Sandra and I were very close. She was my roommate during my nursing pre-school days, back when I was still trying to get into nursing school. We shared a rented room with another girl, Ngozi, but she rarely stayed with us. She spent most of her time at her boyfriend’s place and only came to the room occasionally. We hardly saw her.
It was the end of the year, and we had finished all our exams. We were getting ready to go back home, and Ngozi returned to the room to collect some of her things. I usually start packing about five days before traveling so I don’t forget anything.
Three days before I planned to leave, Ngozi went out to see her boyfriend, and Sandra and I were getting ready to go out too. I had already packed the trousers I wanted to wear, so I had to unpack a little to get them. As I was repacking my bag, I noticed that my wig was missing. I was sure I had tied it up in a black nylon bag and packed it, but I decided to double-check.
I started searching all over the room.
“What are you looking for?” Sandra asked me.
“My wig. I remember packing it, but I can’t find it now,” I replied, shining my phone torch into the wardrobe.
“Just leave it for now. Maybe you’ll find it in the morning when there’s more light,” Sandra suggested.
“Okay,” I said, hoping that the room’s darkness was the only reason I couldn’t see it. Maybe it was just lying around.
I decided to forget about it for the night, and we went out.
The next morning, as soon as there was enough daylight, I resumed my search. I opened the curtains and door wide to let in as much light as possible. I turned the room upside down but still couldn’t find it.
I started getting restless when it became clear the wig wasn’t just lying around. That wig was expensive, especially for a student, and convincing my mom to buy it for me hadn’t been easy. Telling her I lost it was going to be even harder.
“You still can’t find it?” Sandra asked when she returned with her breakfast, noticing the state of the room and my stressed expression.
“I don’t know what I’ll tell my mom,” I said, exasperated, with both hands on my head. “How did my wig just disappear?”
“Maybe you should ask Ngozi when she gets back,” Sandra suggested.
“No, I don’t think Ngozi would take it,” I shrugged off the idea. Ngozi didn’t seem like the type to steal. She was quiet and mostly kept to herself. We only exchanged greetings and occasionally shared a laugh when we all joked around.
“I remember seeing her touch your bag,” Sandra added.
“Are you sure?” I asked, a bit skeptical.
“I can’t say for sure what she was doing, but I saw her near your bag,” Sandra replied.
“When she gets back, I’ll ask her about it—and ask her to check her bag too,” I said.
“Okay,” Sandra muttered, focusing on finishing her breakfast.
Later that day, in the afternoon, I was alone in the room. Sandra had gone out, and Ngozi hadn’t returned yet. I was scrolling through my gallery when I saw a picture that reminded me Sandra had borrowed a gown my mom would ask about.
I immediately went to Sandra’s bag to retrieve the gown, as I couldn’t afford to forget it again. I carefully took out her clothes one by one, making sure they stayed folded and orderly.
I nearly jumped out of my skin when I found my wig tied in the black nylon bag inside Sandra’s belongings.
After confirming it was indeed my wig, I took it and the gown and waited patiently for Sandra to return. I sat on my bed with the wig beside me.
When Sandra got back, I didn’t waste any time.
“I found it,” I said, holding up the wig in its nylon bag.
“Hmmm… thank God,” Sandra said, her voice shaky and nervous. “Where did you find it?”
“I found it in your bag when I was taking back my purple dress,” I said, smiling at her.
“Jesus… how? Maybe I put it there by mistake,” she stammered.
“No problem,” I replied, putting the wig back in my bag.
There was no way she put it there by mistake. Like I said, I was sure I packed it in my bag. After thinking it over, it became clear—she had always asked to borrow it, which I now realize could have been a sign she wanted it badly enough to take it for herself.
She almost succeeded, I was already almost barking up the wrong tree. After I went home, I gradually cut her off.
