We had a party to attend at Fela’s shrine that night, it was our other friend’s birthday party. She had picked out the matching outfits for us to wear three days before. You know, we intended to turn heads, as in “slayyyy” – more like she wanted us to slay actually. I’ve never really cared much for such, but my best friend, (grunts) she was born to turn heads. She enjoys having eyes on her everywhere she went and she sure made it a point of duty to drag me into it whenever we went out together. “You can’t be looking like my kid sister or my PA,” she’d say.
However, I was running late – as always.
She called me more than twenty times in thirty minutes. What the heck?! I bounced all her calls thinking she was only calling to yell at me, as usual. I cranked up the volume on my car radio, drowning my ringtone in Quincy Jones’s voice on the super drive-time show.
I got home that night around 10pm, rushed in and was all about changing into our “matching outfit,” all the while coming up with different excuses for why I was late. I kept on chattering about how she almost drained my battery with her calls and messages… bla bla bla! She just laid under the duvet, saying nothing to me.
“Oya, I’m ready let’s go!”
“I said I’m sorry now, let’s go abeg!” I yelled at her, getting angry myself.
Why is she acting up? It’s not like this is the first time I’ll be late. I’m always late after all.
Still no response.
I walked back to the bedside and yanked the duvet off. (Gasps) My purse fell off my shoulder the same time my right hand went up to cover my opened mouth. Sweat broke out my forehead and I began to shiver. I felt really hot and cold at the same time. There was a tingling feeling in my armpits. My knees buckled and I fell to the ground, eyes popping, brows furrowed -trying to make sense of the sight before me. Eventually, a single cry of anguish escaped my throat.
The sight before me was HORRIBLE! It looked like a “perfect” death scene from a Hollywood movie, with lots of special effect.
Her body was curled up in a fetal position and was as still as a statue. Her left hand sprawled out at about 45 degrees to her neck, the palm of the hand was covering her I-phone while her right hand laid lazily in front of her stomach. One could easily deduce from how her face was contorted that she was in pain. No, she wasn’t in pain, she died in pain.
There was blood everywhere. Too much blood from one person and in spite of myself, I reached out and poked her thigh-twice. I honestly don’t know why I did that. Perhaps I was checking if she still had any more blood left in her body.
I was wearing the same dress as she was, only that hers was now soaked in blood. This is my best friend of 12 years lying lifeless on the bed we’ve been sharing for three years and all I could do was poke her lifeless body? What is wrong with me?!
That was when it dawned on me; I actually killed her. I killed my best friend!
No, I had no idea she was even pregnant, neither did I know she was having an abortion, but, it still is my fault she bled to death. Why didn’t I pick her calls? Why did I crank up the radio instead of reading her text? Why was I late?
My best friend died in her pool of blood because I GOT THERE LATE. If only I had picked up the damn phone, I could have saved her. If only I wasn’t late that night…
I killed my best friend.