How My Soulmate Slipped Through My Fingers

We were in our first year in senior secondary school. I met her at the dining hall. She was at my table. We were all green and didn’t know what to do when we got to the table. So the dining hall prefect announced, “The first years, welcome. The bowl in the middle of the table is your food. Any one of you can pick the ladle and dish out the food. Make sure you share it equally so it doesn’t end in a fight. We wish you well and I hope you enjoy your meals.” Other tables started serving their food but my table was still quiet thinking of who to pick the ladle and start serving. I looked around. All the people serving on the various tables were women. I said, “The ladies, we are waiting for you.”

No one got up. Seconds later, one of the ladies said, “Men can also do what women can do? What are you waiting for?” So I got up and started dishing out the food. It was jollof rice. It looked pale and lacked the fragrance every average Jollof has but it was alright. I started dishing out the food. When I got to that girl’s plate, I fetched the ladle to the brim and poured it in her plate. I asked her, “Is that ok?” She looked at me and smiled. She wanted more but was shy to say it so I fetched the ladle to the brim again and put it into her bowl. The guys started murmuring; “The way you’re dishing out the food, it looks like ‘partia’ is coming inside. Why is her bowl full and why does she have two ladles when everyone has one?” 

I didn’t even mind them. The other ladies on the table had a frown on their faces but I wasn’t looking at their faces. When I finally sat down to eat, they all chuckled. The lady I served plenty of food looked content. Her happiness served me well so I said to myself, “Right after here, I would shoot my shot before the seniors do their thing.” When dining was over and we were filling out, I stayed closer to her. When we got out I said, “Hey, my name is Jones. I’m from the art class. How about you?” She smiled and said, “You’re lucky those people didn’t beat you up. What was that for?” I responded, “Even if you wanted the whole bowl, I would have given it to you.”

Her name is Josephine and she is from the science class. I stalked her every break time and was with her anytime we were going to the dining hall to eat. We started talking a little. We started meeting after dining and we talked after preps too. Before the first term ended, I gathered the courage and wrote her a letter. I don’t remember exactly what I wrote in the letter but it had all the lyrics of my favorite love songs. Westlife was the order of the day. Every lady I knew loved their songs so I’m sure that letter was full of Westlife lyrics. 

When dining was over, I folded the letter and sneaked it into her pocket. She asked me, “What is that?” I said, “When you get to your dormitory, you’ll see what it is. Please don’t show it to anybody.”

She had only two jobs; Read the letter and not show it to anybody. The next morning the content of my letter was all over the place and the guys were teasing me about it. I approached her in the morning and she gave me the don’t-you-dare-get-close-to-me- vibe. I said, “Jo, did I say something wrong? I think everything I said was about love so why are you giving me hatred this morning?” She said, “This should be your last time of writing those silly letters to me. Is that what your parents brought you here to do? To chase women? How many women have you written such letters to?” My face fell down. I was like, “I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

That was the first year. Most first-year ladies were like that. They come to school with their parent’s advice still fresh in their hearts and soul so they don’t want to go against it. Give them a year and see what they become. I waited in the dark, like a lion waiting to pounce. We were talking but not too much. When we got to the second year, I proposed again and she bounced me. This time around, the bounce was silent. I told myself, “It’s an improvement over the first. I would go again. Third-year first term I went again. Her response was vague but hopeful. She said, “You, let’s see what happens.”

It was Val’s day that year so I decided to show my love. I came to school with a bottle of champagne I stole from my father’s locker. With the little money I had on me, I bought flowers and put them in my chop box to be delivered on Val’s day. I bought a digestive biscuit and some other things I’ve forgotten. The flower got trampled on but I didn’t mind. The biscuit box was wet a little because water fell on it. I didn’t mind. I put them in a polythene bag and sent them to her right after preps. I was hoping for a kiss but this girl snatched the bag from me and run to the dorm with it. The following morning my name went viral on campus for sending the worse Val’s day gift in the history of Valentine. This girl hated me with passion and didn’t talk to me again until we completed school and left campus.

Eight years later, I was on admission at the hospital. A man was lying next to my bed and was always in pain. He looked like a great man, looking at the caliber of people who visited and brought him food. I was asleep one afternoon when I heard voices in the ward. Visitors had come around. I turned around and guess who I saw. Josephine. I wanted to be sure so I whispered her name and she turned around, wondering who might have called her. I said, “Josephine. Do you remember me?” She looked at me like she was seeing a ghost. She said, “Why are you calling me? You and I, we don’t talk, remember? That gift, you think I’ve forgotten?”

All of a sudden my sickness was gone. I burst out laughing like I was crazy. She rushed to me, cheeks filled with laughter. She asked, “What happened to you?” I asked, “Where have you been and what are you doing here?”

The man on admission was her father. We exchanged numbers and she left. I didn’t see her again until I was discharged. I called her when I was leaving the hospital. She was happy that I’d been discharged. She asked, “Can we meet sometime? I want to remember the old days. You have to tell me what made you so sure about me.”

We were sitting at the terrace of a bar overlooking a very busy street in Accra. She asked questions about life and I answered. She asked why I was chasing her. She asked the motivation behind that gift I sent on Val’s day. She asked so many questions while I was busy looking at her and wondering why I still had something for her after all these years. I said, “I was a boy in love. I didn’t have so much but I didn’t want my lack to stop me. I put that gift together and attached my heart to it but you only saw the gift while throwing my heart away with the wrappers that came with the gift.” 

I got an apology for all the treatment she meted out to me. She said, “I was young and foolish. I liked what you brought me at first. I only began to dislike it when I compared it to the gift other ladies received. Forgive me.” That apology healed an eight-year-old sore and again revived a love that had been buried alive. I was bidding my time to know when to strike again. She was always busy doing something but she made time to meet me once in a while. Whenever we met, it was fireworks of laughter and connection.

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 We met again on the terrace of the bar where we met the first time. That night, I was going to propose. I rehearsed my lines and rehearsed my answers. I’d been let down before by her so I wanted to go prepared and win her one last time. When we sat down she handed me an envelope. I opened it and it was her wedding invitation. She said, “You’re the first to receive this. I don’t know why I’m doing this, maybe for being the first person who pursued me desperately, I think you deserve this honor.”

I couldn’t even fake a smile. I saw the name of the man. It was a very popular name. A politician whose name easily rings a bell. I said, “I’m sorry but I was thinking…” She said, “I saw it. I could have told you earlier but I didn’t know how to start looking at how things were going. Forgive me this one last time. It won’t happen again.”

I was at her wedding. She reserved a seat for me at the reception. When everything was over, I went to her and congratulated her. I shook hands with her husband and said, “Man, you got a great woman. Congratulations.” He laughed heartily, quite oblivious to the history between me and his wife. When I was leaving the venue, I made a promise to myself, “The chase is over. I tried. I didn’t win this one but it doesn’t mean I won’t win the next one. We move. I really wish her well.”

She’s doing great things and I’m proud of her for that. We hardly talk but I see her often on social media. She posts about her foundation and how she’s helping to eradicate poverty one person at a time. Maybe, she couldn’t have done all that if she ended up with me. It makes her happy and I’m glad to know life has treated her fairly well, with or without me.