These Memories

A heartbreak piece by Edaki Timothy

Two days after the low Valentine celebration, l broke up with my girlfriend. Sorry, on the contrary, she broke up with me. I logged in to Facebook to meet a lengthy message from her and when I say lengthy, I mean lengthy in every sense of the word.

Her reason wasn’t that I wasn’t good, in fact she attested to the fact that I loved her. Her reason was she herself. She couldn’t go on, she was scared that her past would always find her and haunt her and she didn’t want that for me. She couldn’t bear to watch me see her in pain. She said she had been hurt and brutalized.

At first, I was pissed. I didn’t want to reply the message but I did (some crazy things we do for love). I told her I knew that she was a fragment of many pieces that she was distraught, scattered like broken china in the sun (J.P Clark) with scars on her heart. I told her we would be fine but she should open up and tell me this episode of her life that leads her to an epiphany of regrets.

I told her I knew she wasn’t perfect before we became a couple, we all have our chequered past, so sharing this problem with me might be her ticket out of this misery.

She said she was sexually assaulted by her cousin when she was younger. I felt stabbed in the heart. I wasn’t blaming her and I didn’t cry but I was disturbed. I told her we couldn’t chat about that, I said I’ll call her that morning because it was quite late. The time was 12:20am.

I remembered one of my course mate, Elizabeth, who said out of every 4 girls, one has been sexually molested. I make a mental note to see her after class.

The next day, Elizabeth and I are sitting beside one of the statues on campus, the one nicknamed Sisi Ekehuan. I tell her I’ll be submitting for a non-fiction contest. I am only saying that to reduce the tension building between us because of what I am going to ask. She asks for the theme. I tell her unclear memories. I do not remember now but somehow I presented the question to her. I tell her that she once told me she’s been sexually abused, that can she remember and lucidly explain to me what happened. She closes her eyes and says I am the first person she’ll be sharing this information with. She says the event still looks lucid but at the same time her recollection of it is hazy, like walking in a windy fog.

She says he is her brother’s friend. He is 15 at that time, she is only 6. She says he comes visiting but her brother is not home, she lets him in anyway. He sits with her in the sitting room to watch a cartoon while he waits for her brother. She is indifferent to his presence. She doesn’t think he can hurt her, after all he is her brother’s friend and he has always been nice to her. They’ve been sitting down for over an hour when he says he’ll like to use the bathroom. Pressed that’s the word he uses, she says. She tells him where. First door on your right. He says she should show him. She doesn’t want to miss any part of the cartoon but she accedes to his request. While she is standing up, he asks her if during those children play of mummy and daddy anyone has touched her. She shakes her head in disapproval. Mummy says no one must do that.

In the bathroom, he brings out his manhood and tells her to suck it. She is startled. Scared is more like it. She makes to scream but he slaps her mouth shut. He drags her by the hair into the room, and tears her cloth. She says sometimes, the strength to scream just deserts us. She is too surprised, too startled, shocked, nonplussed to shout or fight. She just lies there helplessly while he shoves his organ roughly inside her. He heaves up and down then collapse in one fit of ecstasy. She is crying. He puts on his clothes and tells her to be quiet, that he will kill her and her family if she whispers a word to anyone.

He leaves her scattered beneath the sheets. The perfect man.

She tells me that many things happen. She tells her step mum but her story is regarded as a lie. After all, she’s the daughter of a whore. She is punished because of it. Beaten. Ridiculed. She cries but not even the stars, her favorite friends can comfort her.

She says the memories of those events are not clear enough, that she doesn’t remember every single thing but she says she’ll go with it to her death. She says she’ll never forget. By now, she’s crying. I wipe her tears, tell her all will be fine, and then I walk her home.

Unclear memories. The two words keep echoing in my head too. I think of my girlfriend too. Does she have these unclear memories that never leave?

I pick my phone after I write this essay. I type a message to my girlfriend: Baby I love you with all your past. I love you!

Edaki Timothy is a Nigerian born writer, currently an undergraduate student. He usually refers to himself as a deep thinker, a bohemian, an adventurous lad, a mystery lover and an avid reader. His greatest fear is writing a book. You can follow him on Twitter @EdakiTimothy.