Blog Festival | Over & Out…or Not! | by Nneka Ezealor-Oladimeji

“At what point can you say you have gotten over your ex?”, Titi asked, her powder brush making short, quick strokes over her soft, brown neck.

At her question, my forefinger paused over the screen of my tablet where I was engrossed in the game I was playing.

“Which ex?”

“No, no. Not you. Or your ex. I’m just asking, you know, generally. Like, how does someone know they’ve gotten over their ex? For instance, is it when they can see the ex naked and not feel anything or you see the ex now married…you know…something like that, sha.”

“I don’t know.” I shrugged, going back to my game.

 “I just want to know when I can Say I’m over Ejiro. Like, if I run into him at the mall, or restaurant, or somewhere. I want to be able to tell if I’ve moved on.”

“Well, I don’t know. Running into a sandstorm in the middle of the Atlantic is more likely than me running into any ex.”

“You have an ex? How come I didn’t know?” Titi’s eyes widened underneath her fake lashes.

“Because you never asked.”

“And you’ve been what, over three years now without a boyfriend? Because I’m dead certain you’ve not dated anyone ever since we became friends. Wow!”

She smacked her matte red lips, pouting into the mirror. Now satisfied with her look, she turned to me again.

“Ebele, you know what? Tomorrow, the office party, there’ll be lots of really cool guys. Let’s go together. “

“Ehen! I’m not in the mood for any of your matchmaking experiments, biko!”

 Titi threw her head back and laughed heartily as she remembered the disaster her last experiment turned out to be.

“Don’t wait up for me. I’m taking the keys.”

“And don’t forget to bring back ice cream.”

Laughing, she picked up her purse, blew me a kiss and swung her slim hips out of the house.

I stood at the window and watched her catwalk effortlessly in her 8″ black pumps. Lucky her, I said to myself as I grabbed a bottle of cranberry juice from the fridge. I opened a small cabinet that was rarely used and took out an almost empty bottle of vodka hidden behind several dusty old bottles. I mixed the contents of both bottles in a tall glass and plonked back on the sofa, going back to my game.

Titi, parties and reappearing ex-boyfriends were promptly forgotten.

*       *       *

Titi didn’t come home till early the next morning. A black sedan pulled up in front of the flat and the couple inside seemed like they’re were going to kiss for eternity. I almost shouted “Get a room!” when I realised it was my flatmate Titi in that car. A few minutes later, she came in all bright eyed, bubbly and… in love.

She plopped onto the sofa beside me, eyes closed, a dreamy smile playing with the corners of her mouth. I stood, arms folded across my chest.

“So, I have to beg before you gist me, abi? Who is he?”

“Oh! Ebie, he’s…a..dream. He gives ‘tall, dark and handsome’ a whole new meaning.” She wrapped her arms tightly around her, smiling as a frisson of excitement ran down her spine.

“Oho, Dream is a good name for a guy.” I wondered why she was hoarding his name. It’s not like there was any chance under heaven that I’d be interested. Titi’s choice in men was way below anything I’d go for.

“Go, joor! Dream ko, Dream ni! His name is Bala. Bala Yakoub.”

Turning away,I frowned slightly. Weird. The only Bala Yakoub I knew was my ex.

At what point did I say I had gotten over my ex?

Nneka Ezealor-Oladimeji is a mom by day and a writer by night. Cuisine, reading and DIY are get favourite things to do when she is not writing screenplays, poetry or fictional short stories. She blogs via neker17.wordpres.com.

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8 comments

  1. I expected something like that to end the story, the the last sentence was lit! Short and well shot. Don’t spoil it with a sequel sha.

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