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frankwriter:
Adventures With Theresa��

Episode 1

Written by: Frank The Writer



***

It’s been a while since I started feeling incomplete. I can’t really tell the reason, it just happened. There were nights that I didn’t write down lyrics on my notepad. There were days I had inspiration but zero vibes to pen them down.
This brought a lot of pressure onto my plate. I needed time to think everything through. I’m used to being around my crew members and touring with them, not only as crew members but as friends, doing my music stuff. I definitely need a break. Maybe that’s what I will do now.

This music of a thing ain’t as easy as it looks. Especially here in Nigeria where a lot of competitors rise every day. Maybe I’ll take a holiday for some time or probably go for a vacation and cool off and not think about music for a while. On second thought I haven’t taken a break before. I was really focused on composing and recording new songs.

I barely feel happy these days. Nothing makes me feel better. Nothing!
I sat down and relaxed on my Avalon having random thoughts about my diminishing music career. It was on a cool Friday evening and I have just closed for the day. I took out my phone from my pocket and immediately I placed my hand behind it, it unlocked.
My mom was the first thought that ran through my mind. I was already on my dialer and I dialed her number which was among the recent calls.
It's always her all the time and it’s looking like I call her much lately.

But the truth is I miss her. Mom was the only that could make me feel better. She has always loved me unconditionally. She’s the only person that can make me feel one piece even in the darkest times. She answered at the first ring, and her voice instantly made me smile.

“Frank, how are you?” Came her ever-calming and soft voice I have been waiting for your calls,” she added.
“How are you doing? And how’s everyone at home?”

I have really missed her so dearly and can’t wait to see her again. She always brings my mood up each time we talked on the phone.

“Everyone is fine, and we all have been busy lately.”
“Busy? What are you people up to this time around?”
“Frank! Are you really asking me that? Your uncle’s wedding is next week. Have you forgotten?”

“Wedding? My uncle? You mean Uncle Jude is finally getting married? Wow!”
“Hmm.. what is wow? So you haven’t spoken with him? I thought your siblings already discussed that with you,” she yelled on the phone. I could almost picture her facial expression.

“No mom. They never told me anything about wedding. Besides they barely call unless I call them.”

“I thought I overheard your sister the other day telling you on phone.”
“No. She wasn’t talking to me. Maybe she was probably discussing with someone else. When is the wedding?”

“Next week Saturday, that’s more reason I’m surprised nobody told you about it.” She answered but I heard another voice in the background.

“I will call you later. I’m with my tailor.. there are a few adjustments she needs to do to my dress. Will you meet up to join the wedding?”

“Of course, I should be there. You know how my uncle would react if he eventually didn’t see me there. He will be u happy if I don’t come.”

“So you are coming? That’s okay.”
“Where is the wedding?”

“Asaba. The wife-to-be is a Ghanaian.”
“Wow! Jude is getting married to a Ghanaian girl. God! What have I been missing? I can’t wait to come around.”
“No problem. We’ll talk better when you come.”
“Alright, mom. Thank you.”

“Erm, remember you promised us a wife soon. We are still waiting,” mom added jocularly and we busted into laughter.
“Are you expecting me to come with anybody?”
“You already know what to do.”

She hung up.

***

This woman already wants a grandchild from me. I’m just 33. I can’t believe my uncle is getting married. He’s almost 60 years old but he still has a young spirit. I wonder who the lucky girl could be. So Nigerian girls didn’t suit him that he decided to marry a Ghanaian. I really can’t wait to ask him this kind of question.
I held my steering and turned on the ignition. The only thing that kept ringing in my head was the last thing mom said. I felt she already want me to get married as her only son and first child as well. She probably didn’t want me to marry late like my uncles.

Damn!

That’s another thing I have to work on. I haven’t really been stable with anyone in a long time. I have been jumping from one girl to another for the past few months. It’s not something I’m even proud of. Having a new girl every month ain’t the kind of life I want but I’m just not happy with any of them. The ones I have met are just so fake, especially Cynthia. If there is another word better than being fake, I think that’s what they represent.
Maybe I’m just unlucky with them. Fake plastic girls with no manners. More focused on looking good for the cameras than taking care of anything else. Always on Tiktok and SnapChat.

Well, not my fault. I really tried. I bet they weren’t my type and didn’t match my energy. For some reason, they don’t understand me, the real me. They only try to impress me. I can’t wait for the day I find the right girl; one that has something upstairs besides being obsessed with Tiktok and makeup. I would give anything to just have a good conversation while I hold her to sleep caressing her hair as I sing her a love song.

Damn! This is just a fantasy. I’m f*cking alone.
Where do I get a date? The wedding is in a week. I should be leaving Lagos for Asaba before Thursday or latest Friday morning if I want to arrive on time to spend time with my fam.

I wouldn’t take a random girl and introduce her to my mom or family, let alone think of the ones I have dated previously. Not even going to happen!

***
When I drove into my apartment, it was almost 8 pm. I had been stuck in Lagos traffic. Lagos and traffic are like tea and bread. It’s usually horrible and hectic during the weekends.
I got upstairs and took a cool bath. Aside from music I was into other several businesses that generates money I used in fueling my music career. If my dependence had been only on music, I would have gone back to the farm in my village.

After making myself noodles for dinner, I sat on the sofa in the living room staring at the TV. I felt the calmness and loneliness of my space. I don’t like being alone.
That’s why I always end up with random girls late at night. Definitely not this time. I need to find a date, a serious one this time.

Mentally, I ran a list of possible dates I could bring. There is Lucy, the last time I saw her was probably last month and we didn’t end up on bad terms. That’s a good thing. Yet she’s still not the girl I would want to introduce to my fams. Lucy is the guy's type with numerous followers on IG. She’s a model as well. Most of her pictures are too revealing! Nothing to hide anymore.

I stood and walked towards the window and lean against the wall.

There is Cynthia, the chubby girl I met at a particular night show in Abuja. Well, now that I think of her, she’s definitely not an option. She’s a nice girl but she threw her phone at me when I later told her I didn’t want anything serious. She’s that crazy and weird type. We didn’t end in good terms.

I then walked from the living room to the bedroom. I stared at myself in the mirror for a moment. I always do that often and sometimes I rehearse my lyrics before the mirror. On other days I prophecy good things to myself.

An image of a pretty damsel returned to my mind after so long. A beautiful laugh and the most irresistible lips on earth. I remember her, Theresa, (Terry). The girl with the most unique personality. I had forgotten about her.

“Damn!” I groaned, now remembering the promise I didn’t keep. I promised to call her the day we met, but I never did. I actually forgot. I remember vividly I met her on a radio station that morning after I had an interview session. I remember the entire conversation we had. She was serving in Lagos and would soon round up.

F*ck! How did I forget Theresea? I remember I opened up about my life to her. Something I never do. Why did I even let that happen?

This has to be a signal and I have a better reason to call her, at least I have to try. I have missed a girl like her, so carefree and sincere. I will just call her right away. She’s the one I want to take to the wedding. Yeah, she is.

To be continued…
© Frank The Writer

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Spiritualonyx:
MY SPIRITUAL WIFE

EPISODE 1
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I'd grown up like every normal child but nothing about me had ever felt normal.
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Where every other person (my mate) found a certain task or achievement difficult, “they”, on the other hand, fall in pleasant places for me, effortlessly.
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Growing up; back in primary school, I'd often find money in my school bag. This usually happened every time I wished I could spend as much as my classmates were spending on biscuits and sweets.
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At first, I thought these were possibly monies I'd forgotten in my school bag until it became a "recurring decimal."
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I got used to these mysterious monies and it gradually grew on me to become a norm.
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I once attempted to tell my step mother about these monies I frequently found inside my school bag; pockets, but she slapped the words right back into my mouth. She said I was spewing rubbish and that there was no such thing as "miracle money".

My step mother went as far as saying that I'd been stealing her money and that it was these “stash” I always found in my bag and assumed they were "mysterious".

“My God has caught you today!” My step mother said, as she beat the living daylight out of me that day.
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Since I knew that talking to that woman was a lost cause, "bottling up" these experiences and every other that followed, began that day.
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Whenever I go to sleep at night, something strange happens. I’d usually have dreams where I “merry” with very unusual faces and other times, very familiar faces.

I wake up from these sleeps wondering if these were mere dreams or there was more to it because of how real they usually felt.

I don't usually know what these dreams meant.

As far as I was concerned, I’d slept and woken up like every other person and nothing about any of these was a big deal. But surprisingly, every time I got back to school the next day (after one of these dreams), a particular girl in my class always appeared to know about my night; about these dreams.

It was always as though she’d featured in it and remembers every tiny little detail.
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Oluchi would usually walk up to me and try to strike a conversation starting from where we’d seemingly stopped from my dream, the previous night.
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I found this strange every time but for some reason, I never asked Oluchi how she managed to do; to know as much as she always seemed to know.
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Oluchi walked her way to becoming my very good friend.

Oluchi would always ensure that whenever her mother packed her lunch, she packed mine too.

It felt very good to have a friend such as Oluchi at the time, especially as I had a step mother who almost never cared if I’d eaten; what I'd eaten or even, if someone like me deserved to eat.
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One day, Oluchi called me out in the middle of the night. It felt like one of my usual dreams, only that this time around, it wasn't.
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Oluchi knocked at my door that night.

Strangely, I wasn’t scared. I simply woke up; stood up, walked over to the door and unlocked it.

Then Oluchi beckoned on me.

I went out to meet her in the company of other children our age.
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My father and step mother’s room was just next door (right opposite mine). For some reason, I cared less about how my step mother would react if she heard my door open at this time of the night.
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The first and the last time I’d ever pulled this stunt was a couple of months prior. I’d sleepwalked and found my way outside my room. But my stepmother made sure to beat that spirit of “sleep walking” out of my body that very night.

So it it never happened again.
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My step mother doesn’t sleep deeply so imagine my surprise when she didn’t wake up at all. For some reason, she had slept deeper than usual, this very night.
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Oluchi held my hand and the other children too soon joined in this fashion, holding each other.

Oluchi chanted some gibberish and in a twinkle of an eye, we were no longer at my house.
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We were now in a very big, long hall. A hall that was filled with a lot of children; children who were mostly my age mates.
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If I was asked to round up the figures I'd seen to the nearest fraction, I'll say three million.
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We all seemed as though, relatives.

We all seemed as though, birthed by one woman; a woman that was comfortably seated on a very huge throne.

Our supposed “mother” was the most beautiful woman I’d ever seen up until that point. She was beautifully adorned in gold from head to toe. She was very light skinned and had very long hair which looked amazing in braids.
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On this particular day, we were having a feast. Our mother seemed to have recently given birth to more children and we had all converged to celebrate their arrival.

We eat; drank; danced and played in various ways. One of those included “the mummy and daddy kind”.
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Every time we played in this manner, Oluchi and I were usually paired.

The first time I tried to have Oluchi and I switched with others, Oluchi didn't talk to me in school the following morning and the week that followed.

Oluchi stopped having her mum pack me lunch too (an act that really shattered my heart to bits).
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"Paul, what is it about these other girls that you often make me believe that you prefer them to me?" Oluchi asked me one day, during one of our break times.
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We were only eleven at the time, so imagine how lost for words I was, out of ignorance to what Oluchi was possibly talking about.

To be continued...



New story alert, fanmily.

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