I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a long time now; to see just how good you’re doing, but each time I’m at your doorstep, I hear him screaming at you to get one thing done or asking why you haven’t done another thing. I always retrace my steps and back away, lest my presence provokes another beating for you.
Yes, don’t think I’m deaf. I hear all the insulting words he spits at you and the thudding sounds of his fists and belts on someone’s body. Could that be yours? But oh well, there’s only the both of you in there.
I remember seeing you at the mall about two forth nights ago, I tried to start up a conversation with you but he rushed in through the mall doors and pulled you away like a mad man on assignment by Amadioha.
Before you were dragged away, I think you told me your name. Cindy, isn’t it?
You have a beautiful name and with the way you smiled and gave me audience, your heart must be twice as beautiful, but then how come you’re cohabiting with a beast? Please don’t tell me its a case of beauty and the beast because the beast you live with belongs in the Zoo; the one at Ibadan precisely.
For all the times I’ve seen you, I’ve never seen a ring on your finger or heard you answer ‘Mrs’.
That implies you aren’t married and he isn’t too, but how come you’re living together like man and wife or is he just your roommate? But oh well, that’s none of my business.
Pardon my shrewd questions, but did your parents train you with the best and sponsor you through school to become the toy object of a demented XY specie?
Have you lost your logical sense of reasoning? Pardon me sister, pardon me.
Last week I saw him behind central park with a sweet looking youngie, hugging and French kissing her while his hand frolicked around her behind. Who knows, that could be his sister or cousin and they were probably having a family meeting; I hate to assume things, you know.
I definitely didn’t mean to tell you, but oops I already said that! -_-
The night before Valentine, I saw him lift you into the car to the hospital in a pool of your blood. It was a miscarriage, wasn’t it? He beat the baby out of you, didn’t he? He murdered his own child but I know you still love him and I’m very sure he loves you too.
I hope you still love him when he dumps you after seven years.
I hope you still love him when you see an invitation to his wedding.
I hope you still love him when he beats you to a point of death.
You love him and he loves you too, I know right.
But I hope you still love him when he looks you in the face and tells you he can’t marry you because you’ve had a miscarriage or that things aren’t working fine between you too. I really hope you still love him, sister.
However, when you finally have sense and decide to rent an apartment of your own, restore your dignity, be the homely girl you were trained to be and the virtuous woman God has made you to be, I’d be right here waiting to give you a bear hug and tell you everything’s gonna be alright.
Your Next-door Neighbour,
This is another product of my intensely sarcastic mind. I hope you relate, enjoy and share to a sister who needs it.
Kisses and hugs.