did you expect?” She playfully hit me on the shoulder. It hurt a little. We wiped her tears, and I promised to go for checkups the next day. A week after that… I couldn’t deny it anymore. I was dying.
*
They say you treasure life when you’re about to lose it, and they tell you to pray for a second chance to right the wrongs. They never lied. Lying in that hospital bed, I prayed for a miracle. I wanted to be with Sylvia a little longer. To respectfully farewell to the family who loved and cared for me. To kiss Sylvia’s tears away once again and serenade her with songs and outlandish stories—I wanted to live. I wanted to live. I wanted to live.
I couldn’t stand the thought of death. I was leaving her, leaving everything. I couldn’t stand it. I wasn’t sure I could survive the pain.
“Why do you look like the world has deserted you? Smile, you big doofus.” She pulled me out of my despair. She was arms akimbo, staring at my pathetic self. I couldn’t understand why she bothered with me.
“So, I need to brief you on how I found out. I know you’ve been dying to know. I noticed strands of your hair were falling out the last time we met. I took a few strands to a doctor I know. She was honest with me. I asked about your behavioral patterns and if you had lapses in your memory. I explained my observations, and she showed me the symptoms. I couldn’t believe it; I didn’t want to. But after we did various tests and it was confirmed, I decided to make the most of it anyway.” I nodded, listening to her without interrupting. I was already beginning to forget the faces of those in my tutorial. They seemed like a far-off reality. I talked to Sylvia some more before visiting hours were over. When she left, I was left with my thoughts again.
I didn’t want to die, but I could feel life slipping out my palms like the way my hair kept falling off. I decided I’d have it shorn the next day. There was so much I wanted to do, so little time.
Time runs so fast when you want it to slow down. All the words I didn’t say, all the things I couldn’t do… everything. That night when I slept, I heard the same damning AI’s voice again.
Restoring obsolete memories. 5% complete.
A girl with a smile that nobody could forget. She was eating an ice cream.
Restoring obsolete memories. 30% complete.
A girl holding a kite. She was flying it with me even if I couldn’t see her face. It was clear she was happy.
Restoring obsolete memories. 60%
A girl was telling me about the sun’s bullying. A girl holding my hand and showing me the constellation at night. It was a party. I couldn’t remember whose.
Restoring obsolete memories. 90%.
She is singing to me this time, her voice raising the hair on my body. She was a melodious wonder. I clapped after the private performance, placing a kiss on her lips. She squealed in glee.
Restoring obsolete memories. 99%.
When she turned to look at me, her eyes twinkled with mischief, a small smile playing on her lips. She hugged me and said I love you. I couldn’t breathe. I knew that voice. That face. It was Sylvia.
I was crying even though I knew I could never open my eyes again. My memories were back, and my life was forfeit. But it was worth it.
For Sylvia. My 100 Days.
*
I do not remember,
What it’s like to smile.
Will you teach me,
All over again?
A funeral. You lied. When you said you’d be with me forever, you lied. But it’s okay. We all lie, even to ourselves, especially to ourselves.
You said you’d live. You’d fight.
But you’re alive. Within me. Somehow. Now and always. Your 100 Days.
-Slyvia.