Forgiveness, Memories, Past and Present(Darlington Chukwunyere) This happened long ago, but till date I’ve fought it — the memories of being hurt by someone I loved so much; the shock of being betrayed by someone you trust with your life… the surprises you derive from realizing you’ve been living a false life, and the trauma of having to face who you are.

I’ve tried all within my powers to let go, yet all my efforts yield to naught after an often long run of goodwill.

I come from a family of four; I live in a low priced estate with my mother and only sister, but never saw much of my father as he lived miles away from us.

Mum and Dad were separated long ago, after I was born… I’d grown up, in fact, not really knowing much about my biological father. When I was six, he usually visited us, bringing bags of trouble and tears for Mum who would always wet her pillow with cold tears through the subsequent night when he was gone.

Mum had told us her reason for quitting Dad; “he’ll always beat her up and blackmail her with feigned kisses on gun point whenever neighbors come to inquire about her well being… Dad would always threaten to kill her if she ever made a report to the police — and she would not want to get him upset, she so feared his cane and beating, but worst of all, she loved him so much and could not live a day without a sight of him.” That was absolutely the truth, for as at when I was eleven, Mum still mailed prayer points to her distant relatives asking God to turn things around for Dad and bring him back to his senses, and I also read similar prayer requests in every Sunday bulletin.

Mum always wept all through the night whenever Dad visited… and this always haunted my imagination even when I was approaching adulthood.
Gradually, my little family got used to Daddy’s absence. We moved on with our lives, learning to love and cherish each other… this was a formidable bond that we shared; it aided us through most storms and life’s challenges.

My sister was in her fourth year in the high school, while I was in my third. We were both boarders… Mum had enrolled us into boarding schools, concealing our location from Dad so we could avert his troubles.

Years past, and I learned to live without a father, knowing only Mum and my uncles and aunties. It was fun though, at least there were no skin pains; not yet though, until when I clocked fifteen.

***one year later***

It was mid-term-break, and I had returned from school, scheduled for holidays. That very day, Mum did not show up to take me home as usual, unlike her. My friends’ parents came in their cars for their wards, I waited endlessly for Mum, but there was no sight of her anywhere. Close to evening, I decided to join a school bus headed for my residence.
When I got home, it was evening. Mum opened the gate for me; she was in her usual warm embrace, allover me with apologies.

“So sorry honey, I had a flat tire and my car was acting strangely…”

This was unlike my mother. My home coming was not a thing of emergency, so it was quite bizarre of her to act as though she lacked information concerning my return home. Anyway, I didn’t pick any offences, at least it was the first time she’d ever acted this way, and I managed to believe her.

I met my greatest bolt from the blue when I entered the house; it was like I was in the movies. My sister was not home, my room was locked, so I entered Mum’s room — we literally had almost everything in common so it was not a new feat for me… there was a man lying on Mum’s bed. He was fat, with a rotund over-grown belly. It is not a strange thing seeing a man on a woman’s bed anyway; but for my mother, it was the strangest thing I’d associated her with since my knowing her. He was so at home, and didn’t just seem to me like a just-arrived visitor.

My mouth was so agape when I saw this that I struggled with words for close to ten minutes. At last I found my voice and managed to mutter some words of greeting to him as courtesy demands at least, before inquiring as to his identity.

It was later that I discovered he was the same man who always paid visits to Mum in the past, he was a pastor. I wondered what a reverend gentleman could be doing on the bed of another woman apart from his wife. What… I was soon going to find out anyway.

Mum sensed my thoughts and intervened right on time; she took my hands gently and drew me away to somewhere private…

“So sorry baby, it had to happen this way. I owe you a lot of apologies… just hope your sister will understand...”

“But who is…”

Mum did not allow my interjection. “He, he’s your… I’m so sorry honey, but he’s your step-father now.”

“My what!?”

I didn’t say any further word, I just walked out and headed straight to my room; I got atop my bed and allowed my emotions take charge of my whole psyche.

***A month later***

My sister returned from the convent and met a similar shock as I had earlier on. She felt so disappointed in Mum as well as I did; it was like a wrecked ship, the hope of seeing our nuclear family back as one again, all crashed against the rocks by a storm of mortal desire… this was how Mum destroyed this noble dream forthwith with her bid to satisfy her sexual urge; and gain the supposed masculine asylum, the name, every African woman desires… a common feature of life fulfillment.

For a countless number of days, I prayed to God to turn things around and return everything to normal — I’d wished it was all a nightmare and hoped to wake from it soon; but all my hopes were dashed away as days came and faded, but the intruder yet remained lord of the household.

With time, I resolved to adapt to the latest development; since at least it makes Mum happy and all I’d ever wanted was her happiness… I accepted her decision wholeheartedly and urged my sister to do same.

We both adapted to our home’s new situation; and prayed fervently for the end of holidays upon end of holidays so that we would stay away from the two lovebirds as far and as long as possible… but it was like trying to evade one’s shadow.

***A year later***

This strange man, who’s virtually bespelled Mum, began unfolding his true colours. At first, it began with recurrent quarrels between Mum and her new husband. He began keeping late nights; often returned home drunk and battered. Neighbors brought Mum reports of having seen him with different women in unholy postures, but Mum repelled their concern tagging them enemies of progress.

One day, I ran into him, red handed. But when I approached Mum with my discovery, she lashed out on me:

“Mum, please believe me,” I’d begun. “I saw him, I caught him red handed. That man is a chronic womanizer, a drunk… he’s a gold digger. He only wants your money, food and shelter. He doesn’t love you one bit…”

“Will you shut your mouth little mouse! What do you know about love? I see; you’ve turned against me too, eh? Okay, we shall see.”

I was so astonished with Mum’s reactions. I shut myself in my room, and wet my pillow uncontrollably. ‘This man has eaten so deeply into the heart of my mother that she now sees me as an intruder.’ This thought swarmed my head till I dozed.

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