Alex awoke in the middle of the night. She glanced at the digital clock on the nightstand just as it updated to seven minutes past three am. Beside her, Lena stirred in her sleep mumbling some incoherence as she slung an arm around Alex' emaciated form and snuggled in to share her warmth. Lena was a cuddler; normally, Alex would have responded by catching Lena's roaming arm under hers, kissing her hand, and pressing her open palm against her breasts. Lena, who was guaranteed to be half awake, would kiss the back of Alex' neck and both would cling to each other, falling asleep again as a unit.

Not tonight.

Tonight, Lena's arm around her waist might as well have been a large Constrictor cutting off the residual vitality that the cancer had yet to claim. Alex felt suffocated. Irritated even. But that irritation quickly turned to shame as she made the concession that her despair was not caused by any tangible infringement least of all her girlfriend's need to provide her with physical comfort. What she felt was an overwhelming anxiety that she desperately needed to escape; but she also knew that if she could match the speed of light, she would not outrun this feeling. What was left was an unbearable hopelessness. The kind that bodes the dreaded inevitable end. The kind that people were ashamed to admit but which became glaring in retrospect - by a limp body hanging by a rope from a ceiling fixture; by a tumescent body afloat in a river at dawn, with the lightness of having surrendered everything; by a broken body at the foot of a high rise office building, a spirit shattered by the insurmountable pressures of a corporate world, and a body sprawled grotesquely at the feet of its embodiment. The kind people were ashamed to admit because it showed them for what they were and had been - weak and defeated.

Alex felt Lena's warm, humid breath so close to her skin that the sensation radiated to her extremities. She turned around in the strangulating embrace to discover Lena was still sound asleep.

In the soft moonlight filtering in through the blinds, Alex could see that in contrast to the turmoil brewing in her own chest, what was reflected on Lena's face was serenity. Blissful serenity. Although they were locked in each other's arms in a dinky bedroom, they couldn't have been further removed from one another. They were on separate continents. Alex'- a dark place of incessant sandstorms; Lena's - a sunny blithe country of profound beauty. Lena's face was an oasis in the middle of the Sahara; Alex smiled despite herself and couldn't resist leaning in to kiss the cheek of this sleeping angel that obliviously bore tacit tidings. Lena moaned softly and stirred but did not wake; much to Alex' relief. She knew that mutual consciousness would only transport them both to a single space of real and empathetic suffering; she wanted to hold on to this illusion a while longer.

She had thought she would be ready.

The diagnosis had come almost a year ago and she had actively made her peace with the consequence of the disease. Dying had never been a scary feat for Alex who had always maintained a pragmatic view on things. To her, dying was a natural consequence of living and because death succeeds life, it was to be considered a graduation of sorts. She had spent the better part of the last months mollifying her friends and family, working hard to convince them she was okay and encouraging them through the stages of dealing with the eventual loss. Her capricious attitude was met with quizzical stares and suspicion. She had refused to let the sympathy in their eyes affect her zen and so she took an extended vacation - a quest to check as many things off her bucket list as she could. She had been to the great pyramids at Giza - the only surviving monument of the lot that constituted the seven wonders of the old world; she had experienced an outstanding performance of Beethoven's ninth symphony in the splendor of the David Geffen Hall at Lincoln Center; she had been to the Wembley stadium to watch Arsenal FC defeat Aston Villa for their twelfth FA cup title; she had gone on a Himalayan exploration tour and engaged in skydiving and rock climbing; she had met and taken a selfie with Ellen Degeneres, tweeting the picture hashtag "getellyontelly" and officially joining the campaign to get the Ellen show on British television.

Ironically, you do most of your living when you realize that you are dying and Alex found that her adventurous spirit had been submerged, all along, by the presumptive longevity promised by youth. Time had been taken for granted. And now, time was seeking restitution. And she was bowing to it as she must- frantically filling her last days with events of supposed "meaningfulness". In reality, Alex failed to grasp the relevance of the jaw-dropping sights, that left her momentarily breathless and put her entire being in unflattering perspective. Why was it a good thing to feel small and insignificant in the face of all this God-made and man-made magnificence? To destroy our individual vanity? To humble us in preparation for postmortal transcendence? There was greater comfort to be derived from personal achievement than from revering the myriad of excellence and Alex realized,apprehensively, that perhaps her own vanity might be indestructible after all. That, surely, would make her very unsuitable for the afterlife.

The afterlife.....

She had thought she would be ready.

Alex stopped believing in Heaven and Hell when she became an ardent skeptic in her early twenties. She had held on for as long as she could, but eventually, all the good fairy tales and myths, designed to keep us in line, bite the dust. Santa Claus and the Easter Bunny went at age seven. In comparison, Jesus had a descent run. In the end, it was too hard to reconcile the "Good God" with the act of condemning people to eternal damnation, so in Alex' mind, the whole concept was reduced to a simple fallacy. It had always seemed natural - not believing. Strangely, it was getting harder and harder to maintain that unbelief as she was approaching the end of the twelve months which her oncologists had prognosed. Because, the cancer was caught so late, she had resigned herself to palliative care instead of pursuing radical experimentations that were guaranteed to exhaust her body quicker than the inevitable metastatic infestation eating up her insides.

Alex had had an exam earlier that day, "So, am I on schedule?", she had asked Dr. Christie with suspicious lightness that did nothing to conceal her anxiety.
"I'm afraid so", the good doctor had said "Your body is shutting down".
Well, that explained the sleepiness, tachypnea and the embarrassing incontinence which she had been suffering since the start of the week. But somehow those signals were not as damning as Dr. Christie's declaration of doom.
"Stands to reason", Alex muttered "I have never been late for anything in my life".

In an overwhelming rush of emotion, Alex felt the realness of the situation. It was as if the past year had been running in technicolor and this little sentence had nudged everything back into perspective.

...your body is shutting down....

And so it was!

This is really happening! She had despaired. I am actually going to die. I will leave everyone that I love behind to a nothingness, or worse - a thing unknown. And for a while they will grieve and miss me - maybe - but then I will be forgotten. Done with and dusted off.

It was only when Alex felt Lena squeezing her hand tightly that she realized she had been crying. For the first time since the diagnosis in November.

"I'm alright" Alex whispered.

"Yes, you are", Lena said emphatically. Not because she agreed with Alex' assessment of her personal condition, but because she needed Alex to believe it and not panic. She needed to help her maintain the peace she had found in the past months. It had been very difficult watching Alex disappear physically before her eyes - becoming only a vague semblance of the presence she once commanded. And in contrast, her spirit had seemed indomitable and very effusive. Lena had kept her anguish hidden from Alex, unwilling to disturb the energy which Alex was capable of mustering all on her own. But she had known this day would come, and dreaded it. The day that the careful constructions of Alex' mind that seemed absolutely zen would be revealed for what they were - a fraud. A masquerade for Denial.

"Yes you are, my darling", Lena repeated, pulling Alex into her embrace and fighting the urge to cry herself.

She knew she had to be strong now.These last moments when the doubts crept in; she was not unlike a best man dispelling the fears of a groom who suddenly developed cold feet even though he was marrying the love of his life. A best man who knew his duty but who secretly wished he could stop his friend from getting married so they could continue to romp about as bachelors in endless enjoyment. There was a time Lena had believed the magnitude of her love for Alex would conquer anything. It had conquered a lot; forgiven many transgressions. But this? This revealed how impotent love could be when you are counting on it to save your life. It was useless - a cushion to lay your head on while dying. She had felt anger, pain and frustration in a loop.

But Alex felt only anxiety as she looked at Lena, still sound asleep, beside her. How can I leave her? She struggled with herself knowing she must let go but needing to hold on. Just a little while longer. Tonight wasn't the night to die...........the night was so beautiful.....would be a shame to miss it.......

Not while Lena was asleep.......

Not while the left-overs of her favorite veggie lasagna lay snugly tucked away, waiting to be devoured in the morning.

The season finale of Game of Thrones would be on tomorrow.........

There was still too much to do.....

One quick question, do you write all these yourself?

Chuksemi:
One quick question, do you write all these yourself?

Lol! Yes, I do.

RaggedyAnn:


Lol! Yes, I do.

What inspired this story? its 'un-Nigerian' ...

Chuksemi:



What inspired this story? its 'un-Nigerian' ...

Hmmm..this story was inspired by thoughts of despair - suicidal thoughts. Not the kind that is a cry for help, but the point that one gets to where they have, voluntarily, sentenced themselves to death. They don't want to die, but they also know that they shouldn't live (for any of the many distorted reasons which translate to a feeling of emptiness or inadequacy). The anxiety becomes resignation. And then, I thought of it like a terminal illness where you actually see it coming. And how you have to consciously disengage from the people you love. So, i made it cancer instead of suicide because it is less controversial and would be more sympathetic.

I don't know why I chose non-Africans. Maybe I wanted to distance myself from the feeling, at the time. I'm over it though.

RaggedyAnn:




Hmmm..this story was inspired by thoughts of despair - suicidal thoughts. Not the kind that is a cry for help, but the point that one gets to where they have, voluntarily, sentenced themselves to death. They don't want to die, but they also know that they shouldn't live (for any of the many distorted reasons which translate to a feeling of emptiness or inadequacy). The anxiety becomes resignation. And then, I thought of it like a terminal illness where you actually see it coming. And how you have to consciously disengage from the people you love. So, i made it cancer instead of suicide because it is less controversial and would be more sympathetic.

I don't know why I chose non-Africans. Maybe I wanted to distance myself from the feeling, at the time. I'm over it though.

Yes, the heroine is a lesbian. Does this signify the liberality of the author?


I enjoyed the story generally. Very reflective.