Traces of Eve

Chapter 2

JEWELL | Then

I don't think it was a coincidence—how I met the woman who's been declared dead for over a day now. It had to be fate because the timing was perfect. Exactly a week before she died.

That morning it was the chilling cold bathwater that woke me up and the never-ending ringing of my phone. I wished it hadn't that I could've waited in there until my fingertips became raw and pruned, and my palms a mass of wrinkled skin. I loved it when that happens, and I was reluctant to give the solace up.

My roommate's classes were earlier than mine so she'd rouse at the crack of dawn with such a douce mind I wondered how she even made it to the door without tripping.

The ringing ceased for a bit, and I cuddled deeper into the water, not feeling the foam anymore. It was in those times I felt I could drown if I ever wanted to, but then the thought would go away as quickly as it came making me question my sanity all over again. I giggled, wondering what my Aunt Shirley would say if she heard me spewing such nonsense again. That's what she calls it but I only see it as creativity. I never have a dull mind.

It started again. "Sylvia, c'mon." 

This is the part I hate remembering. Me lying there soaking up every drop of water thinking she'd be there. It took me a while to assimilate my surroundings, that it was eerily quiet in the room. Sylvia had left. Two months ago.

The mere thought of her choked me with loneliness till the tears leaked from my eyes, making my vision blurry. I told myself it was the water, that I dumped too much bath salt into it.

People should never walk into your life if they know they'll just exit right out of it like you were a forgotten memory. My matriculation last year was when I reconnected with her.

I was standing at the corner of one of the tall buildings with my rented robe hanging loosely on my small frame watching the faces of people lit up with uncontrolled ecstasy the atmosphere held lingering excitement, I could even smell it and I hated it.

Families were congratulating their well-accomplished daughters, sons, nieces, nephews and other relations. My aunt couldn't make it, she was dealing with business at one of our hotels in Kumasi, one of many in Ghana. She sent a letter though; it arrived three days later. It held words of remorse and reconciliation and I had to wonder, who the hell sends letters these days?

She could have just emailed me, but she's an old fashioned, middle-aged woman. As though sensing my reprieve, my oldest friend Sylvia from my former boarding school walked up to me and asked, "Hey, Jewell, my folks and I want to invite you out for lunch with us. Will you like to come?"

I did. I wondered where she was that morning. I saw her sometimes—down the hallway, in the library and the cafeteria, but we never talk. She was terrified to make eye contact as much as I was to do so. Sylvia no longer beckoned me to join her small group of friends, but I think deep down, she felt guilty. Good, she should.

What happened between us wasn't entirely her fault. During our first year, she pestered me about parties, her friends and the conversations normally started like this—and Angel said that and did that and... I turned her down every turn in the road, a plethora of insults hurled at her.

I knew she was cracking under peer influence. It felt awkward, her leaving me, her roommate and closest friend alone in our room to go party or study with her friends. I couldn't blame her, but she left a little too soon just like my parents. I'm lucky she isn't dead too.

I immediately got out of the bathtub, grabbed a towel and slowly rubbed my wet feet on my new bathroom mat. I got it from China Mall last week Friday. It was not so new anymore from the looks of the brown wet patches staining the surface but it was only three days old. I unplugged the bubble bath and listened to the loud gurgling of water being sucked down the drain.

It was the only sound in my one-woman room. I'd paid enough money to get my own room there in Legon, but every time I entered, the scene was the same damn thing. A jumble of last week's clothes was coating the bed and more spilt from it, making my room appear unkempt. I waded my way through, kicking at dirty underwear and a monstrous pile of clothes until I reached my phone. The caller ID said it was my aunt. Crap!

Her calls profoundly disturbed me and I had no intention of wasting my time by dodging her twenty-one questions like bullets whizzing through the air. I was awash with self-consciousness, thinking I must've rung her up last night. After shoving my phone into my bag, I stretched my arms way above my head, relinquishing in the sweet bliss of unstretched muscles. It wasn't always like this—the constant isolation from the world.

Minutes later, I was plunged into the bustling life university students usually succumbed to. Harmattan fog stained window panes from where I walked and I kept my head low, my chin pressing slightly into my chest as I moved along the crowd. The dust could be awful sometimes and very difficult to dislodge from the eye.

I didn't have a class till ten o'clock that morning, so I dashed to the cafeteria to purchase my favourite pineapple mint juice. When I entered, there were few people inside. A small line comprising three people greeted me. A couple at the far end of the small cafeteria looked shyly at each other while munching on their sugar-coated doughnuts.

I moved toward the elongated fridge and pull the handle. The cool refrigerated air hit me in the face and because of my faint colouring, I'm certain I looked a little pink.

The queue was at a standstill and when it was my turn, I thrust the drink to the cafeteria lady and glanced at her nametag. Her name was June. I remember everything from that day—her mass of silvery thin hair poking from the hair net she wore, the peppermint smile she gave me.

June said, "Hello." before swiping the code past the machine. I didn't reciprocate her kind gesture. I just stared. I always do because the words are gobbled down before I can even bring them out. They always judge when I manage to.

She quickly averted her eyes to her monitor and made a fuss about the cash register. I could tell I'd embarrassed her. It was hilarious. I wanted to tell her it's not you, darling, it's me. I'm the introvert here. But what if I confided in her the other thing, the dark side of me? Would she have thought of me as ostensibly safe, like others before her? It's not something you hurl at a stranger, even if she was sweet old June.

It should have been a typical boring Monday morning with nothing but two classes to occupy my day and long hours spent at the back of the library.

I tried to quickly drown it down my oesophagus and almost instantaneously someone crashed into me, sending the bottle ricocheting out of my hand and spewing the juice on my sweater. I felt the cold tiled floor against my body before my bookbag skidded a few inches away from me. I was so shocked I couldn't form any coherent thoughts, least of all be angry.

The collision was so out of the blue and before I could speak, a voice said behind me, "Oh my God! I'm so sorry."

I turned to look at the intruder, and I was in awe of such an angelic face. She was darker than most of the people I've seen on campus, her skin smooth and spread evenly over the contours of her visage. Her lips were full and nude with only a hint of fading glitter lip gloss on it. Her eyes and naturally curly hair were much darker than night.

"I'm so sorry, " she apologised once again. She pushed up on her feet and didn't bother to brush off the dust from her clothes. She offered me her hand, and I mindlessly took it.

"Are you hurt?" She asked, and it was weird to hear a strong tone of concern lacing her voice.

"N-no, " I replied, then look around for my things, "I'm fine. "

My eyes scoured around for my bookbag and found it to my left, like my clothes the juice didn't spare it. I made an advance to retrieve it but she beat me to it.

"Here. " She hands it to me. "I can pay for your drink."

Before I could decline her offer, someone shouted from behind us.

"Eve!"

A girl taller than me scurried toward us. She was a gruesome mess from her clothes down to her wild black hair.

"We have to hurry or we'll be late," she cried and grabbed her friend's hand and tugged it without even looking at me.

But Eve stood her ground. "I'm sorry once again for bumping into you. " 

And then they both take off; their long frames disappeared when they took a right turn.

That's how I'll recount how we met, that it ended there. I knew Eve only in passing, is what I'll tell the authorities even if it's far from the truth. But a little white lie never hurts anyone.