Hey everyone! We are back again with the second part of Bottles up still by Ayomickey Paseda. You have to read the first part if you haven’t, its really worth the read. Don’t forget to comment(very important), share and subscribe if you don’t want to miss any post. Enjoy!
“Okay would you at least assist me in setting the table?” That I could do, so we took out the Chinas to set up the dining table. The tension at the living room happened to have risen to a point of no return with my parents and segun. I could see the fear on his face, like he wanted to enter into the ground. He happened to have made an inappropriate comment about dad’s office without even realizing it, and mum just really hated the way he talked like an illiterate. Dinner was quiet. Mum kept snaring at me, dad, at segun and semilore seemed to be more interested in the television, even though it had been muted. Dinner ended after my third drink and so I escorted segun quietly to his car, he drove out and never called me after that day. That was the day the parents gave up on me. That was the day I regained my freedom.
The piano starts off and everyone takes a stand. “Here comes the bride, all dressed in white…” my beautiful baby sister walks down the aisle with her hands in my fathers who by the way is sobbing rather loudly. The chapel service is so beautiful and everywhere smells of lavender and love, literally. I could have tried harder to pretend like I was having the best time, but I simply didn’t want to. Weddings are always awfully long and pertaining to my ‘situation’, I have to smile and listen to every relative and even some people I don’t even know, talking to me about how Gods time is the best and how I shouldn’t give up on finding a spouse because ‘he’ is out there. I’m metaphorically pinching myself, hoping for the reception to start really soon so I could at least have a drink and excuse myself from all of the drama.
The reception was even more beautiful than the chapel service. The reception hall was a small one which scented like a garden of flowers. There were small ponds with floating gardenia blossoms at every corner of the hall alongside little white and gold ceramic topiaries filled with luxurious bouquets of white roses and lilies of the valley. Chandeliers and white ranunculuses were dropping from the ceiling in silver glittery stems as though the ceiling was crying beautifully. The front of the hall had a backdrop with all kinds of white flowers taped individually, a table by the side with a tall cake sitting gloriously and a table for two at the other end for the new couple. Long tables were set for a fairytale banquet with white pillar candles, already lit, lending the hall some glitter and glow. The tables were set with accented crystal chargers, goblets and place cards topped with baby roses. My place card read “Okiki”. As I sat at my table, the first distinguishing feature was the lack of wine or any liquor. I looked around and noticed that every other table had at least a tall bottle of Laurent Perrier rose champagne. I decided to ignore and just focus on dancing in with the bride so on my way out of the hall to the garden area where every immediate member of my family was assembling, waiting on the chairman of events to call on us, I overhear two aunties at the east table jabbering loudly about me and then I moved closer. In my heart, I knew moving closer was only going to hurt me and that I didn’t need to know what they might have been saying but I was curious about why they were laughing so hard. Two steps in, standing behind a topiary “…as to think bola’s first daughter is an alcoholic, I wonder how she will ever be able to nurse a child with so much kparaga in her system”.
“And she is fine oh, my son used to be all about her before she traveled for her masters in the states…he said she came back a whole new person, always with a drink in her hand, hopping from man to man”
“Yes oh, I think I saw her by the shop a while ago with one man old enough to be her father, how wouldn’t she be at her younger sister’s wedding alone. Ashewo ni omo yen”.
Immediately, I felt this sharp pain in my gut like someone used a fish hook to literally yank at my heart. I can feel hot tears welling up but I cannot afford to let my guard down, crying in front of shameless old skanks who hop from one party to the other with nylon bags to carry remnant food and sometimes drinks- the typical owambe.
“I’m not really an alcoholic am i?” I find myself mumbling this so many times I mix up the words a bit. At this point, I don’t really remember where I was heading to in the first place and so I sit at an entirely different table stealing a few drinks, getting up only when I’m not well enough to stand. At this point, I am full of regret and I wish I hadn’t drunk so much, but again, if wishes were horses, I would have… I find myself straying to secret corners of my thoughts, so secret I am not allowed to think about them even though most times, they sort of call out to me in seduction. The one thing I know about pain is that it loves company and would never miss a chance to inflict its presence on others, sort of like a bully. I miss who I was without my pain; I’m so akin to her now that I’ve named her Sheba. Sheba is always there when I’m broken and alone. Sheba is always there when my hands are empty.
The live band starts to sing and I can tell that I’m late for something and so in authenticity of heart, I run towards the entrance where we are supposed to match in from. Everyone seems to be dancing round my sister as the talking drums chant her orikis, some of which cause reacting “ayys” from my happy family members especially my mother who from her dressing could pass for the Olori of a really wealthy king. I notice a change in my sister’s outfit. She is wearing a peach silhouette dress, As opposed to the white Cinderella dress she had on previously. She looks so beautiful and happy. What will it cost to feel that way for even a day? I’d have whatever she drank. In the middle of the dancing, my head starts spinning and I try to sit down for a bit. One aunty holds me up smiling, “we aren’t done yet”. I already know that this is the beginning of trouble, so I try to excuse myself before I burst out but no one apparently will let me leave the circle. The spinning in my head transcends to my stomach. I piss myself and vomit on the dance floor.
“Breathe”.
TO BE CONTINUED.
