My First Short Story- ESCAPE

Title reads- My First Short Story but is it? I started writing before I was 10 years old and I started off with short stories, poems and even songwriting. I stopped writing stories after high school and songs shortly after my 200 level summer but here I am…almost 7 years later trying to retrace my steps and find my purpose by telling stories that are dear to my heart. This story Escape was inspired by real-life events and I shared it with a few of my friends of mine who gave me the green light to share it with the rest of the world; so I really do hope that you enjoy your read and understand all the underlining messages in each line.

This story has been written in parts, so if you enjoy this one please leave a comment below letting me know you would love a second part.

My first short escape — Escape by Gold Gerry

ESCAPE- Written By Gold Gerry

It is over two years now since everyone in the family last saw Josiah, he left for school in the north and has refused to come back. According to him, he’s chasing the dream. I can’t hold anything against him for that, for having dreams and wanting to be where he sees it happening the most. However, I struggle with how he constantly treats our family, how he treats my mum and always gets away with it. He now refers to Mummy and Daddy as ‘your parents’, ‘how are your parents doing?’ he usually asks. It made me feel uncomfortable but what could I do other than wonder why he felt so neglected, if anybody should feel that way; it should be me.

I was the neglected child, the overlooked daughter and I always lived a life separate from my family, which is exactly how I ended up here…lost.

My name is Bella and this is my story, at least the bit I can tell you.

Mummy M: Spell Route

Bella and Josiah are squatting on the floor, each with a piece of paper and a pen trying to spell out the word. Multiple times they tried spelling it correctly and showing it to their mum but they both failed, until…

Bella: Mummy I think I got it

Mummy M trying not to pay attention to her, then dismisses her answer as fail, Josiah peeks into her paper and writes the exact word

Josiah: I just did Mummy, look, I just spelt it

Mummy M: Oh good boy, I knew you’d get it

Bella: But I just showed you the same thing and you said I was wrong, you didn’t even look at it twice.

Bella said this so loudly that she feared her mother’s reaction, only thing was, it was so loud that it never fell off her lips.

Isabella Ogbonna as my English teacher always called me, maybe my admiration for him sparked my interest in the subject, I’m not sure but I strived so hard to be the best in English language and spelling words correctly have always been one of my favourite things to do. The first big word I ever learnt- immediately, in my Primary Two Zenia class. I had failed the spelling test because I missed one letter M and it still haunts me. I come from a family of five, with a ratio of four girls to one boy. He has always been the favourite, the apple of mummy’s eyes but she would never admit to it.

For context, we are from the eastern part of Nigeria, the very popular Igbo culture and tradition that pushes for the birth of a male child in the family in order to gain relevance, dominance and for him to inherit the father’s properties. We all knew Josiah was wayward even before our ages became double numbers and my sisters and I agree that it is for sure the major reason why my parents kept trying to have another baby after Chizoba(the fourth child).

The sigh of relief my daddy gave the day he got back from Military Hospital sealed my thoughts on this, even a blind man could see he was disappointed that Mummy M had given birth to a girl…again. We all were, to be honest. We really looked forward to a baby boy, had all his clothes picked out in blue, thrown around some names and even played it out in our monthly drama presentations. Now that I think about it I wonder why my parents never went for a scan, why did they really believe it was a boy?

A few years later I still got the sense of their displeasure with the baby being a boy, I could’ve sworn my mum was thinking of adopting a baby boy from the motherless home we used to visit every Christmas; only this time we had gone three times already.

My parents always needed something to make up for his stubbornness or maybe the future we all imagined and dreaded if he kept growing this way…having another boy was simply going to soften the blow and once again I understood that.

The conscious and constant measures taken by my parents for Josiah to become a better person took a lot of attention from me that they didn’t even notice when I was being sexually molested by my cousin who was staying with us for the school year but rather I was used as a yardstick to measure his progress.

I remember a walk home from school, I was in primary four and Josiah in primary five. It was Josiah, my Mum, Mr Nte and I, we were walking down to the junction to get a taxi. Mr Nte was Josiah’s teacher and my mum had paid him to give my brother and I private lessons after school. I could hear them talk silently as we walked but it wasn’t so low that you could call it a whisper and not too high either; you could just tell it was a private discussion between adults.

I began to move towards them as though I didn’t realise it was a private discussion and I could hear Mr Mte tell my mum that she should register me for Common Entrance(an exam pupils take to gain admission into a secondary school). He sounded confident but used a tone so light in order to convince my mum. She’s very bright, even brighter than Josiah…I think this is something to consider, he said,’No I don’t think so, she’s too young’. I was 8 at the time and I can hear everything right now like it happened yesterday, he believed in me and it felt good to know that even though it didn’t do so much for me then.

Stayed with my Mum’s sister that summer break, she had two little girls and it felt nice to be out of my house; even though I was still doing some house chores. I felt my aunty was more polite than my mum but then when I look into her daughter’s eyes, I see the same fear and get the exact feelings I have when I’m at home and faced by my mum. I guess people are naturally nicer to everyone other than their own kids.

My mum brought my siblings to come to see me one weekend while at Aunty Dubem’s house and this is when it got bad. ‘Josiah didn’t go for his exams’ Chinenye said(our third child). ‘What?’ Yes, listen Mummy is telling Aunty Dubem about it. We moved closer to the parlour door to listen and I could feel the disappointment in my mum’s voice, Josiah had missed the exam to take him to JSS1(Junior Secondary School One) because he was asleep.

Yes, he was sleeping.

So what now? Aunty Dubem asked

(In Igbo) O ga me nu primary six, what is there to do again?, He would go to primary six.

With the turn of events, I was going to be in the same class with Mummy’s boy and I imagine how much it hurt her because that was all she fought so hard to prevent.

Till today, I cannot decide if being in the same class with Josiah was good or bad or maybe even the worst thing that ever happened to me.

I am trying so hard right now to remember one fun moment we shared together, just the two of us, and I cannot think of any. Do you know what I remember though? I remember in my SS3(Senior Secondary School Three), just a few months before graduation and a friend in SS2 tells me ‘wow, I cannot believe you guys are related, talk more of being brother and sister.

We keep quiet as Josiah walks past us into the class and he continues… ‘I mean I see the resemblance now that I know but who could’ve thought. I haven’t seen you guys anywhere together, do you guys even talk?’ I laugh it off. Of course we do, we just have our own friends and life while in school. That was a lie, I mean there’s some truth to it with us having our own lives but I lied when I said we talk.

For those 6 years, Josiah and I have managed to ice each other out. We rarely crossed paths, we didn’t show up at school together, we left for our houses separately and being in different class arms made this even easier. I was an Art student so I was in Arm B and he was a Science student, so A.

He was very bright. He used to be those nerdy cute boys in class that had just one friend and clung onto the one girl that flirted with him or showed him a mild love interest. I remember his favourite subject being Chemistry and how good he was in Maths, which earned him his post as the laboratory prefect.

He was also a vegetarian at this point and enjoyed playing football, he was so good at it too I heard, but my mum made him stop playing because the dust from the field was affecting his health…he had asthma and more importantly they feared he enjoyed it too much that he may want a career out of it and they wouldn’t have that…he was going to be an Engineer.

Josiah was a good teacher, he taught some of his friends during lunchtime and he had the loudest laugh, those kinds that sound like you’re closing a rusted window. It was always so annoying but you could always tell he was the one laughing. He was my brother, even though I didn’t like him so much or even knew who he was but I guess that’s the thing about family…always connected.

We graduated from secondary school in 2011 and we finished in beautiful colours. My mum never wanted us to go to school in Nigeria and she had heard that doing A-Levels increased students’ chances for admissions so she signed us up. With the disaster years, we had in secondary school, she thought it wise to separate us this time, so she sent Josiah to Dowen at Enugu and me to Rain International Port-Harcourt.

I was hurt by this decision because I really wanted to travel, I really wanted to change my environment but apparently all things worketh together for good because this separation changed the relationship I had with my brother Josiah.

Being at Rain gave me my first experience at university life, I had a little taste of freedom and for someone who had been a day student for 6 years and had only seen the naked bodies of her sisters, my first few weeks were a bit overwhelming. Couldn’t believe that ladies I knew little or nothing about could walk around naked so freely and boldly, I suspected it was because most of them had attended boarding schools in their secondary school so it wasn’t new. I loved them.

I love being around new faces and women who are aware of themselves, women who speak so intelligently and fearlessly. It was in this room as we unpacked that I met a girl, forming a friendship that would forever change me and the perception of my life and future but more importantly, it was this year I found Christ. I experienced God and his presence in my life this year, so yes, everything worketh together for good.

Since my school was in Port-Harcourt, my parents could come during the visiting day. They brought cereal, snacks, home-cooked meals and dressed to impress, then we would sit down at the cafe area which was a zinc and plastic chair underneath with other parents and guardians and just talk. This was the first time I introduced my friends to my parents without being scared. In the few months, I was there, I felt my confidence grow, and my femininity began to kick in even more. I started wearing eyeliners and cared about how tight and short my skirt was and for a tomboy, this was a big deal, that I couldn’t tell if my mum was impressed or scared by these changes.

I haven’t seen Josiah for almost a year.

On Tuesday morning, Mummy M was being less cheerful during devotion, and after prayers, she told us Josiah was on his way back to Port-Harcourt, but why was she so upset I thought and why was he coming back? The school year wasn’t over.

Apparently, Josiah had gotten into a fight and beat up his friend in the hostel who happens to be the son of an Army Commander and they were looking for him in Enugu. Coming back home was his saving grace…or so we thought because our whole family was now in danger with his return.