Chuka was the Life of the party. The star that every party loves to have. The clown that clowns so that others don't frown.
But somehow tonight, his jokes weren't getting back to him. It felt like it was just ricocheting off the wall back to him and dropping dead like he wore some kind of proof.
But no one felt how he was feeling. Nor did they notice.
“Chuka, you’re the best!” A guy slapped him on the back, raising his cup of beer to the ceiling and grinning widely like. “You’re a legend!”
Chuka laughed, hiding his pain in his laughter. “What's a party without Chuka?" He tossed his hands up in the air.
"Nothing!" The crowd chorused with so much happiness and mouths reeking of alcohol.
"We love you, Chuka!" A lady yelled excitedly.
"And Chuka loves the ladies too!" He replied, tearing his shirt and jumping on a table. Then he went ahead to give crazy dance moves with the crowd clapping and yelling. Lost in the noise and feeling. Drowning themselves in the alcohol and smoke. Hyped by Chuka, the fun in the party himself.
Yet, a cold feeling still hung deep inside him. The crowd was looking but it felt like no one really saw him. He made them happy but didn't feel the joy they felt. He was alone and all he did was all a show. Every one of his laughter and smiles was a mask to hide the loneliness that gnawed at him when every party ended.
The party was over, and Chuka made his way to the door alongside other partygoers. Shaking hands, laughing, pretending, until he was outside.
He walked to his car parked a few miles away from others. An old, beaten down, rickety van that rattled when it started. More reason he parks it away from the party. He got in and turned on the ignition. The old car rattled to life, a sound he had gotten familiar with. Then he drove home, no music, no voices except from the voices in his head. Plus, the road stretched out in front of him, leading him to the emptiness at home.
His apartment door creaked open. A sound that hunted him for years. In the silence of the night, all he could hear was just the sound of his heart pounding and his refrigerator humming. He was a man old enough to have a family. But who would love to start up life with a pauper? He dropped to his torn couch. A gift from his grandma and stared into the empty ceiling.
His phone buzzed. He grabbed it and stared into the screen. It was a message from Tolu, the host of the party.
“Chuka! You were on fire tonight! Let’s hang next week.”
He stared at the screen for some time. His brain urged him to reply with something funny, but his hands couldn't move, and neither did the words flow. He put his phone face down and looked around his apartment. It was a mess. The bed was unkempt, the sheets worn out and tangled. He walked to his fridge and grabbed a bottle of water, the only thing he could afford to keep in his empty fridge. Then he groaned as he gulped the liquid.
He was tired. Tired of the show. Tired of his life. Tired of pretending at every party that he loved himself. Apart from the life at the party, he craved a life of his own. Not just the funny guy that made people laugh at parties but the guy that's always seen.
If only he could be at peace with himself. If only it was easy to stop pretending.
His phone buzzed again. He sighed, hoping it was Tolu again. But as he stared at the screen, it was a message from his mum.
“Chuka, my son. Are you okay? Come home if you need me. I miss you.”
The words hit him harder than he expected. Are you okay? He wonders how his mum always knew when he was not in the right mind. How did she always know when he wasn't okay, even though he hadn't been home in years? Miles apart, yet it feels like she was the only one who truly saw him and his emptiness.
He got up and walked to his window. Tears threatened to drop from his eyes. He looked outside and repeated the last sentence of the message.
"Are you okay?" He asked himself.
Then he shook his head. He wasn't okay, and clearly, it was high time he began to admit it.
He wiped his tears, turned and walked back into the house, grabbed his car keys, and walked out of the door. He needed the only one who understood him. He needed his mum, the only thing left for him in this world.
Maybe he really wasn't alone. He had that one person who cared. Maybe it was time to stop hiding behind the jokes and reach out to her.
He picked up the phone, his fingers trembling.
“I’m not okay, Mom. I'm coming home.” he typed.
Then he walked out of his house into his car. His destination was home. A place he was truly loved. A place he didn’t have to pretend to be perfect. A place he didn't have to be the life of the party. A place he needed to be just Chuka.