A Second Chance Read online

  "So, he got home that night, waited until we were all engrossed in the movie we were watching and crept behind Segun. Before we knew it, the boy had his teeth on Segun's neck. When we questioned him later, about what he was thinking, he calmly told us that he was a vampire and needed to feed."

  Demola burst out laughing. He could easily picture that happening. He was also sure that Funsho would have smirked after he finished making the statement. The boy was smart enough to know that what he saw on the television was imagined and not real, but it didn't stop him from pulling off such pranks.

  "It's not funny Demola. It's reactions like this that makes the boy even more incorrigible."

  "So I assume you scolded him for his behavior, didn't you, mother?"

  "Well, I tried, but he smiled and told me that, 'but grandmother, I was just playing. Vampires don't exist. Everyone knows that,' and proceeded to grin at me. That boy." Ariyike shook her head and laughed. "He's just lucky that he's my favourite grandchild."

  "Mother, Funsho is your only grandchild."

  "Well, he won't be for long. You might decide to adopt or Bimpe might finally stop her affair with her work and settle down. A mother can hope."

  The glass that was raised to his lips, stopped midway at his mother's words. He really was lucky that he had a mother who was accepting of her son. Nigeria was not a country that was kind to homosexuals. Hell, that the executive branch legalized jail terms for gay couples, especially for those seeking to be married, said enough about what he would have faced if he had openly lived out his desires. Not like there weren't gay bars in the country, but everyone who was gay had to keep it under wraps. To come out of the closet was to face contempt and even imprisonment. So coming out to his mother, and having her calmly accept him had been a blessing. He just wished things could be different.

  "I'm sure Bimpe will eventually settle down. No need to worry about that." Bimpe was the baby of the family. Her passion was medicine, and although Demola found the idea that she might eventually settle down unlikely, it didn't mean it couldn't happen. Hell, medicine might take on a human form and sweep his younger sister off her feet. "And there's nothing stopping Segun from providing you with another grandson."

  His BlackBerry gave a sharp beep and vibrated. He dipped his hands in his pockets, pulled it out and glanced at his screen. He had a message. A couple of taps showed that it was from his assistant informing him that he had received a call on his personal line from Sylvia Rayne, who had dropped her number and asked that he call her back as soon as could.

  Ha! Mrs. Rayne. He hadn't seen her since graduation. After she had helped him acquire the scholarship to Brown, he had gone to her office to thank her. She had shaken her head and told him to pursue his dreams. She had then added that when he followed his dreams and succeeded at them, that would be enough thanks and she would know that she had done well by him. That had been ten years ago. How time flew!

  Demola copied the number down, punched in the right keys and waited for the phone to ring. He heard her voice after three rings. "Sylvia Rayne speaking."

  "Mrs. Rayne. This is Demola Collins returning your call."

  "Ademola Frederick Collins. How are you?"

  "I'm doing well, Mrs. Rayne."

  "I know you are. Your book on my bookshelf tells me how well you're doing."

  At her words, Demola closed his eyes. That she had followed him all through the years and kept track of his progress said a lot about the strength and heart of the woman. "Thank you."

  "You're welcome dear. You write well, and it's been a joy to purchase your books." High praise from a woman who only read and enjoyed the best literature had to offer. "The school is holding career week in two months and I want you to come and speak to the students. It would be inspiring for them to know that alumni of the school are doing so well for themselves. I would of course understand if you have something else planned and so cannot make it."

  "I will be there." The words came out immediately. He didn't need to over think it. If there was any way he could help someone else have the hope to hold on to what he or she believed in, then he would do so with joy.

  "Good. I will call you when it's about a week to the date, so that you won't forget. Thank you Demola, and I'll see you soon." With that, the call was disconnected.

  Demola dropped his phone on the table and his eyes found his mother, whose forehead was creased. "Who was that?" she asked.

  "Mrs. Rayne. My English Lit teacher from Ellis High. She wants me to address the students at Career week."

  "Mrs. Rayne? The one that helped you get into Brown?"

  "Yes mother."

  "Nice woman. Hope I get to meet her soon, and thank her for taking care of you."

  "I'll tell her you said that. I'm sure she will be pleased." Demola said. His mind wandered to his time at Ellis High.

  He had expected a little bullying. He was the new kid after all. But when the insults didn't stop and some even went as far as insulting him being black—which didn't make any sense to him because there were a lot of blacks in the school—he had wondered if he was missing something huge. Could it have been the fact that his name was obviously foreign, or the fact that sometimes when he spoke, even he could hear the Ibadan intonation in his words?

  Many a lunchtime had found him in the classroom, losing himself in Wordsworth, Shaw, Longfellow, Hemingway, Austen, Soyinka, and Achebe. They became his friends, his close companions. The words had helped him shut out the world. And it was in this world that Mrs. Rayne had found him. She hadn’t said anything. Just gave him books to read from her collection and left him to his thoughts. They spent their afternoons, reading books in silence, but aware of the other, like a comforting presence in the background.

  Brown had been a godsend that Mrs. Rayne had helped him get into. A larger crowd, with people of various nationalities. He had found his niche, but had never forgotten the woman who had been his first friend in a foreign country.

  At the thought, he felt a slight pang. A friend would not have ignored another friend for a decade. He had invited her to his graduation from Brown, but she hadn’t been able to make it. But even with that, he should have made more of an effort. Hopefully, this would be another chance for him to reclaim the bond that existed between them.

  And he might also get to meet some of the boys who had tried to make him miserable while he was at Ellis. Mrs. Rayne had said she was getting alumni to talk. Who knows, maybe one of them would be present and then he could show them that all they did didn't keep him down, that he was able to make it. Was it perverse for him to also hope that his life turned out better than theirs?

  *~*~*

  Carter turned around to take in the sight properly. Ellis High hadn't changed. The place looked the same, smelt the same and still felt the same. No plants had been uprooted, the school management had kept the color of the walls. The school itself seemed unaffected by time.

  And now he was waxing poetic. If any of the guys from the shop heard him say that, they would have laughed their asses off. At that, Carter grinned. He continued his stroll, went across the courtyard to the long flight of stairs that would eventually take him to his old class, which was the meeting point with Mrs. Rayne.

  As he climbed up the stairs, he kept his gaze on the walls. The sight of the graffiti pulled a smile from his lips. Although he knew the school authorities would not appreciate it as much as he did. No matter how hard they had tried to keep the walls clean and get the students to stop writing, they only succeeded for about two weeks, after which the students would begin again to write their thoughts, messages, and love notes on the walls.

  He stopped at the second flight of stairs that had a huge picture of the founder of the school on the wall. So that hadn't been removed yet. Good thing, because if it had been, then someone would have seen what he had written behind the painting about a decade ago and might have cleaned it off. Even at the moment, there was no certainty that the message was still there.
/>   Carter moved the painting slightly to the right and saw, written in his scrawl: Demola has the loveliest brown eyes I've ever seen. They're remarkable, with tiny bursts of grey when one looks hard enough. C.S.

  The painting had kept his secret for ten years. He had always known that he was gay. When his classmates had been drooling over girls, he hadn't seen any big deal in girls and their parts. When his female cousins had been drooling over the Hollywood hotties who showed off buff bods, he had been drooling alongside them. And when a dark-skinned foreign student with a lanky body and a voice that screamed his African roots had transferred to his school, it had cemented his sexuality.

  Carter had wanted Demola, wanted to know what made him tick, wanted to talk with him, wanted to know what made him laugh, wanted to be the one who he smiled at. He had also wanted to be the one who would get to kiss Demola, and have him all hot and sweaty.

  When what was meant to have been teasing had turned to bullying, and Demola had just drifted farther away, he had known that he had lost his chance. There was no way Demola would consider hooking up with him. Life wasn't some romance novel, where a person got such chances. He had accepted that he had screwed up and now had to deal with the aftermath.

  Especially with the book he had received in the mail. Upon tearing open the package, the first thing that greeted his eyes was the name of the author printed in bold letters: Ademola F. Collins. That had been surprising, especially considering that he hadn't even known that Demola had pursued a writing career. With the reviews and the bibliography Carter had read though, he realized that Demola had done much better for himself than Carter had ever imagined.

  What stunned him though was the dedication. It had been like a punch to the gut. "To the bullies who pushed me down, if you're reading this, you know that I got back up." Simple, straight-to-the-point and addressed to him.

  Ten years ago, he had been one of those bullies. Although, he was a different person now, Demola wouldn't know that. The only image of him that Demola would carry would be that of a loud-mouthed, narrow-minded boy who didn't understand him and preferred to pick on him.

  Carter was startled to find that he had gotten to the classroom door. His body still remembered the route, even though his mind had not been actively involved in getting to his destination.

  He pulled the door handle, and entered the classroom. His eyes moved from the faces of the students, some who looked interested in the people gathered before them, and some who looked like they would rather be somewhere else, to Mrs. Rayne who he nodded to, to the other alumni gathered in front. And there, right at the back of the group was the boy, now turned man who had occupied his thoughts just moments ago and periodically through the last ten years, and who was now observing him like he was a specimen at a laboratory: Ademola Frederick Collins.

  *~*~*

  Demola tapped his feet on the floor. As he did, his eyes swept across the room to glance at the students. Instead of seeing them though, he saw himself ten years before, with the world at his feet. He had such high hopes then. Dreams that he suspected would lead him to a better place. Demola gave a wry grin. Dreams that definitely led him to a better place. He had a job that he loved doing, something that few people could claim. He got paid to create worlds and give the characters that existed in his head a voice. What more could a man ask for?

  As he returned his attention to his immediate environments, to the students who were listening to the people giving speeches, he wondered which one of them could be interested in writing as a career. He could easily serve as a mentor to such a person. Mrs. Rayne helped him a lot, but he was also certain that having an older, well-established writer as a mentor would have helped him further.

  His attention was captured by the sound of the door opening. Demola's eyes moved left to the door, and his vision was filled with the figure that stepped into the room. It took a while for his memory bank to catch up though.

  The man that strolled into the room and took his place at the corner furthest from his looked slightly different from the bully he knew from his high school days. Carter Simmons had definitely changed. He now moved with the grace of a man who knew his place in the world and was confident about it. His hair was darker and his face looked more defined, more mature. Unless of course, he was imagining that.

  Demola didn't need to be close to Carter to know that his eyes would still be the green of the leaves that was bountiful in the rainforest of the country of his birth. The deep green that looked so dark, one could claim that there was a bit of black mixed in to deepen the colour.

  That had been the first thing he had noticed about Carter when they had first met. His eyes. They had reminded him of home. He had been about to make that comment when Carter had snidely asked him which rock he had come out of and what the hell he had in his hand—he had been reading Hardy's Tess of the D'Urbervilles. That such words could have come from a mouth that was set in a face that had those intelligent eyes had been sad.

  What had been sadder was Carter's insistence on picking on him every time they had met after that. If he hadn't known better, he would have said maybe Carter of ten years ago had simply been looking for his attention. But that might have been the wishful thinking of a boy who had had a crush on the cool jock and was merely looking for an excuse for the jock's obnoxious behavior. A jock that had the thick thighs of a soccer player, the abs that came with running and training daily and the intensity needed to succeed in the sport.

  Damn! He'd had it bad.

  However, the Carter that was at the moment, leaning against the wall with a calm look on his face did not look like an obnoxious jerk anymore. Or was that still wishful thinking of a man that still hoped that his crush had redeeming qualities?

  "And next, we have Mr. Ademola Frederick Collins." At the sound of his name and the polite applause that followed Demola gave a start. Hmmm. It was show time.

  "Thank you, Mrs. Rayne." Demola gave a nod in her direction. "For many of you sitting here, this is an opportunity to listen to words. Words by men and women who have sat in those very chairs you are on at the moment, who have listened to similar words and have used those words as launching pads to greater heights. Ten years ago, I was you. A strange man in a strange country, yes, but I was you. I had a dream to become a writer. Words were easy for me, and I wanted to become the next Shaw of my generation. I was privileged to have on my side, a woman who not only encouraged me, but made sure I had the necessary recommendation, needed to get me started on my journey to become an established writer." At that, he gave Mrs. Rayne a quick smile.

  "This same woman is still doing that. Ten years later, she is still trying to get her students to listen to her words and follow their dreams, and she has used this as an avenue to do so. Being a writer is liberating. It allows you to not only have your own hours, be your own boss and get paid for doing what you love, but you are also able to be the voice of your generation. I have been able to address different issues with my writing, issues that I would have been unable to address had I not had the poetic license to do so." Demola observed the room, taking note of the students that looked interested in what he had to say about writing. It was from their numbers anyway that he would choose the ones to mentor.

  "Writing is an art and a craft that must be cultivated and then mastered. There will be long nights of getting stuck on a story. Longer nights of searching for inspiration, of not knowing when next your characters would talk to you, or when your plot would move. And let's not forget that starting up with writing comes with no guarantee of financial success. But if you can stick to it, refuse to give up, and continue churning out the best of your writings, you will find fulfillment and then success will follow. Thank you."

  "Thank you, Mr. Ademola Collins," Mrs. Rayne said.

  As Demola walked to his initial position at the back of the room, the applause from the students ringing in his ears, he caught the eye of Carter, who gave him a quick nod, a smile, clapped for him and mouthed, "Very
nice."

  Now what was that about?

  *~*~*

  The saying that men were like fine wine, and got better with age was definitely referring to Ademola Frederick Collins. The boy who had been cute had grown into a gorgeous man. The brown eyes were still the same. That he was sure of. Demola had also filled out some more. He still had the same slim build, but with the way the jeans hugged his now muscular legs, he either did some running or was given to walking long distances.

  The most startling change however, was the polished way he looked and dressed. He had become the successful writer who had lost the native intonation of his homeland, a fact that depressed Carter. He had really loved that accent.

  Central to his musings however was the question: what was the possibility that Demola would agree to date him, given their history and the fact that Carter had somewhat been a major pain in the ass? Besides, was Demola gay?

  "Next, we have Mr. Carter Simmons." At the sound of his name, Carter gave a start. He hadn't been expected to be called on so soon. He had just entered the room after all. But Mrs. Rayne waved her hands at him to come forward.

  He pushed away from the wall and strolled forward to the makeshift podium that had obviously been constructed for the career talk. Carter placed his forearms on the podium, interlocked his fingers and leaned his chin on them. For a couple of minutes, his gaze swept across the room, taking note of the students.

  "A decade ago, if I had been given the opportunity you have now, I would have called everything everyone here is saying bullshit. Not because they don't have good advice, but because I was a belligerent kid who was convinced that he knew the answer to everything. I was, in other words, a complete idiot who believed he knew everything and that the world revolved around him. I was wrong." Carter took a deep breath, and watched their faces. He needed them to really listen to what he was saying. The ones at the back especially who had shown only a bored expression when Demola was speaking. He used to be them. He needed to let them see that their way of life was not really the way to go. Nothing would amount from that.