Oyinkan Braithwaite

Ayoola summons me with these words—Korede, I killed him.

I had hoped I would never hear those words again

“These days, you look at me like I’m a monster.”

When she is older, she will remember him as her first love. She will think of how perfect his crooked nose was, and how soulful his eyes. But even if she forgets his face, his voice will stay with her in her dreams.

My mother sighs and walks away, because she knows I won’t be able to rest until there is not a speck of dust left on the piano’s surface. I head to the supply cabinet and grab a set of wipes. If only I could wipe away all our memories with it.

“Why?”

“I just don’t think it is wise to start something with him.”

“ ’Cause I’ll hurt him?”

“If you want him for yourself, just say so.” She pauses, giving me time to stake my claim. “Besides, he isn’t all that different from the rest of them, you know.”

“What are you talking about?” He is different. He is kind and sensitive. He sings to children.

“He isn’t deep. All he wants is a pretty face. That’s all they ever want.”

“You don’t know him!” My voice is higher than I expect it to be. “He is kind and sensitive and he—”

“Do you want me to prove it to you?”

“I just want you to stop talking to him, okay?”

Is this how he sees her? As an exotic beauty? I console myself with the knowledge that even the most beautiful flowers wither and die.

I am sure they are celebrating him in hell.

I found the quiet

In your arms;

The nothing that I search for

Daily.

You are empty

And I am full.

Fully drowning.

But then it is doubtful Ayoola would have engaged in these activities had he been alive. The only form of retribution she ever feared was the one that came from him.