All Chapters of She Belongs To The Sky: Chapter 71 - Chapter 77

I get to school on Friday morning and all of the squad has that knowing look in their eyes. They didn't ask. I didn't tell. I just slinked into my seat with Amanda. When she asked me why I wasn't around, I told her I was involved in a "small family crisis". It made her laugh. It also made my stomach turn."Small" is no way to describe these things. Mumsi hasn't been to the saloon after Wednesday night. She stayed in bed, dropped her curtains so the room was like some dark  street alley, throughout yesterday—she was still in there when I told her I was going out to school. She just mumbled an incoherent "okay" that screamed contrast to the "Didi! Have a blessed day" she always says. It hurt so badly that it actually hurt. It hurt physically. It's not as if I was in short supply of things to keep me angry for the rest of the day, someone just had to come along and piss on me—the driver of an old faded taxi. He was

Daddy took me to school in the morning, himself. We drove in silence, he staring at the wheel, me staring out the window. When we drove past Elimgbu junction, I thought about the crossroads the four-way junction had created. One time, Dad told me that back then in the village, some people who believe in one deity or the other would go to a junction that doubles as a crossroads and they would make sacrifices there. He told me how he saw cowries and red brown blood on the coal tar when he went out for water—some times even a dead chicken or two in the middle of the road. He told me how he glimpsed that bizzare sight so many times that he became used to it. Still, His face contorted into a grimace when he said it and i knew he was thinking about all those wasted birds that someone could have eaten and been satisfied with. I thought of them, too. Although I had never seen such—i still have not—i was angry at them, whoever they were, for all that wastage. While zooming past t

Daddy took me to school in the morning, himself. We drove in silence, he staring at the wheel, me staring out the window. When we drove past Elimgbu junction, I thought about the crossroads the four-way junction had created. One time, Dad told me that back then in the village, some people who believe in one deity or the other would go to a junction that doubles as a crossroads and they would make sacrifices there. He told me how he saw cowries and red brown blood on the coal tar when he went out for water—some times even a dead chicken or two in the middle of the road. He told me how he glimpsed that bizzare sight so many times that he became used to it. Still, His face contorted into a grimace when he said it and i knew he was thinking about all those wasted birds that someone could have eaten and been satisfied with. I thought of them, too. Although I had never seen such—i still have not—i was angry at them, whoever they were, for all that wastage. While zooming past t

CHIDEZIRIIt's past six when I get home. The house is as quiet as it always is. Only the rustling of the crawling plants at the fence can be heard. Daddy is at his usual spot, cuddled between the two ends of the long couch. He eyes me vehemently but doesn't say a word. For that I am grateful. He grunts in answer after I have greeted him, then goes back to listening to the news at six on his trusty radio, eyes closed, blissed out. He nearly looks peaceful, I swear. I had already braced myself for the tirade, so when it didn't come, fear  is replaced by a suprised soothing relief. I ambled into my room as fast as fast goes and shut the door before he can change his mind. That night, I do not soak my clothes in a bucket of detergent water and wash it off in the bathroom how I normally do. I set it on the nail on which I hang my backpack and I breathe the underlying perfume of clean grass shimmering above the spicy smell of use. Amanda on me. Perfection in itself. 

CHIDEZIRIIt's past six when I get home. The house is as quiet as it always is. Only the rustling of the crawling plants at the fence can be heard. Daddy is at his usual spot, cuddled between the two ends of the long couch. He eyes me vehemently but doesn't say a word. For that I am grateful. He grunts in answer after I have greeted him, then goes back to listening to the news at six on his trusty radio, eyes closed, blissed out. He nearly looks peaceful, I swear. I had already braced myself for the tirade, so when it didn't come, fear  is replaced by a suprised soothing relief. I ambled into my room as fast as fast goes and shut the door before he can change his mind. That night, I do not soak my clothes in a bucket of detergent water and wash it off in the bathroom how I normally do. I set it on the nail on which I hang my backpack and I breathe the underlying perfume of clean grass shimmering above the spicy smell of use. Amanda on me. Perfection in itself. 

CHIDEZIRIIt's past six when I get home. The house is as quiet as it always is. Only the rustling of the crawling plants at the fence can be heard. Daddy is at his usual spot, cuddled between the two ends of the long couch. He eyes me vehemently but doesn't say a word. For that I am grateful. He grunts in answer after I have greeted him, then goes back to listening to the news at six on his trusty radio, eyes closed, blissed out. He nearly looks peaceful, I swear. I had already braced myself for the tirade, so when it didn't come, fear  is replaced by a suprised soothing relief. I ambled into my room as fast as fast goes and shut the door before he can change his mind. That night, I do not soak my clothes in a bucket of detergent water and wash it off in the bathroom how I normally do. I set it on the nail on which I hang my backpack and I breathe the underlying perfume of clean grass shimmering above the spicy smell of use. Amanda on me. Perfection in itself. 

It rains mad heavy all night. It is still raining by the time dawn ascends the horizon. I saw it all, from black to gray, then dark blue and later translucent turquoise; because after undoing my braids which were damp with rain and river water, and drying them as best as I could, I stayed up through out the night, texting Chideziri. It has been said once, that the best conversations happen around two-thirty a.m, when eyelids are drooping, when words are sincerest, and the awkward silences are not awkward at all.   Amanda: ...... Chideziri: Ikuku afaAmanda: What?! (Laughing emoji)Chideziri: Have you gotten home yet? Amanda: Don't try to change to the subject (finger pointing up emoji). What is that? Chideziri: Ikuku? (Grinning emoji) it means wind. Amanda: ?? Chideziri: You run