Rain Check
A woman in my position is not supposed to desire the touch of a man. I shouldn’t miss the warmth of a body beside me, or the intimacy found only in the solace of a beloved. Nobody says it to your face, but it’s there, that tacit understanding that you’ll toe the line. Or maybe it’s all in my head.
I prayed about it. Before this year. Today. I need a sign telling me it’s time. Unambiguous, Crystal clear. That it’s okay.
“Any more questions?”
The twelve people in the meeting room agree that everything’s been covered. I’m not looking forward to the part that comes at the end of a training session. It’s always a given that someone will ask me out to ‘get a drink or whatever.’ They’re not deterred by the ring. Not theirs. Not mine.
There’s a knock on the door. It opens partly, and a man pokes his head through.
I do a double-take. He steps into the room and salutes.
“Excuse me, ladies and gentlemen,” he says and walks up to me. It’s him. Chima Johnson, in the flesh. Here. Today.
I laugh, having recovered somewhat.
“Hey.”
“Hey,” he smiles.
How long has it been? Nine years? Does he work here? Did he know I was coming? Before I can launch into enquiries, I’m reminded that we have an audience. I press my hands to my hips, standing straight.
“Can I… help you?”
Chima comes closer, his voice low enough that I’m the only one who can hear.
“Wait for me.”
“Huh?”
“I’m stuck in a meeting for another thirty minutes. Wait for me, please.”
I purse my lips, a smile tugging at its corners.
“Okay. Thirty minutes.”
I watch him leave, disappearing into the memory of the day we said our goodbyes.
Someone clears his throat, and I snap out of my reverie.
“Are we done?”
“Yes, sir.” I rub my hands together. “Thank you all for coming. If you have any other questions, you can always reach out to OnClave at….”
I rattle off my usual script as my mind wanders off again.
It was a Tuesday, the day we met. I was in a check-in queue at the Gnassingbé Eyadéma International Airport, going over my course notes. It was my first training job, and I wanted to make sure my presentation was flawless.
Chima was at the counter, desperately trying to explain a problem with his ticket in barely comprehensible French. I approached the counter to bail him out, and we ended up as seatmates on the flight.
“So what’s in Senegal?” I asked
“Mandatory training for my office.”
“You sound like you’re being dragged to the slaughter.”
He sighed. “I had a weekend getaway planned with my girlfriend. But instead, I have to sit through a mind-numbing workshop about managing team dynamics and something something cohesion.”
He put out a hand. “Chima Johnson.”
I couldn’t help laughing. “Bisi Bediako. I’m the trainer for ‘managing teamwork and something something cohesion.”
Then I rubbed salt in the wound, telling him that the training he had grudgingly registered for would be conducted solely in French. The whole episode did a lot of good for my nerves.
We were young professionals trying to navigate our careers. He was taking an executive MBA, and I was just about ready to quit on my management programme. He hated his job but needed the money. I just wanted to learn voraciously and keep my options open. We’d both suffered a crisis of faith and we were clawing our way back to the cross. With him, I didn’t have to worry about crossing lines. By the time we got back home, it felt like we were old friends. When we exchanged cards at the airport, Chima suggested I join a study group he was in. I thought it was a great idea. My husband agreed.
Drops of rain splash against the glass window in the lobby. I’ve been waiting close to twenty minutes now. I wave as familiar faces walk past me to the elevator. This is a sign. It has to be. I twirl the ring around my finger. I thought I was ready for this, but now, I’m not so sure.
“I’m here.”
I turn around. Chima is jogging down the corridor. His lean physique has filled out nicely since I last saw him. There’s no longer an afro. His head is clean-shaven, shiny, light-reflecting.
Six weeks after graduation, Chima got a new job offer. It came with an office, a car, the whole ensemble. He called to tell me about it, and we stayed on the phone for hours. Then, as I sat there listening to him talk about a celebratory dinner, to my own words, watching the hands of the clock move, feeling the warmth in my chest grow brighter, I knew what had happened, what was happening.
“Chima?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“I think we should end this.”
I didn’t have to define ‘this’. He knew. I knew. Somewhere between commiserations over the rigours of grad school and just talking about nothing, we had come too close to the line.
Neither of us could afford the crossing, so that was it. No more calling or texting. I never looked him up or asked about him. It took a lot of work, quenching that spark that could have razed both our lives to the ground.
And now, here we are.
“What are you doing here?”
“I moved to Ghana six years ago. I got a good offer.”
“That’s great.”
“Yeah.” He grins. “You look… incredible.”
“Thanks.” I squint a little. “Did you go bald?”
Chima lets a belly laugh that resounds in the corridor.
“Yes, I lost the hair. I should have taken your advice, locked my tresses when I had the chance.”
I smile. “You look great. It suits you.”
“Yeah?” He takes a step forward.
As my heart grows warmer, I reach for the ring, caressing it once again. Chima sees it, takes a step back, like it’s a contagious virus.
“How’s Kobby?”
I take in a shuddering breath, thinking over how best to say it. But I don’t have to worry about that. Not with him.
“Kobby died.”
There’s a finality in the words I’ve never said out loud.
“I’m sorry,” Chima says.
I nod. “Thirteen months. Car accident.”
“That’s…” He shakes his head. “The kids?”
“They’re okay. Eli is in school and Grace is with my mum. She’s been a big help, but it’s been… difficult.”
I hug the file tighter and ask what I need to know. “How’s… Erin?”
Chima’s smile is pained. “That didn’t work out.”
“Oh?”
“Yeah. I got to the church thirty minutes early all decked up. She didn’t show. Yeah. I took a sabbatical from the whole love thing after that.”
“That’s awful.”
He shrugs. “C’est la vie.”
I smile. “You’ve gotten better.”
He smiles. “Un peu.”
We stand there in silence, in the realization of our present situations and the possibility of a future. I don’t expect him to say anything. This has to come from me. I’m the one still wearing her ring. But I’m not supposed to do this. I can hear the voices already. My mother-in-law, sisters-in-law, Kobby’s friends, my family: Moving on this soon? Did you have this one stashed away somewhere? Were you cheating on your husband?
“I should go.”
I walk up to the elevator and push a button on the panel. When it opens, I step inside the box, my heart hammering wildly. Chima has followed. He holds the doors open, looking at me.
“When I heard about the training, I hoped your company would send you. I hoped you were still there. Then I heard you were here, and I just had to see you.”
He waits. I say nothing. He steps back. The doors close.
So what now, Bisi? You wait six more months? A year? Forever?
This makes no sense. I’m walking away from him, because, what? The time is never going to feel or be right. The guilt of moving on may never go away. And people are always going to have something to say. This is my decision to make. However it goes, wherever it goes.
I push a button, and the doors open.
He’s still there.
“Would you like to have dinner with me?” I ask before I lose my nerve.
Chima considers this for a moment longer than necessary, then steps into the elevator, standing by me.
“For the record, I want to have a lot more with you.”
He turns to me as the doors close. “But, yeah. Let’s start with dinner.”
©2021 AMA POMAA
Photo by Jessica Felicio on Unsplash
Hey you. How have you been? Showing up everyday and putting your best foot forward, I’m sure. This is me breaking my hiatus on short stories with this piece. I hope you loved it as much as I enjoyed writing it. I’ll be back next month. Till then, stay safe, mask up 🙂
