THANKS FOR THE READING AND SHARING THE FIRST PART OF THIS STORY LAST WEEK. IF YOU WERE NOT ABLE TO READ, THERE’S OREKELEWA 1 ON http://wp.me/p2tpoY-7A. THIS STORY WAS WRITTEN BY OLUMIDE OLAWALE (@lumi_slim). PLEASE USE THE COMMENT BOX AT THE END OF THIS STORY AND HELP SHARE AS WELL. HAVE A GREAT TUESDAY. BLESSINGS…xoxoxoxo…
Still beats me how any guy wouldn’t love football, especially the ever dramatic EPL. What better way to relax after the hustle and bustle of the week than to get down to a weekend of soccer. Bolu, my best friend, once teased that he wouldn’t be surprised if I leave in the middle of my vows to see a Chelsea match. He’s probably right though, but I’m not bothered because I am very sure he would have helped touched up the vows so he’ll tell the wife-to-be whatever is left to be said. *straight face*
That exactly is how much I love soccer. Yet on this Saturday afternoon, I’m staring at my plasma screen but not at the players in blue, nor their opponents clad in red. Not at the tackles flying, nor at coaches yelling instructions from the sidelines. My heart is in another land, far from 22 men running after a round leather object. My heart, and mind are with ’Lewa (for that is the name we finally settled for). I have thought about the first day we met like a hundred times over and I smile each time, her smile brings smiles to my face. I can remember that day vividly…
She had appeared behind me and had said something about me being Mr. Twitter and I had blabbed like a little boy. No girl makes me blab, ‘we don see them tire nah’ but ’Lewa is nothing like I have seen – pink lips, gracious hips, killer looks, decent boobs and build. The potter was surely showing off when he molded this one.
None of that however struck me like her smile. That smile is the kind that can drain Cristiano Ronaldo of his of his energy. She had asked me to call her anything and all my brain could conjure was ‘Òrékelęwà’. That was when she smiled and my heart skipped a beat. She innocently said “Awww, that’s flattering, lets shorten the name though’ and I immediately said “Is ’Lewa short enough?”. She smiled again, oblivious that the smile was pressing my mumu button. “Touché, Mr. Twitter”, her beautiful voice added to the smile. That was the start of a three-hour conversation.
She smiled 13 times that night (Yes, I counted), her dimple adding to the beauty each time she did. We spoke about everything and nothing. About school, life, her height compared to mine, my likes, her dislikes. Hell! No Heaven, we spoke about the tree that provided shade for us. We connected on a different level. I have never connected with a babe like that; I didn’t have to form for her. She’s a medical student but she told me she’ll have nothing to do with medicine when she’s done, her heart lies with painting, we decided my birthday gift will be a painting from her.
We didn’t know time was working against our Edenic atmosphere until I got a call from my flat mate asking if I would still be coming home. I saw her off to her hostel and we promised to hang out as many times as time would permit, that was when she smiled for the fourteenth time. Fourteen smiles? Jesus Christ! “Na smile be her hobby?”, I asked my obviously smile-bewitched self as I caught the bug and smiled all the way from her hostel to my apartment, it had to be the best night of my life the year.
I made my way home and got into the compound housing four two-bedroom flats where I lived. Standing at the balcony of the flat I lived in with my head bowed, I started replaying the events of the day. Each time I remembered the way her smile beautified her already angelic looking face, my heart did a skip.
I was jolted out of my thoughts when someone tapped me and said “Guy, I don stand here for more than two minutes and you no raise your head, you well at all? Wetin dey bug your mind”.
I didn’t have to raise my head to know who it was though.
It was Tayo; he looked concerned and was waiting for a response.
The first words out of my mouth were “Tayo, I don jam my own oooo”.