The Storyteller Telleth

Every life is a story.

Every story has a beginning. Some stories start with “once upon a time” others start from the end and work backwards, some start off with a wise saying, some stories are told in rhythms and some in rhymes, some in units of time and some. . . where time does not exist. No matter how they start, all stories need a storyteller.

Saturday May 10th 2006

6am
The loud, jarring ring didn't wake her up; it was hard to be awoken if one was not asleep in the first place. She didn't get out of bed, instead she waited. It took all she had but she waited, it seemed like forever but she waited.

She wasn't disappointed; her mom came to wake her up. It was what she wanted, for her mother to help her start this glorious day, for her mother to be the first person she saw, just like when she was born.

They hugged and cried and laughed and jumped. . . Well the daughter jumped with glee while the mother watched smiling. At her mother’s urging, she headed for the bathroom to get ready.

Four years of hard work and she was finally graduating.

The moment her life will change.

7:15am
She bounded down the stairs, her purse, shoes and graduation gown in her hands. She had less than 45 minutes to get to school. All graduates were expected at 8.

In the living room, she stopped; trying to make out which of the three guys sprawled on the living room floor was her brother. She smiled when she heard his snore, crossing over the other two. . . a cousin and a friend, she shook him awake. It was time; she told him when he groaned that it was too early.

After protesting for another 30 secs, he slowly got up. . . upset to be awoken so early or at least pretending to. She saw through him and laughed. He grinned, he could never be mad at her, especially today. She looked stunning, he thought, in the beautiful outfit she had bought two days ago. God, she glowed and his heart swelled. . .He was proud of her. Even though he was three years younger than her 25, he always felt protective of her.

She pulled him by the arm and led him to the garage. She got into the passenger’s side, he the driver’s side. They played the first to buckle up game their mother had taught them when they were kids. . . she won and he groused that her win was unfair, he wasn’t fully awake, thus not on his A game, she scoffed and wished him better luck next time. 10 minutes later they were driving on the highway, hip hop blasting, and both singing along.

8:05am
She ran into the hall to find her friends and classmates. There were shouts and whoops, crying and laughing, hugs and pats, there was joy, happiness. . . all adding up to a very bittersweet moment.

They listened as professors, Deans and chancellors give their little pep talks, advice and warnings. They tried not to laugh when the president, known to stutter when emotions got the better of him, attempted to sing the School song, they awwwed when his wife joined him.

9:45am
15 minutes until the ceremony began, excitement was in the air. They all lined up according to their various departments. Some stretched their necks to see if their family was already seated in the hall, she didn’t have to. She had seen her brother looking spiffy in his suit . . . she’d tease him about that later, leading their mother, grandmother and various family members to their assigned seats. A humbling feeling washed over her, all these people . . . some like Grandmother and Uncle came all way from Nigeria for her. She had waved even though she knew he probably won’t tell her apart from all the other graduates.



11:00am
After half listening to the four long boring speeches, the moment came. The moment they called each graduate by name and family members watched with pride as they walked up the stage shook the hands of the dean, the president and the diploma presenters.

“Bukunola Foster” It was her turn.

She tried not to laugh out loud when she heard her brother shouting at the top of his voice. After receiving her diploma, she turned to face the audience; she saw her mom, her aunt and grandma wiping tears, her uncle waving behind the camera he held, her brother, her boyfriend, her cousin and a family friend doing the human wave. This time, she didn’t hold back, she laughed out loud, waved at them with her diploma as she walked up off the stage.

12pm
She stood between her mother and grandmother, holding bouquets of flowers and balloons with “Congratulations Graduate” printed on them as her uncle took pictures. She took pictures with her boyfriend, she took pictures with her friends, she took pictures with her brother, the camera caught them in a moment where he grabbed her graduation hat donned it and she looked up at him, her mouth open.



2:30pm
The restaurant was a beehive of activity. Family and friends joined in celebration, excitement was in the air. She moved from one table to the other receiving congratulations, prayers and well wishes.

She ate off other people’s plate and drank from her boyfriend’s cup. She played food tennis with her brother and apologized when her mother admonished.

She sought privacy in the bathroom, when she spoke to her father on the phone, he was sorry he couldn't be there . . . she understood, divorce and location distanced them. She smiled when she stepped out of the bathroom to find her boyfriend waiting for her. He opened his arms and she went into them, over his shoulder she saw her brother, she wiggled her fingers to let him know she was fine. He nodded and left them alone.

7pm
She walked down the stairs, this time in Jeans and a blouse. They had celebrated with the grownups, now it was time to have young people’s fun. She went to the living room to find her mother, grandmother and aunts chatting while music . . .Ayefele, her favorite, played in the background. She joined them, sitting on the arms of her mother’s chair.

She laughed indulgently when her grandmother told her it was time for marriage and baby and high-fived her aunt when she scoffed and said no, it was time to travel and see the world. She kissed her mother on the cheek when she heard her boyfriend call that it was time to go.

10pm
Seven of them walked into the club, they had just come from eating dinner at the most expensive restaurant downtown. The price of dinner added up to 3month salary of a minimum wager but they didn't care because it was worth it.

Now it was time to burn it all off on the dance floor. She did the cha cha slide, she did the electric slide, she did the Macarena, she did the jig, she did the chicken dance; she did the grasshopper hop. 

She slowed dance with her boyfriend and hid her face in his neck when he told her how much he loved her and how proud he was of her. 

She kicked it gangster style with her brother and punched playfully when he told her she danced just like she threw . . . like a girl.



Sunday May 11th, 2006
3:45am

She was in accident that took her life and might send her brother to prison for a period no less than 15years. Involuntary man slaughter was the charge, his crime - Drunk driving.

The forensic experts said she lived for 3 minutes after being thrown out of the car, when it skidded, flipped over 3 times before hitting a tree. 3 people in the car, one died, 2 escaped unscathed, they had been wearing their seat belts.

Her boyfriend saw it all happen from the car he was driving with the other clubbers. 

She was tired, she had told him in the parking lot of the club. . . she’d ride home with her brother instead of going with him to dropped their other friends at home. “See you in a few” she had called out after kissing him, just before getting into the back seat of her brother’s car.

5:05am 

The loud jarring ring didn't wake her up; It couldn't have . . .she never went to sleep. She got off the bed and headed to the source.

They stood out there, 2 cops and her daughter’s boyfriend.

“We’re sorry Ma’am” they began.

“She’s gone” the boy she already thought of as a son said before breaking down on the front steps of the house she had brought up her two children.

Children she lost in one Night.

The moment her life changed.

Every life is a story

Every story has an end. No matter how it starts, we always hope for a happy ending. As much as I’d like to give you one, I can’t because in this story isn't mine to change,

I am just the storyteller.