When Silence Screams

I was with her two years ago when she received the call —the call that changed her whole life forever. She was only 21. That call took away everything she had ever known and loved.

On a Thursday just like today, it rained heavily. Her parents had travelled to Ogun state for her cousin’s wedding party and were on the last bus coming back to Lagos the following evening. In a bid to beat the late-night traffic, the driver had taken the one-way. It’s either that he was drunk or blind in one eye, because all that we heard was that he didn’t see the trailer coming.

Banke’s aunt called for the umpteenth time that evening. Checking who the caller was again, she tucked it away into the side pocket of her leather jacket. I stood at a corner, watching her as she tried to ease herself against the three-seater couch, which stood right at the centre of the living room of my dimly lit apartment, feigning ignorance about the ringing phone in her pocket.

“Aren’t you going to take that call, Banke?” I asked as I strolled out of the kitchen, carrying two glasses of non-alcoholic wine and some crackers in a tray. Setting it aside on the table, I took a seat beside her, inhaling her soft and feminine scent, which had filled the entire room.

“What do you mean, am I not going to take the call? If it were you, Frank, would you take it?” she questioned, eyes bloodshot.

I hated to see her this way. Sadly, however, anytime we spoke about anything, even in the slightest bit related to this topic, she got on the defensive.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, Banke, calm down… I’m not trying to start a fight with you this evening.”

“The battle line was drawn the moment you asked about it,” she snapped at me again.

Was she badly hurt? Yes.

Did she deal with it properly? No.

“What part of I don’t want to have anything to do with these people don’t you understand, Frank? What part? Especially not this woman. Tell me, why should I take her call?”

“Well, for starters, ‘this woman’ is family,” I replied. I knew the last thing she needed from me was a lecture about her family tree or genealogy, but honestly, I was done watching her do this to herself.

Her eyes flashed again with anger, and I knew at this point I had to tread with caution.

“Family?” she spat out the word with so much irritation in her voice. “They didn’t act like family when they left me to rot after the accident. They swooped in, took everything, and treated me like a stranger. Why does she feel like she gets to call me now?”

I sighed, feeling the weight of her pain. “Maybe she’s trying to make amends?” I said carefully. One more statement that offended Banke, and our plans for the evening would be ruined. I wasn’t taking any chances.Banke’s laughter was bitter. “Amends? After all these years? Don’t be naive, Frank. She wants something, and I have absolutely nothing to give.”

We sat in silence for a moment. I couldn’t imagine just what was going on in her head.

Finally, Banke spoke up, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need time, Frank. Time to…I don’t know, heal, I guess.”

This was the first time she had ever spoken about the possibility of ‘healing’. There was hope.

“You always say that, Banke. But time doesn’t change things; things change with what you put into time.”

Featured Image by Shimabdinzade from Pixabay