Again, I saw my mad friend across the road. As usual, he laughed at the sight of me. There, on his cheeks, lovely dimples deepened. His eyes, though bloodshot, could melt a heart. Brown teeth sat behind his unattractive broken lips. Thank God, his mustache fell a bit short of covering his upper lip. No one would have known how ugly the dark little lump of muscles were. His dreadlocks reminded me of the popular singer; how beautiful would a neat one be? But my friend's, well, could not have been worse, or more disheveled.
Adorned his majesty with a shirt and a pair of trousers. One thing stood out, half of one trouser was torn and dragging on the floor. Some parts were missing on the shirt, somehow. He loved banana, he still did. In a not-too-dirty nylon, packed was a bunch of bananas, dark-spotted. His guitar had changed. As he grew, it grew too. They became old together. The guitar, really old and out of a couple of strings. He, also, in his early 30s looked fiftyish.
One weird thing; he tied a red rope around his left thigh, and weirder, a green one around his left ankle. I stood 50 meters away, watching with tear-filled eyes. This is my mad friend, but we both left at 10.
At a crucial juncture in his life, I thought, he must have found solace in sitting down at this junction where we last met. He rested his back against the rough bark. The tree also, as far as I remembered, was old. The old guitar, with its weak strings, held tightly against his thighs, looked sad and gloomy, like it knew someone who knew its luster past lurked nearby.
Indeed, I found tears more comforting as the pain harshly wrenched my heart. We, together, left home at 10.
At night, under the dim light, in front of the old club, same as it was, my mad friend sang and played loudly beside the pole. Beautiful songs! He sang louder than he played Platten's fight song. But the rhythm could really break a heart.
"Like a small boat
On the ocean
Sending big waves
With passion, he sang. And louder, his voice went with each line of the lyrics. The tear dam broke, I felt wet on my face. That's my friend.
At that moment, I found tears more comforting as the pain harshly wrenched my heart. We, together, left home at 10.
The goodbye he said still echoed in my ears. "Goodbye," He waved his tiny little hands, "Till we meet again."
At this same junction, we departed, two sane kids. "Oh, My mad friend." I moaned.
"I have found a home
Among birds
The home I longed for
That I may see afresh
My home among the sane
Where morning is morning
And night is really dark
Oh, Sane! Remember
I am your close brother
Teach me to live
Once again this life..." He rattled on.
Gently, I wayfore towards him. He saw me. He stopped. 2 decades ago, two trains left. one, forward. The other, in fact, to the far back. His eyes shined with unshed tears. As if, at that moment, his sanity returned and he remembered that silent night, at this same junction. We, together, left home at 10. He let go of the fight against his tears. They came in a hurry, on their sad journey to the jaw.
As he stared at me, and more at the bucket in my hands, he wept bitterly. He was broken, just like me. At that point, I indeed found tears more comforting as the pain harshly wrenched my heart. We, together, left home at 10.
He stood. I walked. More tears. I removed the small towel across my shoulders, and dropped the bucket I used to hawk sachet water. My feet were dirty, almost like his; in fact, they did look alike, but, I was wearing a pair of old slippers. Mad too? No. The train that went forward didn't get there. But, remember, we both left at 10.
Onifade Oladimeji Samson Dlog
First published on September 9, 2019.
Reviewed by Onifade Oladimeji Samson
on
September 09, 2019
Rating:
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