I Wish It Was All A Dream From Which I Could Wake Up

She completed her first year when I was in my final year in University of Nigeria. In the morning of January, around 4:30, she called on phone and I was convinced she was telling me the truth. I dressed myself carefully, went downstairs and resolved not to be the first to ask her any question. I passed her room very softly thinking that she was pretending but she saw my image reflecting on the windows.

“Did I take much of your time?” I asked. “Do I have one?” The last time she answered my question with question was the day I comically called her my wife. She was speechless not having expected any question from me. I peered deeply into her eyes, seeing in them her sincerity. I glanced at her reading desk, saw a diary and then slowly faced her. Her eyes were filled with sadness. Even though I made effort to smile and to make her smile, I wondered what made her feel sad. I looked into her eyes and she quickly made a figure out of the diary where she wrote all she wanted to tell me.

The diary has a flying page where he did not write anything. Her handwriting was as clear as crystal. I never wanted to read the story but the first line of the story attracted my attention. “I was ten years at the time my parents died and no one told me anything about their death until five year later after a great deal of thought about my starting school and living an independent life”, she continued her story. Both of them died of HIV. Ever since then, I never wanted anything in life but it seems that life wants everything from me.  I felt myself fading away from my heart, and I grew sad and miserable. I did not blame anybody, but blamed my father who they said was the cause of their death. The world for me has been a clash of water in a sea. I felt everyone left me behind until your father decided to sponsor me when I got admission into University. You could only wonder how such good person could spend her time and money to sponsor me and advised me not to make the same mistake my father did, yet it seems as if I failed him. I stopped writing a diary of all sad stories when I came to know your family, but I think I am beginning to write another sad stories. I would have avoided a lot of mistakes and regrets if I had just listened to your father’s advice. I did not know that Love and money are like spirit. I was really deceived and I have discovered that the last is always a heat. My first year in college, I dated an amazing guy who I thought could be my savior, but eventually he deceived me. Years later I began to date many other guys. I regret falling in love with wrong guys that did not love me but rather deceived me. I got so drunk sometimes and I started flirting with my fellow students, and things went way too far. I regret spending so much money on clothes, make ups, trying to appear sexy to guys. I have come to discover that the last is always dangerous. I think the image of life has left me. I wish I could be there with your family and for your family again. See, some of my schools friends look harmless and innocent. All the pieces of advice your father gave me was turned down my school mates. They told me that life has never remained the same and has never been the same. I had conflict within myself but they told me that the plans of life is never complete without conflict. “Life is not about doing the right thing all the time” they said to me.  Life is risk itself. They confused me and I became a shadow, a new being entirely. Life was back as the way my father did. I thought I could go on with my life when I discovered that I have made many mistakes. But yesterday, I made an appointment with my doctor. I just got back from the Doctors office. I had an H I V test done. He told me that I am HIV positive.

I did not want her to continue that story, but for the old time sake, I held out her hand, the sad look passed away from her face, and she said, smiling, "I was wondering if the dead lying in their graves were not happier than I am." "What! You stop that” I exclaimed. She paused as she looked up to the ceiling as tears began to roll down her cheeks. Pulling my gaze from her diary, I looked back into her eyes, her eyes was softening at the sight. Sitting on the table, I held her hand again. I opened my mouth to talk but nothing came out. Giving one last look at her eyes, she turned her head, shivering at the cold, while the dark, frigid winds pounded the manor walls. Suddenly, without warning, the heavy tears that filled her eyes began to drop. Nodding to herself again, she turned to talk to me and was completely disappointed by the sadness she saw on my face and then said, “I wish it was all a nightmare, a bad dream from which I could wake up.”

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