Achike’s Retrospect

In the confines of a necessary quarantine, Achike reflects and seeks clarity on the issues plaguing his heart. Do not be mistaken, dear reader. Achike is perfect at camouflage, hiding the truth with tact and guise from those around him and even from himself. It is in isolation he remembers his father for the first time since he learned he had taken up another woman into his home and made a mockery of his mother. When he learned about it, he laughed as told his mother that his father had lost the power to surprise him anymore. With that, he thought of him no more until now. He thought about how his father was doing in times like this; a time where the world was forced to stand still and fight a common enemy. The other day, he was playing a game which required him to answer a question of anyone’s choice and this lovely friend of his asked when last he had spoken to his father which made it sound like he was on some space exploration – to find other lifeforms, thereby proving that we were not alone in the universe – and had not made contact with earth for a while. Achike with some degree of honesty told her it had been a while. He wanted to reach out via a call or text to make sure his father was alright because even though his living would do him no good, his death was an event he was not looking forward to. Well, what did he look forward to? A reconciliation maybe? A bridge to diminish the gap that years of rift and war had left in total chaos. Isolation made him seek this truth but he did not accept it for he knew that father would not return home from war. When the earth will finally be free, he would hide this truth with tact and guise like he did with the previous ones.

Achike misses his lover. He listens to a song that talks about rubbing a ghost penis till one could almost see it, then needing a lover’s cerebral per diem, some ice cream, Netflix and some sort of yeast infection. Achike’s skin recoils like a snake. He would prefer receiving the tenderness of his lover’s touch, her flaked skin to keep him warm for it was through her he was able to see that the flesh is as transparent as lake water. Every drop that touched his tongue gave room for a continuous renewal to take place. In those moments, Achike attained a level unbeknownst to the ones who saw flesh as sand; an accumulation of dust. An observer online asks him if love is not enough to kill the fear of a pandemic after he slightly whines on Okigbo’s internet about not being able to see his lover leading to a realisation that maybe this is the time where love truly could not conquer the fear of a physical visit. Then and there, he decides to play the waiting game. He proceeds to call his lover for he was dying of thirst and wished to hear her voice. After an hour of conversation dancing around skin, vile people, unsystematic thoughts and ideas, their writing, he jokes “Looks like we might not be able to see till August’’ to which she asks “what if that truly happens?’’ He senses worry. He hates when she worries while he is not there to worry with her, hold her hand, assuring her it would be alright in the midst of mayhem. He spends a little more time on the phone to quench his thirst in the sheer magnificence of his lover. Soon after, he says good night to her with a softness he never knew he possessed. He tells her he loves her so much whilst hoping he will see her beautiful face soon enough. He lets his finger tap the end button on his phone’s screen, lay on his bed amidst the hot air and a scented candle as he let out a sigh. Berechi was right. The world is never truly tasty – like an oyster.