ON THE RUN (EPISODE 1)

She sat at the side of the bed at two o’clock in the morning, murmuring to herself. Looking out the window into the darkness, trying to see something that is unseen. Tears couldn't stay back any longer as they trickled down her cheeks. Her fingers playing thoughtlessly with her hairband, whiling away the long, miserable hours. Her ears caught every tick of the clock, one she never perceived on a blissful day. She sneezed and rolled under her blanket just as another gust of wind blew, slamming the windowpane. She passionately engulfed the pillow, with no pillowcase, in her arms. This should replace Sanmi’s warmth, she thought. But for how long? Sanmi, a gallant officer of the Nigerian Army, just got the clarion call to Sudan, a week after their wedding. He left with other troops few weeks ago, leaving his wife with nothing save a teddy bear, instead of a baby to cuddle.

It looked bleak. Her husband’s soonest arrival seemed like forever. The picture of him she placed beside her could not provide solution to her demanding issue. She squeezed more tightly the pillow at her stomach, like a goalkeeper who just caught an unexpected shot. She was in need and indeed needed to talk to someone. Quickly, she groped for her phone by the headboard. And dialed her closest friend, Ireti.

After a lengthy conversation, she could manage a smile. Good friends are rare, she said to herself. She was quite correct the moment she lifted her behind out of bed and rolled it out of the building. She paced alongside the well-trimmed flowers, in the lawn that led to the BQ. She knocked, looking around to be sure nobody was watching. She knocked again. The houseboy, who wouldn't get his eyes off his madam’s backside anytime she passes, slept like a log, unaware that his long awaited dream was ripe. He had liked his master’s wife from the beginning of time, wishing he had a one-night stand with her. But hid it to himself because he had no choice than to peacefully keep his head on his neck, before it got detached.

“Who’s that?” He sprang out of bed.

“It’s me.”

A female voice needed no authentication, his idea, as he gladly hit the switch on and walked to the door. He opened, “Madam...”

“Shush!” She covered his mouth and forced him in.

The stripes of her pink nightgown slipped off her shoulder, she had no bra on. He couldn't see pass what he saw as she closed the distance between them. She grabbed him closer, hugging him tightly so he could feel her breast on his chest.

“Oga Madam...” He said with a bulging eyes.

“Dede.” She replied with a soft voice, licking her lips.

She took it further. She pushed him on his bed, and slowly pulled off her nightie. It all seemed like a dream to Dede. He wiped his eyes to be convinced of what he was seeing. She was petite, with a nice chest, and shaped just like the hourglass. He smiled so broadly as he freely watched the exclusive channel that displayed before him. He almost blessed God for the scarce supposed opportunity.

Unclad, she joined him in bed. Even when her backside was properly camouflage in a jean, he couldn't resist, far from when it appeared in its real form. Go! He hit it. Dede’s dream came to fruition. The five minutes game was over. She sat at the edge of the bed, shamefaced, wrapped in a bedspread. Her eyes gazing forlornly at nothing on the far wall. Dede sat up, with his back resting against the pillow inclined to the bedrail. Wondering what went through her mind, he purposely cleared his throat to get her attention. After a long pause, she sluggishly stood to her feet, and got herself dressed. Then, she sternly gazed at him without saying a word. Dede kept his head bowed, he preferred to avoid eye contact. The carpet below them kept his attention.

“Nothing ever happened between us.” She said, with a saturated eyes. “Nothing and I mean nothing. This never happened. Understood?”

Dede nodded in agreement.

“This will never repeat itself again, so cherish this moment the rest of your life. It will never ever and ever happen again.”

She wasn't sure she meant that, but she sounded sincere. Dede watched her leave, watched again everything about her, noticed the nice round backside under the everyday slacks, the slender legs, the athletic shoulders, even the ponytail. Five feet two, maybe three, 63 kilogram max. It really was a night to cherish.

She had missed four calls. She flung the phone under her pillow, after discovering they were all from Ireti. She sat on the floor, with a knot in her stomach, a constant nag that assured her she had done something wrong. She reached for her phone again and dialed Ireti, but hung up, decisively, before it got to her. Let me take responsibility for this, she said to herself as she crawled to the drawer beside the bed. She knew exactly where her husband kept his gun. She pulled the handle, but the drawer was locked.