WARNING! WARNING! WARNING!

Do not turn this page if you are in a perfect relationship. Do not turn this page if someone you love reciprocated the love you show. Do not turn this page if you are a fan of classic literature. It would bore you. I repeat, it would bore you___but; if you insist on turning this page, you must swear to remain silent FOREVER.Repeat after me: I, ______ do promise not to reveal any secret I may discover when I turn to the following pages. Now, we are even; if I hear the secrets from another person’s mouth, I will assume you broke your promise and I will come after YOU.

On my reading desk,
Somewhere on planet earth.

To my #precious (In Smiggle’s voice),
To Kimberly,
Many thoughts strayed my mind when I decided to compose this piece. What would she think? Would she like it? Would she look at me differently? Anyways, I knew I had to start from somewhere.
There is a tingling sensation I feel in my thoracic cavity when I think of you; some people call it infatuation, some call it passion and others call it love, but these descriptions don’t exactly depict the Elysian feeling, the euphoria that swell around me when my retina captures your image. For a long while, I have thought to feel you, to behold you, to adore you, to know the little things that puts a smile on your face, the things you find hilarious, to know the little things that upset you, how to express myself to you and when to give you privacy.
I miss us. It intrigues me how far we have come together. I remember the first time I called you Kimberly. It was during a Physics class and the lecturer asked me to call the register. I tried so hard to pronounce Omolola Dara so I made conscious effort to pronounce Kimberly the Queen’s way. I recall the smile that enveloped your face and the dimples that made an arc on your cheeks when I teased you that as Kim Kardashian means so much to Kanye West, you mean the entire world to me. You run my world girl! I recall the times we laughed together, the times I amused you and the times you were sarcastic with me. There’s a time I replied “Do I look Igbo?” to a a question asked about my tribe and you laughed at my poor grammar. Or the time I argued with our English language lecturer that waters is a correct grammar. I could hear your laughter when the lecturer rained abuses on me. I recall that since that day, you gave me a nickname drwaters in addition to big head, Igbotic, rich boy and ishie you previously called me( although at first I disliked the name, I reasoned later on that if you liked it, who am I not to like it?)
Over time, I have become used to your teases at my speech. You would always chortle when I am as asked to read a passage either in class or in church; telling me that my “H-factor” made me to sound silly. You once corrected me on the proper pronunciation of psuchology; prior to that time, I pronounced the word as p-sai-cho-lo-gy and since then, I have kept both the correct pronunciation and it’s meaning abreast.
There was a day I saw you in my church. My heart literally skipped a beat. To my surprise, I was told that you recently became a member of my church. Raw ecstasy ran through my veins as I reasoned that I could behold your beautiful face everyday save on Saturday. God is too kind to me. Kimberly looks like a goddess in her wine sequin gown. Just look at how the gown looks beautiful on her, her curves are perfect, her smiles are radiating like the sun, her hips and the two soft pillows on her chest give her the perfect hour glass shape. While these thoughts were processing, you ran into me. “Hey Waters! I didn’t know you attended this church. Can you help me with my phone? I think something is wrong with it. Come, let me show you where I kept it.” When I returned moments later, one of my friends, whom I had previously been discussing with, with suspicious eyes said “So you didn’t tell me that you were dating Kimberly because I have never seen you smile so sheepishly the way you did when she called you and the speed at which you ran is intriguing .” That was the day that I realised that I had since been love struck; and my feelings for you were not instantaneous instead, they had germinated, nurtured and matured overtime.
Pardon me because I have been your devoted stalker. I always take record of whatever cloth you wear to church. I know which earring you wear also- you prefer the loop or dangly earrings on native attires and the stud earrings on casual or corporate attires. I keep record of the times you wear make-up and paint your nails. I even know your favourite seat in church. Whenever I glance at the seat and still meet it empty, I would wait expectantly, stealing glances at the church door, awaiting your glorious entry. I would hope you would walk in majestically with your favourite mini bag, take a seat, cross your legs and be the queen that you are. If I was asked, I could easily tell how many times you wore a skirt or a pair of trousers to church.
Do you remember the first time we met? Look at you! I know you will never forget. You worked at a grocery store in my neighbourhood. What exactly did I want to buy that day? Oh yes! I remember. Mangoes. As I stepped into the store, my eyes couldn’t help but stare at the most BEAUTIFUL creature in the world. “Hello? I want to buy mangoes.” I said in a tone just higher than a whisper. “Can’t you talk? Oh! I’m sorry. I didn’t hear what you said. Do you want to buy mangoes?” I nodded. Many words rushed into my head but my mouth was to shy to bring them out. “How do you sell the mangoes?” You then picked four big ones and held them out for me. “These four are for two hundred naira.” I was shocked. I didn’t budget tgat the mangoes would be that expensive so I asked “Would you take one hundred naira?” The quizzical expression of your face that day relives in my memory. “So you mean a rich boy like you cannot afford two hundred naira for these cheap mangoes, eh? I will only accept one hundred and fifty naira, rich boy.Till now, I don’t still know if the chortle that followed that question was sarcastic or you were plainly insulting me. I had a one thousand naira note in my pocket which I wanted to use for other reasons but I also badly wanted to impress you. “Do you have change? I have one thousand naira with me.”
To be continued. . .

Written by UDOYE ARINZE DANIEL, Nnamdi Azikiwe University, Awka, Anambra State, Nigeria