Short Story: Beloved In Christ (Part One)
 |
| christianity.com |
In the turn of events, I overheard the doctor whispering to the nurse in green, “Ensure that the young girl does not go anywhere, I would need to blow some ‘sense’ into her!”
That message was finally delivered to me. But, ideally, there was this part of me that kept saying, ‘you better bolt, Adukwei!’ I however told myself that ‘not this time.’ For I had fallen on Maa Christy, my mother, her oft repeated admonition, ever since some two irresponsible big “pimples” began growing on my chest. She would say: “Adukwei, now you would have to be responsible for the decisions you make. If they are good, they would embrace you with good. The same way if they are bad, their ramifications, you should know that they would attack you badly. My girl, always do good, if you really want to be a child of the living God.”
Things had not gone on well for me as a teenage girl. Regardless, I needed to give myself some hope, so to write the wrongs off in my wretched life. Nobody had asked that I betook this crooked path. And like my mother would often say, ‘you would have to be responsible.’ Therefore I am for it — the doctor’s admonition — no matter how dreadful it might be. Even if she would chastise me with whips and scorpions, I am for it. Because without going through fire, even gold would be just a stone.
Some minutes had flown away. At the seating area, Dr. Efua, announced her presence. “Come with me,” she beckons. I entered into her office and took a seat and folded my hands into my thighs just like an aspiring President ready to listen to a group of floating electorates who had just turned eighteen years. “Listen, girl! Do you know that I have two beautiful girls like you? All of them are pursuing medicine. They are yet to come home and enjoy their first vacation. Imagine they had not taken their books as ‘lovers’, how would it have ended for them?”
Dr. Efua, with all seriousness, I must say, talked and talked. I was seeing what was unfolding as somewhat normal, until she was very wan and ashy and thus issued a stern warning to me: “If they get you pregnant again and you come here for an abortion, you are not going to bear forth children in the future. Do not also think of being canny — that you would have it done illegally elsewhere. For you may suffer dire complications which could inure to losing your precious life. You are such a beautiful gem. Every man would want to take advantage of your synagogue. Hmmm…! That gender called men they only think more about their genitals than tomorrow. Are you not aware that abstinence is key?” I was shushed and now petrified.
These honest words from her landed me on the land of regret, with a bloody tear oozing from my brains. All the evil in me got shackled. My remorseful soul was shivering like I was bare chested walking on a snowy day. She asked about my guardian. But I had to tell her that I have lost my parents before I saw light. This was to sway her from further positing that she would need to talk to my mother.
And it is not that I had come to the hospital all by myself; Tsotovo had brought me here. He later left after settling the bills, with a flimsy excuse that he might be late to work. However, I cannot have him blamed; I was the one who let him saw Jerusalem without having waited for even four long hours. That is how loosen my pant had become.
The good me thanked Dr. Efua for her kind words. I still find it surprising that she rose from her desk and gave me a cool hug, regardless of the gruesome abortions I have committed at this teenage times. That hug is equal to what my mother gives me anytime I do something plausible. “It is well,” was her closing remark. She gave out her complimentary card and promised. “Adukwei, you can reach out to me anytime life is roaring at you.” I took the card and thanked her in multiple folds all over again. She saw me off and, even ordered a taxi for me.
TO BE CONTINUED…
By Abdul Rahman Odoi
Copyrights Reserved.@2022
#StoriesToldAreNotInnocent
(UNEDITED)
NB: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Post a Comment