And the lady died --- Dennis Thompson

It was a cool morning; the whole scenario was hot, messy and rough.  A car, SLK Benz had been involved in an accident; it ran underneath a Benz 911 trailer parked on the roadside.  The accident was so fatal; the car was destroyed beyond repair.

The lady driving the car was wearing a white short sleeve shirt, dripping with blood.  Her skirt was torn to shreds.

As they were trying to lift up her lifeless body, I moved closer even though the police and the hospital personnel were preventing crowd from reaching the scene.  The spot was bounded by red tapes; the traffic police were busy measuring and marking up the space covered.

Cars, buses and trucks were parked on the roadside.  Pedestrians were seen watching with mixed feelings as women and children were crying bitterly.

I forced my way out of the crowd to catch a glimpse of the victim about to be wrapped-up and put in an ambulance when I heard one of the crowd said to me, “DDT, I’m dreadfully sorry for Sally’s death …”

“Sa … what did you say?”

“I thought you knew.  It was your fiancée that died in the accident.”  He declared.

I looked sideways, rushed toward the medical personnel, looked at the body vividly and cried aloud, “Sally, why did you have to do this to me … How can you leave me when you know I cannot cope without you … why; why Sally?”

People tried pulling me back as they wrestled the stretcher from my hands, lifted the corpse into the ambulance.  “Take heart friend, God gives and takes at will.”  The person commented again.

I looked at the person straight in the eyes and told him, “I caused this!”

“I understand…” He said surprisingly, “Because you can’t appreciate what you have, but now that she’s gone…. You will…” He vanished into the crowd as I cried sullenly.       

I heard the phone ringing.  I rushed into the parlour, lifted-up the receiver.  My mother’s voice came on, “Have you forgotten your father said you should be here as early as eight this morning or is it not yet eight?”

I checked the time on the wall clock and it stood at two minutes after eight, “Sorry mom, I’m on my way.” I said, “But there is something I must tell you about Sally …”

She hung up the phone before I had finished my statement; I went into the bathtub, took my bath, brushed my teeth, slipped into a jeans and a T-shirt matched with a pair of loafers.  I did all these in a jiffy, and by the next ten minutes I was on the highway.

The image of Sally's bloody broken body haunted my thoughts.  I felt caught between two worlds.  I struggled to understand what was real and what was not.  When I got to the scene, I discovered nothing. ‘What is wrong with me?’ I thought. “Rubbish!”  I shouted out aloud as I alighted from my car, walked around the place; my mind raced down a bit even though my heartbeat was not normal. 

When I arrived at my family’s residence, there was no trace of Agric Minister and his family. I only saw my father who immediately went into a tirade concerning the way I was handling the business and the news about my lifestyle in school and outside the school.  At the end of his statement he said, “It is high time you moved back into this house where we can really monitor your movement.”

I was shocked but I dared not question my father’s authority.  Attempting such a silly act might easily get me a quick slap.  Instead, I looked at my mother to catch the glimpse of her reaction.  She said nothing, only turned her face away from me to hide any emotions I might be able to see.   I was so disappointed.  The words heavy in my mouth, the only thing I could bring myself to say was, “Okay sir.”

“Good boy…” My father, Oluwole Thompson started, “I think today is the thirteenth.  Pack all your things and in two weeks time I’ll have the movers bring them here for you.”  

“Yes sir.” I said with disbelief.

My father walked out of the room and left my mother and me staring at each other.  I picked up my courage and said, “I’m sorry for any damage I may have brought to the good name of this family.” I dropped on my knees.

Ever the loving mother, she took my hands and drew me to my feet.  As if I were a little boy again, she held me closely in her arms.  “We really love you son, and we cherish all you’ve contributed in your own capacity to the uplifting of the family name.  We are so proud of you, but we fear something bad may happen to you.  That’s all we are trying to prevent.” My mom declared as she sobbed.

“I understand mom, I’ll remain a good boy.  It is alright.”

“We are expecting you back at home soonest.  The back flat has been prepared to accommodate you.”

“Thanks mom, I have to see Sally before she goes back to school …” I said disengaging myself from her as I picked up my keys, made for the door.

“That reminds me; she called this morning to verify if you were around or not.”  My mother eased my tension,

“When was that?”

“Exactly five minutes after eight…”

“Fine”

“Your father even spoke with her … I think they spent up to ten minutes discussing something…”

I finally heaved a sigh of relief as I happily asked my mother, “On what issue?”

“I don’t know.”  She replied.

I narrated my experience of that morning to her, and she said, “It was just a dream.”