Always more than one side to a story (1)

If I had not married Pamilerin when I did, I probably might never have gotten married. She is the closest I have come to loving a woman. But is love ever enough? Ever? I mean ever? Walking away from the balcony, I watch her silhouette as she bends to pick up Semilore’s teddy, Gizmo. Even her silhouette still has the power to rouse me. . .

‘Who was on the phone?’ Why can’t this woman just let things be?
‘Oh, that was Femi – Reporting his wife again’. I slip my hands around her and kiss her neck and then her ears. I know what she likes, she knows what I want. ‘Busy?’ She slips out of my grasp holding my left hand captive.
‘Ohhh, Sojiiii! She exclaims. I notice wetness at the sides of her eyes and we both stop transfixed. She looks away first.
‘Its nothing. It’s the fumes from the generator… I went out to the back to get something and I got the fumes in my eyes.’ She smiles unconvincingly and rubs her face against my stubble. ‘You were suggesting something…?’ she suggests as her grasp eases. I smelt her hair and remembered my original mission.

Pamilerin is imperfectly perfect. Her smile, her face, her body, her thinking. Perfect, perfect, perfect, perfect. She has a great career, she is a wonderful mum, a social diva, a star with her friends. Everything about her is a perfect symmetry and that had been my first point of attraction.

Nine years before, I had gone with my friend Femi to the Law School to scope a catch when I literarily walked into Pamilerin and upset her takeaway, spilling rice and chicken as Femi’s date, Nkiru walked in. Apparently, they were friends.
‘Oh dear! Food is a big deal here at Law school- especially at the weekends.’
We had apologised and insisted on taking her back to Munchies with us to get another pack. She sat quietly with me at the back of the car and answered our questions with soft smiles and monosyllables. She was so proper. I liked it. Small wonder I kept going back.

Pamilerin’s family was like her- perfect. Upper class, third generation moneyed family. Mama Bear, Papa Bear, and three baby bears living quietly in a mansion. I noticed her father’s initial reservation the first time I had visited her at home. Her mother snubbed me outright. I bet she saw me as the tramp that ate their porridge and slept on her daughter’s bed. Once it turned out that I was upwardly mobile, their attitude changed and they actually made an attempt to introduce me to their social circle. After a year, I realised she was too perfect for me and tried to shed her off. Her family had been a part of the chase for me. It seemed once I had conquered her parents and she had given in to me, I needed more – and perfection was not it. I did not want perfect – I wanted woman. Whatever that was, I still cannot yet figure it out. Perfect women are hard to shed off. Pamilerin is a classic case. Nothing shook her. She had set her sight on me and was worse than a bulldog and a bone. Since she would not bulge, I started to see other girls – along with her. Something shook me though.

Pamilerin had come visiting at my flat while I had a girl over for the weekend. Picking up the spare key from under the flowerpot, she had let herself in and had come straight to the bedroom where we were lying in bed talking. I had brazenly said hi to her and introduced her to Ify – my weekend date. She had muffled some form of greeting and had gone to the kitchen where she made chicken stew and jollof rice from scratch and then left my apartment without a word. She scared me. Caught me off my move on the chessboard. She never referred to it – Never seemed to blink over it. I wanted a confrontation at the least. Zilch. Nothing I did shook her. I did eventually see a chip in her armour – I caught her crying in my bathroom at 4am one morning. I knew why. Surprisingly, it broke my heart. My compromise was marrying her.

I meant my wedding vows when I made them – forsaking all others. And I did try for a while…

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