Running Between Trees

“What did you like the most?” I asked.

“The lyrics from the Goo Goo Dolls. They took me back to those days, and my heart almost exploded,” Midowa croaked.

I’d included the lyrics to the song “Iris” that we had shared on the night before I came to the States.

The scent of him that night stayed on my brain for a long time, the expensive-smelling cologne that I knew he had snuck from his dad to smell like a man. It was the last night we would see each other before I moved away from home.

Midowa had come to visit as he occasionally did, and Muhmee welcomed him, offering orange juice. Usually, we would chat for a while in the house and then let Muhmee know we were going for a stroll. That night, he had brought his Discman and a present for me. It was a burned CD full of songs that I loved and that would remind me of him.

We sat on the veranda floor, a sweet romantic breeze enveloping us. He played the CD, and we both shared his earphones, my head on his shoulder. Occasionally he pointed to the sky and showed me a twinkling star, just like in the movies. When the song “Iris” came on, my throat suddenly felt tight, and I fought back tears. I squeezed my eyes shut and absorbed the painfully relatable lyrics. As the melody played, I put my delicate fingers in his hand, and he grasped them tightly. I would always scoff when Midowa fanatically argued that the Goo Goo Dolls had made the greatest melody ever with that song, agreeing that it was indeed good. In the fragile moment of that night, listening to the song, I worried that the devastating desire that we felt for each other would not last long enough and that the moment would only remain frozen in our hearts, never to be recreated.

“Sometimes I play that song at night looking up at the sky and wondering if you’re doing the same,” I said to him.

He chuckled. I could tell he was wiped out but wanted to enjoy the reverie.

“Go to sleep, hon. We’ll catch up tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, love. Please greet Stella for me . . .” His voice trailed off.

“Sure thing. Night.” I hurriedly returned to the living room and squeezed back into the comfy couch.

“My dear, sorry o,” I apologized to Stella.

“Ahnahn, for what na? Your bobo is more important.”

“He said I should greet you.” I avoided her eyes.

“Heya, how is he?” Stella asked, scraping her ice-cream bowl.

“He’s fine. He was gisting me how he and his friend were harassing Nayana for saying she’s from Pennsylvania.”

“Hmm. Make she no go dey trip for your bobo o.” I cringed at the insinuation that Nayana would betray me and regretted saying anything. Stella praised me in the usual manner, pointing out how anyone would be lucky to have me as a friend, especially a lost cause like Nayana. Left to her, I was a friend so pure that the girl didn’t deserve me. How many girls would trust their girlfriend around their man, especially in their absence?

“Hmm. That your fine boyfriend so. You think sey if na me I no go collect am from you?” she teased.

We both laughed, but I was not amused.