“Oh, I don’t know who you are,” she said, squinting her eyes hard, and cocking her head from side to side like she was fighting a battle that I couldn't see, and losing it.
But I knew it was an act. It was always an act. I muttered a weak “Oh” and gave her a watered down version of the bright smile I’d had on my face previously, then walked away.
She was my primary school classmate, and it was impossible that she could not recognize me when we were practically inseparable then. It did not matter if it was twenty years since we last saw each other.
“You have the memory of a fox,” Mom used to say. “That absorbs and never forgets. Not everyone is like that, Ezinne. Give her the benefit of the doubt.”
But I didn’t want to, and I especially could not give her the benefit of the doubt. If I could remember her, I had no doubt that she could as well. But she chose to pretend, and I mentally cursed for myself for not learning to do so as well. Walking up to people I knew with beatific smiles, and hoping they remembered, instead of waiting to be recognized.
I soaked up memories like a sponge, and I never forgot a face. It was more of a curse then a blessing, because yes, I could remember, but I would perpetually look foolish because they hardly did, or if they did, they did not say.
I could remember scents. Random memories would assail my senses, and I’d be transported to a time. A time so long gone, it was impossible to get back.
Like the whiff of palm oil I just caught on my way back from work that most likely came from Mama Kanayo’s kitchen. Lagos, 2013. I was still a wee lass then. My Uncle had said he was going to treat us to a delight, and what a treat it was! The delicious palm oil rice that brought happy tears to my eyes, and the two days spent at the hospital because I had diarrhoea afterwards.
The happy memory stayed with me till I got back home, took off my shoes, and jumped into bed, work clothes still on, staring at the ceiling. Now calm, my senses picked up the noise in my environment. My neighbour was at it again with her significant other, vitriols thrown left and right.
It was utterly befuddling, and quite amusing, really, how people who spent half the day spewing unprintable words at each other would that same night have the entire nation awwnnning and God-whening at the cute couple pictures they'd assail the internet with, captions ranging from “Together forever” to “My dream man!”
The thought struck a landmine and the memory rushed in like insistent waves. Asaba 2019. Taiwo and I, giggling as we eavesdropped on the neighbours’ conversations, and had long discourses afterwards on love, life, relationships, and everything in between. But that year, just like that memory, and all in it, were long gone.
Each memory, engraved in stone, and crystallized in my mind, ambushed and assaulted me for the next thirty minutes. I let out a deep sigh later on, and turned to my side. My phone was on the table metres away, and while it was a good time to catch up on all I’d missed on the world wide web, I was far too exhausted to stand up. So, I closed my eyes, and hoped that my memories would follow me there as well.
Thumbnail is AI-Generated.
