Memoirs Of That Gay Guy
This is purely fictional. Don’t get it twisted!
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I guess my greatest problem was that I started knowing too much too early. So when Dr. Clinton stared me in the eyes and demanded that I see him in his office, I knew something was amiss.
It was a Thursday morning. The clouds overhead had formed gatherings and soon began to rain heaven on earth. Yet Dr. Clinton, our Criminology lecturer insisted we came to school. Only God knew what he wanted to teach on a rainy day; in a dark noisy lecture hall where all we heard was the incessant spattering of rain drops on the aluminum rooftops.
I looked over the transparent windows dripping with beads of silver colored water. They reminded me of home. The times I’d spend staring blankly at the rain while my mother would doth about how Ugonna, my elder brother had scored seven over ten in the class dictation; how he was just 16 and entering the university; how she wished she had more sons like him. And Ugonna, shielding his grin and brandishing his goofy eyes.
Dr. Clinton rambled many things at once and soon after, he ended the one hour lecture. I think I may have talked about how the Nigerian constitution outlined the reasonable length of time a suspect be detained before proper arraignment or bail and how in reality, the Nigerian police determined what was reasonable and what was not. He spoke with accentuated haste , the kind my father said his boss at the ministry talked like – suprusupru, of which many of us didn’t grasp all being said at once. That was the same manner he spoke when he held my hands, my soft hands he said, and asked me to see him in his office that very day.
“So this man thinks I’d walk in this rain,” Toby, my boyfriend, had laughed out sarcastically at the hostel. He had tried all his best to discourage me from attending Dr. Clinton’s class but I went instead. Not like I enjoyed his boring lecture. Maybe I wanted to know why Dr. Clinton had given me that long, deep stare, why he wanted to see me in his office. So I trekked down to school, without my boyfriend, for the first time that semester.
Dr Clinton was the sort of university lecturer that obfuscated each time he was asked a question we knew he didn’t know the answer to. He would hem and haw and say “uhhh” too may times. And when the inquirer insisted for more clarity, he would brusquely remind us of how we no longer did our private study but wait on lecturers to come and salvage us from our self inflicted ignorance.
As I walked down the isle leading to his office, resisting the urge to turn back and run, I saw Darlington, a senior colleague. He always had on a spectacle. His spectacle, I always thought, were weird and parochial because it hung loosely on his nose and was fastened to a rope which made him appear so benign. On the contrary, Darlington was the reason I am what I am, why I hide my relationship with Toby from others, why I have that crazy weird feeling in my tummy whenever I see a fellow guy.
Darlington is gay. Everyone on campus had the hunch that he was gay due to his behaviour which carried the aura of feminism; but it was just a hunch. That hunch soon became a reality.
It was on a public holiday. The sun overhead was blazing and the atmosphere was quite abnormal. I found my self on campus even though I had no reason to. And that was when I met Darlington, the bespectacled harmless looking nerd. I don’t know why he approached me but he did and that meeting led me to his room that evening.
I sat vigilantly and sceptically in his room, awaiting for any homosexual advance that’d propel me to beat the heck out of him and leave. But the geeky, harmless looking Darlington turned out to be quite the opposite. He was serendipitously menacing and normal without his glasses. His attitude in his room made me conclude the assumptions about his sexuality were mere assumptions, rumours. And so, I let my guard down.
We talked a lot about sports and showbiz. His sense of humour was alarmingly cool for a nerd. It was getting quite late and he asked if I would spend the night in his apartment. Well, what the heck? It’s not like he could rape me or something, I thought casually and agreed. A decision I live to regret till this very day.
That night he prepared noodles and boiled egg. Interestingly, the last thing I recall was going to ease my self and I started feeling boozy.
The next day I woke up, feeling too weak and dilapidated, like I had climbed a hill. My thighs were hurting so much but I didn’t remember doing any strenuous activity the previous night. I was still in my mesmire when I realised that I was stark naked, lying beside a naked Darlington, his hand across my waist. Shit! He’d drugged me and abused me while I was unconscious. I felt the weight of the world on my shoulder and wished the grounds could open up and take me in its bowels. I screamed!
Darlington begged me not to tell anyone about what had happened. In fact, he was literally teary eyed, kneeling and pleading with all mannerism of a humble beggar. I felt so disgusted with him, with myself. I couldn’t fathom the thought of what had transpired and with the speed of light, I ran back to my hostel.
I found myself in a superfluous bewilderment. Telling anyone about my ordeal was practically impossible. Who would believe me? And even if they did, the shame and gloat from others would kill me. He was drugged and raped by a dude! I could imagine my friends taunting me with sarcasm. I would rather die than uncover my shame.
However, Toby was the only friend I could finally open up to. He had noticed the sudden recline in my extroversion and persistently inquired to know what had happened. It happened that Toby was also gay. We became close overtime and there was a paradigm shift in my perception about same sex.
Darlington tried talking to me but I ignored him. Ever since that incident, I had successfully avoided any encounter with him. I could see him stare at me continuously from the corner of my eyes until he vanished out of sight. Bastard!
Dr. Clinton’s office was sophisticatedly furnished. He sat in between a big table that concealed almost all of him. He looked up from the pile of papers he was engrossed in earlier and beamed a half smile.
“Good day sir,” I said. “You asked me to see you.” He nodded and gestured for me to sit down.
“I was just going through your class’ results for last semester. You seem to have been the only one to have scored a B in my course. Impressive.”
“Thank you sir,” I said queerly. That couldn’t have been the reason he had asked me to see him. Something in me told me there was more.
“You’re very smart, Ikechi. I like smart people very much.” He said, getting up and coming over to my side. Aha! Bingo!
He sat on the desk, facing me, I could feel his breath harsh against my forehead. I avoided his gaze.
“You could do more than a B, you know?” He said.
“I’m working hard towards that,” I muttered.
“Fair enough. But you need to work smartly. There’s a clear difference between the both of them if you know what I mean.” He placed his hand on my shoulder, caressing it gently. I shuddered immediately, the urge to puke overwhelming me.
“I’m afraid, I don’t quite get what you mean,” I said, brushing his hand. He frowned and stood up.
“Don’t play smart with me young man.” He raised his voice. “I’ve heard about your escapades. So you can’t drop your sanctimonious attitude.”
He paused. “My dear friend, Darlington has told me a lot about you. I’m sure you know him. Very much know him, I presume.” He grinned.
I was shocked instantly. That bummer! He had told Dr. Clinton about the incident in his room. The anger in me began to boil, much hotter than that of a volcano. God help me, if I set my eyes on that pervert I’d strangle every ounce of air within him.
“I believe we’re on the same page now, aren’t we?” Dr. Clinton said, taking his seat. “You just have to do what you have to do if you want to maintain your high grades. You can ask those in final year. Darlington has never failed a single subject. He plays his cards well. You play yours well and we won’t have any issue whatsoever.”
I stood up to leave.
“Ikechi, be smart.” He said as I got to the door. I turned and saw him submersed in his papers as if we never had a conversation.
My feet, on its own, found themselves outside the cold pattering rain. Toby had warned me not to come to school today. But I was stubborn and curious. Perhaps, the obstinacy in me had finally landed me to my imminent doom. There was a cackle of thunderstorm.
©Eke Onyekachi (Eke’s Pen)
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