I was already reaching for the door when something inside me slowed my hand.
Like a resistance, you know the kind where your flesh is willing but your spirit refuses. Yeah, the kind of resistance.
I took a step back to let others into the bar. The door flew open, and I picked up a quick glance at the glowing inside, the sound of the live band playing, laughter rising and falling. Exactly the way it was every weekend.
For the past few months, that place has been my escape from the overwhelming demands of my job and gigs. A place I come to pretend to be fine, after the city had taken its share of me.
I stood there for a moment, it wasn't as if I had a lot to do at home. I still had a lot of hours to fool around before bed but somehow I wasn't in the mood anymore for some nightlife
I turned around, called a cab and soon I was on my way home.
A few miles from my house, my phone beeped. I looked and it was a message from my friend.
"Bro, are you stopping by the bar today? Maybe we should hang out."
I looked at the driver. I thought of asking him to turn around and take me back. But on a second thought, I let him continue driving me home.
“Go home,” I whispered to myself. “Just go home.”
"I'm on my way home. I don't feel we should hang out tonight." I replied to the text
When I got to my street, it smelled of roasted meat and petrol. A keke passed, rattling like it was held together by prayer. People stood on both sides of the street bargaining and buying stuff from roadside sellers. Normal sounds. Normal night.
I checked my phone again. Another message.
"Okay then. Maybe I should go to bed too since you won't be coming."
I smiled and dropped him the okay emoji.
I got home and settled in. Soon I was in bed in darkness in that still silence that felt loud. I felt myself thinking I had made a wrong decision, and now I was going to lie in bed for a long time before I fell asleep.
An hour passed. And I was still in bed rolling from one edge to the other when my phone rang.
It was my friend. The same one who had messaged earlier. His voice was tight, stripped of its usual humor.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“At home,” I said. “Why?”
There was a pause. I heard him take a quick breath.
“Thank God we didn't go there anymore. I just heard from a friend that the police just stormed the bar,” he said. “l
My stomach dropped.
“What?” I said. “For what? I mean it's just a bar”
“They said something about drugs,” he replied. “About the management of the bar selling drugs low-key to its customers. The checked phones. Searched bags. And arrested some people.”
My mouth went dry. I was still trying to understand. I've been at that bar for months now and never did I notice something awkward. Apart from a few people who smoke cigarettes it was just a bunch of people gathered to have fun.
“Did you know I was actually at that bar earlier before you called?” I confessed to my friend.
"What? But you said..."
"Yeah, I know what I said. But I got to the bar and somehow I couldn't bring myself to get inside. So I booked a ride home and left immediately." I explained.
He gasped over the phone. "Dude!"
"Yeah!"
"Thank God o. I'll call you back, let me see if I can get the full gist." He added and dropped the call.
I lay there in bed staring at nothing. My hands trembled slightly. The image replayed in my head. I imagined police lights flashing against the walls. Shouts. Confusion. Hands grabbing shoulders. Phones are being seized. Names are being written down.
And I imagined myself there. The thought made my chest tighten.
I walked to the window and pushed it open. I let the late-night breeze blow on my face. Something in me had helped me in a very crisis. And to whatever it was, I was grateful.
