OF LOVE, PLAYLIST AND SUNLIGHT

I met you in the last 6 months of your life; the best 6 months of my life. I met you at a time when the words "I love you" felt like lies to me, but yours were a spring of cool water washing down my soul. 

I met you, no, I bumped into you in the hospital. With my hair in my eyes and my left arm caught in a sling - the door was heavy and there was no way I could push it with my good arm. I put my full weight on it, instead, and tumbled right into you. You caught me, you lithe man whose frame belied his strength. We did the whole high school scene - my hair fluttering in the breeze and you looking intently into my eyes. That lasted for two seconds, sha, until your friend, whom I found out was your driver, cleared his throat. 

In those 6 months, you never told me why you went to the hospital, and I never suspected a thing. Did I always live in my head? 

Segun, I knew you loved me on that Saturday when I went to that tech show. You called me a few minutes past 6 and asked if I was done. I said I still had a few things to finish up with, and you said, 

"Perfect. I will send Tade to come fetch you. You don't have to go home - I know you don't have food there. I cooked rice and chicken stew, and you can wear my clothes." 

My eyes misted a bit, and when my partner looked at me and asked if I was alright, I told him the screen light was getting to my eyes. Tade came to fetch me, you cooked rice and chicken stew and I wore your clothes. But those were before you ran a warm bath for me and gave me a massage. I slept soundly that night. 

Segun, in the last month before you left, you lost weight, you coughed more often, and you were always tired. You still didn't tell me, until I saw you coughing up blood into the kerchief you held. I looked at you quizzically, and you smiled. 

"I have cancer," you said. I knew then that you were a madman because no sane one would smile and say "I have cancer," even if it were a joke. 

I smiled back and waited for you to chuckle and say you were kidding. But I knew you were not kidding; the signs were too obvious, and your lethargy was louder than a deafening silence. 

Should I talk about your thinning hair that made you prefer staying bald? I packed my bags that night, and I saw the pain in your eyes. But I had to go. I had to think about how I would live when the man who loved me in ways no one did die. 

I stayed away for two days. The longest two days of my life. I returned on the third day and crawled into your lap, I put my arms around your neck and bawled my eyes out, and you spoke into my ear, 

"I was gloomy until I met you. I wasn't bothered about dying because life had never given me a reason to stay alive until I met you. I'm scared, Funmi, I'm scared that I'll never get to listen to our playlist with you. I'm scared that I'll miss out on the best parts of your life. I'm scared that my hands will grow cold, and I wouldn't have yours to keep them warm. I'm scared that I'll leave a scar on your life. I'm scared that I will cause you pain." 

I told you that you were the best part of my life. We did all of those things in the weeks leading up to your death; listened to our playlist, I held your hands when they grew cold, and I showed you that you would never leave cause me pain. But I was pretending. On the last day of your life, the sun's brilliance was dazzling, the wind whispered through the curtains, and you had this beautiful smile on your face. You were at peace. 

"I love you, Funmi Adesina." I love, loved you too. I wanted to say it back, but the tears threatened to come if I opened my mouth. It was mayhem after that, and Tade had to rush you to the hospital. 6 hours later, the doctors confirmed you dead, and everything in me went dead. I needed the sun, I needed to breathe, I needed you. I got the first two, but not you. We buried you one week later, Tade and I because you had no other people. 

Tade is married now, you know, and he has a little boy he swears looks just like you. Tade named him after you, Segun, and he is 3 years old. I, too, have a son who's 6 years old, and no, I'm not married. But I'm glad that on the days when I begin to forget what you looked like, I look at your son and I am instantly reminded of you. On my darkest days, that sunlight we both made on the last day is all I need to dispel the darkness.

Rest well, ife mí. 

©God'slight Nnaji