Kelvin stumbled his way through the hallway, tripping after every three successful steps.
He shrilled, ‘Dada, Dada’
Kole, came out of his room and picked up his son.
‘What is it, Kelvin?’
He pointed to the door.
Kazeem’s clammy hands trembled on his stick. What should he expect? He knocked again, carefully.
‘Hold on’
When Kole opened the door, warm breeze rushed at him and so did the shock of who was standing before him, looking up at him with beseeching eyes.
“My son,”
“You are not welcome here” Kola spat the ice of his words before he slammed the door in the old man’s face.
His son started crying in his arms.
His heart was ripped in several shreds of anguish, memory and a sympathy he tried to stifle.
The old man rapped wizened knuckles on the door. ‘Adekole, jo (please)…’
A second of consideration and resolution passed before Kole locked the door and turned away.
His son was hysterical, wrestling in his arms, craning his neck to the door.
“Be quiet!” Kole barked.
If he knew that was last time he’d see his father, he probably would have listened to the small voice that whispered ‘Let go’ in the recess of his mind.
Just a reminder, regardless of whatever you’re not better off clinging to unforgiveness.
2019-05-02