Her feet became still and her eyes settled on me. She bit her lips and my eyes darted to them. Perhaps she was searching for the perfect reply. I can tell she was shocked, it was a statement that was not bound by the ordinary; it was an unconventional statement and a hideous thing to say.

I was seated on a stool while Oluwatayo lay on the bed. She sat up and adjusted her yellow daily uniform. She took out her hand and I placed mine on it. A small smile appeared on her face and I poorly replicated it. I can tell she pitied me and perhaps felt guilty.

We got here because she was telling me how much she loved her mother. She had received a message from Mrs Tiara, the head of the Language department, that her mother had paid for her Togo outreach and now we could go together. Tayo didn’t come from a wealthy background, nonetheless, her mother tried to make ends meet. Tayo’s mother was often absent on visiting days—which is slated to happen every first Saturday of the month in accordance with the school calendar. In comparison to that, my mother was always present at every invitation to my school. She never failed to bring edibles with her too. She would come, drop my things, and leave after a brief moment. I appreciated her more as we were in school, staying in the same space with her was what suffocated me.

People who were like me never said the words with no caution. They fumbled with it, they hid it in their actions, they swept it under innuendos, and they held it captive in between their many many grumblings, one of such being, “My mother is quite annoying”. I could always hear unspoken words.

We were tied down by an obligation. “My mother is the best in the world”, a chorus we must all learn to chant with our peers. 

I recall our Senior Secondary Two summer lesson. My mother had given me a call, which gave Ella, a mere acquaintance, the chance to see how I saved my mother’s name on my phone. She wore a grimace and spat my name.

“Bia, Jane.”

“Yes.” She earned a frown for calling out my name in such a way. 

“Why did you save your mother’s name without a love emoji while Tayo’s name on your phone has the most versatile hearts and diamonds?” Her question engulfed me in guilt, unexpectedly. It was reprimanding and condescending, and somehow I believed I deserved to be censured. 

“I…” My mouth went dry. I had no explanation and I knew it. It had simply not occurred to me to save her name with a love emoji even though I took my time saving all of my friends’ names with an emoji. And if you pay close attention, you could use the emojis to create my friendship scale of preference. 

I decided to laugh it off and tell a lie. I told her I had just saved her new number and I forgot to add the emojis. I took the phone from her and added a white heart emoji, I knew a white heart meant I fairly liked a person.

I didn’t know expressing how I felt about my mother on paper would cause a ruckus bigger than the emoji situation with Ella, but it did, when we were in Secondary Secondary Three. Our English teacher, Mrs Nwachukwu, had asked us to write a composition about our mothers. 

“I know you people are grown, I mean SS3 is no joke, but writing a composition never gets old. It’s a type of essay. Most of you will have to write compositions about yourself when you are looking forward to finding a suitor. Let it be known I’m preparing you for your future.” You could hear snickering from the girls and the boys. I wondered why the topic of marriage always excited them.

“So now, get creative for me. Write a composition about your mother and tomorrow you will write about yourself,” she concluded and sat down, waiting for us to complete the exercise she had given us. 

I started writing creatively. I had always been good at it; I penned down more than I spoke. 

I couldn’t stop myself, not when I wanted to. I couldn’t make the words kinder, not when I could.  

I paused for a second when I reached the part of the essay where I had to write, “I love my mother because…”. I gaped at my book. I decided to take the risk. After writing why I loved my mother, I introduced a fresh paragraph, “I hate my mother because …” 

The next Wednesday came and our English teacher was back in our class with our essays. She gave the class representative, Adaugo, whom the position was imposed on, to share them. Everybody got theirs except me.

“Where is my own?” I whispered to Adaugo when she brushed past my locker to give my sitting neighbour, Alice, her scanty twenty-leaf booklet that had seen better days. 

She shrugged while saying, “I don’t know”. 

A scowl replaced the confusion on my face. What did she mean by she didn't know? I hope she had not given it to someone else, I didn’t want anyone reading my essay. 

“Everybody did good, very good and fairly good. I was impressed, I won’t lie, but there are various things we should address…” She spent the following thirty minutes explaining how we ought to have written the capital letter F, how a lot of people still didn’t know how to use their full stops, and the rest of the jargon every English teacher says. English is a repetitive subject, I almost hated it. What we learned in Junior secondary one was what we were learning in senior secondary three. 

“Adebayo Jane, stand up.” Upon hearing my name, I flew up on my feet. 

“I asked the class to write a composition about their mothers and Jane here wrote a composition on why she hates her mother.” The whole class fell into gasps and whispers. 

Why was Mrs Nwachukwu telling lies? That wasn’t what the essay was about. It was indeed a composition. 

“You write beautifully, I must confess. But what type of girl is told to write about her mother and she writes about how she hates her mother?” My eyes flickered around the class, they were all facing my direction. You could see some of them judged me and some others pitied me. My eyes met with Tayo’s and she gave me a nod. I wondered how long she had been staring at me.

“Why are you looking around the class? Does the essay belong to another person?” Mrs Nwachukwu demanded my attention.

Then it dawned on me that I should have lied and written about a fictitious character. What was I thinking?

“It’s a work of fiction, ma,” I said to save my head.

She kissed her teeth at my lie.

 “So you were told to write an essay about your mother and you wrote a work of fiction?” She let out a small laugh and the whole class followed suit.

It felt like my body was betraying me. I wanted to cover my ears, instead, I was forced to pay all attention to Mrs Nwachukwu. I listened to her while my eyes looked everywhere else but her direction. 

“She wrote and I read out,” Mrs Nwachukwu started reading my essay to the class. Can the ground split into two? “I don’t find comfort in my mother, I don’t love her and I know it will be harsh to say I hate her. We don't share the bond between other mothers and their daughters. I don’t feel comfortable opening up to her about my feelings or the battles I’m currently facing or I have ever faced. Almost like her existence in my life makes no sense. I know the only reason I care about her life now is because of the responsibilities that will be transferred to me if she dies…” I stopped listening. I blocked out everything. My legs became weak and standing became a task, I slumped into my seat with no intention to sit.

The essay about my mother was blown out of proportion. Mrs Nwachukwu, the cruel English teacher, forced me into her department which had a few people in it. The women were the ones who spoke, the men did not matter. My feet were fixed to a spot, I couldn’t move or speak. I didn’t want to say the wrong things or make any move that they would show that I, maybe, didn’t like my mother more than I expressed in the essay. Everything they did to me: rebuking, sneering, and spewing mean words on how they wouldn’t wish a daughter like me on their worst enemy, did nothing but reinforce the animosity I harbored. They didn’t stop until I fell on my knees and wept. My sobs echoed throughout the staff room and they watched. 

Mrs Tiara, the head of the English department, told me to stand after I had wept for five minutes. She offered me a handkerchief and a can of water. She led me out of the office. She advised me to visit the Guidance and Counseling department. 

She said it wasn’t because she thought I was wrong for hating my mother but because I had a heavy heart and needed someone to look up to and speak to. 

“Miss Fae is the perfect person, bébè,” she said softly and that was how my journey with the pleasantly good-looking Miss Fae started.

When I left the English department with the handkerchief placed on my left hand and the water bottle on my right, I couldn’t stop crying, not when I tried to because it felt like each tear was necessary to unburden my spirit. I didn’t need to walk a meter before I saw Tayo standing under the trees waiting patiently for me. She had a big smile on her face which I noticed fell when she acknowledged that I had been crying. She engulfed me in a hug. She didn’t ask me any questions that day. She only presented my afternoon food in a recyclable container and I couldn’t help but smile at how thoughtful my Tayo could be. 

Tayo is the reason I went for my first Guidance and counseling session. I had argued that I wasn’t mad and I didn’t need it. I also mentioned teachers who were rumored to be heinous and who worked in the department. How sure was I that Miss Fae was any better?

“Tayo, I can always talk to you when I feel burdened. I very much don’t need anybody to look up to.” I dismissed Tayo’s nagging. 

I listened to her when she proposed I should see it as a way to avoid Mrs. Nwachukwu’s class and I took the opportunity by the bullhorns. I didn't attend any of Mrs. Nwachukwu’s classes ever again. Her teaching session became my favorite, I looked forward to her class just so I could carry my things to go see Miss Fae.

Tayo would always drag herself after Mrs. Nwachukwu’s tiring class to come and see me. With each session, she had a positive remark to offer. She held my hands every time. It was our routine, she opened one of her hands and I placed one of mine in hers. 

On good days, she would kiss my hand regularly as we took a walk. She said I was turning into a type of Jane who would be her best friend till she took her last breath. She complimented me that I was becoming more open and pointing out things I didn’t like. It motivated me, I went into Miss Fae’s office every day so I could stay beside Tayo forever. 

One of the significant days with Miss Fae was when she asked how I saw my father.

“I don’t know, he is always present and doing what is meant to be done. He always plays his role,” I replied. 

“You adore him?” I didn’t think that was a question but I took it as one nonetheless and I nodded my head in the affirmative

She gave me a book. This was her second time giving me a book.

‘Crying in H mart’ by Michelle Zauner. I knew she had the habit of writing small letters and inserting them into books. I opened it and saw a calligraphed quote by Bonnie Burtosm. 

“Read the quote out,” Miss Fae instructed.

“Often the father and daughter look down on the mother together. They exchange meaningful glances when she misses a point. They agree she’s not as bright as they are, and cannot reason as they do. This collusion does not save the daughter from the mother’s fate,” I didn’t quite understand what it meant so I read it over and over again and still nothing came to mind. 

“I don’t want you to think about the quote too much, simply read the book with an open mind,” she said. Her perfectly shaped lips went up in a smile and for a second I wondered why she wasn’t married. Who wouldn’t see this beauty and want to spend the rest of their life with her? She speaks softly, she is beautiful, and she cooks well. I know this because I have shared meals with her.

On one of our strolling days from the guidance and counseling office back to the classroom, Tayo made me promise her forever. She gave me a Shamballa bracelet that wasn’t well made, but it was a gift from Tayo so it was perfect. It had the inscription “forever and always” in cubic white and black beads. I could tell she bought it from a classmate. My heart danced and danced that night and it made me wonder if I would survive tomorrow morning or even wake up.

I swore we were perfect. The same way I didn’t know a day would come that I would hug my mother like I was a seven years old girl again, was the same way I didn’t know that Tayo and I would stop being Tayo and I. 

Miss Fae made sure not to make our counseling session only about my mother. We spoke about other things, Life, Tayo, religion, you name it. It became my favourite time in school. She had just taught me about “pursuit” in the office, that I should never hesitate to always say what’s on my mind, especially my heart, no matter how difficult.

“You have to be as audacious as men,” she said with a scoff. Miss Fae was a feminist, but she never expressly said that. She had handed me two short feminist books and she chipped it in conversations. She is the reason I know the word exists. She wasn’t trying to convert me but you could tell she was giving me a reason to see the ideology as positive. On our last counseling day tomorrow, I planned to tell her that I bhad become a feminist.

I sat with Tayo at the back of the class, it was just us in class. The rest of our classmates wouldn’t miss Sunday night rice and chicken nuggets for anything but I could, Tayo was here with me.

“Tayo, do you like Daniel?” I asked because I had seen them that afternoon playing what most of my classmates would call “lover’s game”.

“No,” she said with a sly smile forming as she turned to look me in the eyes

“Why do you ask?” she asked.

“Nothing,” I said

“Nothing? Jane?”

“Yes,” I answered. She smiled in return. God, she is so beautiful. You could tell the creator himself took all day on her face. Then I got the urge to make the first move and kiss her. If I couldn’t say how I felt I should at least express it

I went for it and I kissed her. It was a patient kiss, we both had to adjust to each other. Her lips felt soft on mine and she tasted like the empty can of exotic juice that laid beside her. It was everything I imagined kissing Tayo would feel like. Our lips moved in sync to accommodate each other and our tongue occasionally delved into the others mouth to taste and before you knew it we were out of breath.

“I love you Tayo,” I said after we broke apart.

“I love you too, Jane.” She took my left hand in her two hands and rubbed them. Her hands felt cold and my hands felt at home. Where it belonged forever. In between her hands.

“Tayo, let’s date,” I said in a rush to make sure all the words came out right

She released my hands and sharply turned away from me. She looked me in the eyes again and her frown turned to a smile.

“What do you mean Jane?” She never calls me Jane with that tone. I could feel my stomach drop. I was entering into a panic mode.

I took her hands in mine, “We can be exclusive. Just me and you.”

“Jane, we cannot date.”

I gaped at her, upset. 

“Have you seen a girl and a girl date before?” She added. 

“Why did you kiss me first?” It wasn’t a question neither was it a reply to her. I only blurted it out. Many things were going on in my mind.

“You kissed me first now,” she protested.

“You kissed me back. You’ve always kissed me first.”

“You got the wrong idea.”

“So it’s my fault?” Anybody could tell I was getting enraged. 

“Jane. Dating is for a boy and a girl. Have you lost it? I can’t even believe we are arguing about this. Come,” she tapped her thigh an encouragement for me to lay on them

“You said you loved me. You kissed me. You said you want me to be part of your life forever.”

“Yes Jane, but as friends. We are friends, right? Why are we even arguing?” I chuckled at her question while on the verge of tears. I got the wrong idea and she didn’t love me. She would never want me in her life. My body was going through many reactions.

I stood up from the tiled floor and quietly went to my seat. I couldn’t wait to reach the dorms and bawl my eyes out. With each passing minute, my brain replayed our conversation and the hurt would increase. I couldn’t look at her that night. I believe the word “pain” does no justice to this feeling; I don’t know any single word that could possibly encompass all of these emotions and their raw intensity. It was like my heart has been torn apart. Not crushed, not shattered, but torn. Ripped.

That day marked the end of us and the next day marked the end of my therapy session. Miss Fae blessed me with a lot of books and prayers. She hoped that I learned to pour my heart out and even though our counseling session had ended, she will always be here to guide me. I was tempted to tell her about Tayo and me, however, every time I opened my mouth to speak words eluded me 

My last days in school were unbearable. Each passing day came by slowly, and I spent most of it reading. I found solace in tears and kept my distance from Tayo. It was as though a part of me had gone missing.

On the day we all embraced as the final day of school—though technically, a few selective NECO exams still lingered—I realized this might be the last time we gathered in such a number. The feeling of nostalgia and recollection of bittersweet memories was all the motivation I needed to pen a letter to Tayo. 

There were days I missed you so much that the word seemed insufficient. The image of you on the last social night keeps playing in my head. Your dress complemented your fair skin so adequately. Your smile Tayo, your smile has always been so mesmerizing. I’m glad smiling was a requirement for contestants. The grace you claimed on the stage, your aura, it made me crave you that night. Just to enter under the sheets and cuddle like old times while my heart jiggles like it’s going to combust. You know, I thought we felt those feelings together. 

I wanted you to lose that pageantry that night even though the chances were very slim, just so I would give myself a reason to crawl back into your life. Jealousy, a gnawing pain my body became used to. Daniel perfectly replaced me, but no one arm even felt right interlocked with mine. Daniel’s hands circled your waist on the dance floor that night and you leaned so close to his chest that I’m sure by the time you were done you would reek of him, so I kept my distance.

I miss you Tayo; I love you Tayo. I’m glad we were friends, best friends. I know you will forever regret this, but I’m glad I got to lock lips with you the few times I did. I’m glad I realized when I did that we couldn’t just be friends. “Forever and always”; I will keep the bracelet with me. We are all about to go into the “real world” and I just know you will do amazing Tayo. Thank you. 

I folded the paper into a tiny square. I allowed my eyes to roam around the class in search of her. She was sitting close to Jenifer, a classmate, and I watched her. Tayo took the girl’s hand in hers and she kissed it. She smiled at her brightly. She cupped her face and stared at her with longing. Her attention was drawn to me and I averted my gaze. An indescribable feeling settled in the pit of my stomach, and I tugged at my shirt collar. It felt as though I had stumbled upon an intimate moment, an unwelcome intruder in their private world. I stood up and headed for the yellow circle-spaced plastic at the edge of the class. 

“Let it be,” I muttered as I threw the paper which was now crinkled into the basket.