The longest piece you might read today
- WHO YOU CALL BOY On days like this, I conclude a boy’s face is an emoji. A million shades but is permitted to use a specific one. All he has left are fragments.
- WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE The pressure is much. You can see it through his pale eyes poking him. Deflating his puffy cheeks. So, he wears a grin.
- JUST A SELFIE Here, these memories linger like a screenshot. He sneaks into his room, behind closed doors, caressing his picture to see the lie left in his eye & pain squatting in his veins.
- MEMORY LOSS I have lost count of the number of times I stretch my jaw. You call that yawning. But I remember Mama always ordering Abike to dish food on my plate.
- WHAT I DO BEST Cross my legs, fiddle my phone. She serves the food, I scoop a mouthful, devour the meal, crush the bone, quench my thirst, belch and wait for the lumps to slide down my oesophagus. Then stretch & sleep.
- MY SCORE CARD Don’t give me that look. Afterall, mama says a woman’s place is in the kitchen. Now, I can’t even boil a concoction or steam a lie to save my life.
- THE BRACKET
At home, we have a policy. So, it is my duty to wash cars not plates. Don't let anybody hear that, they say. Utensils are fragile, they would slip off your fingers and crash. Such an eyesore.
I have an alarm clock, ticking in my earbuds each morning, that reminds me how to be tough and hard like a rock not soft like a pompous agege bread. It’s a taboo
- ROUTINE Same warning I got on a Saturday morning, do not laugh or chatter in public. A smile would do. Look stern, you are a man. Why would you expose your dentition? It is healthy to sob in your mind. A sacrilege to shed tears. Let it not be heard that you broke down in tears. Alu!!! Amadioha would disown you.
- THE PARAMETER FOR BEING A BOY CHILD I dress with swag, cheeks blushing.
Come on, Bruno, it’s not ideal to wear pink/ turquoise. You don’t look masculine enough. It’s too flashy. A man is meant to wear dull or cool colours. - SQUARE ROOT I dust my palm, white particles of powder litter the floor. A mini shrine. The fragrance filter the room. Amina storms in onlooking as I dab my face.
It’s not ideal to spend time staring at the mirror. She says; powders are exclusively for ladies. Don’t let anyone see you doing that.
FOOTAGE
A girl is a hyperbole
A subtle exaggeration
at the brink
of shrinkage
And this boy remains
a metaphor
in shreds
Cast into the abyss
Dribbled like a football
An aquarium
So he floatsit’s obvious he doesn’t belong here
Internationaldayoftheboychild
©️ Michelle Nnanyelugo