UCHENNA ONYISHI

A Death in Maryland

Anthony, do you not think it rather strange to write to me in such a manner if you do not wish to hear back from me again. And do you not know that ending your letter the way you did was disingenuous; or am I the only sinner here.

My mother is alright now. She passed on the 3rd of January. On the same day your letter was dropped off at my place in Bethesda. In the end, she looked tired. Like she did not want to be here anymore.

I miss her everyday.

I was going to honor your request not to write back. But as weeks went by, and I read your letter more than a few times, I came to a settled conclusion that despite your words, you wanted me to write back. And even if you did not, I was going to. I needed to keep my mind away from everything that was going on in Maryland.

It seems nothing about the way we left things has changed. You still think you are above wrongdoings because I have sheltered your thoughts; because those who love you have kept your sins away from you. And so you walk around with your barely wounded heart, and your ignorant mind that believes you are without sin.

But you must know that the tragedy of your perfection is that it demands that everyone else bear your flaws. And I am too tired now to continue doing that.

So here are a few burdens you can help yourself with.

The child I am carrying is yours. But soon, that will not matter.

And it only took you this long to put together the reasons why I left things the way I did because it had been a while since you abandoned your affections for me. Because despite lending me forgiveness in our darkest hours, you only stayed with me because you felt my wrongdoings had afforded you superior standing in the affairs of our lives. And I accepted it because I imagined you would see the wrong in your ways, and come back to yourself. But you never did. 

I prayed for you. For God to heal the wounds I inflicted upon you so you could look at me the way you used to. But He did not answer me. I suppose He could not answer me. To do so would have meant getting through to you. But you were taken by the devil and his ways.

You used my body when it pleased you. You tied me up and wrapped your palms around my neck until my eyes begged for my last breath to be let out, so you could be let in. And when you were finished with me, as your ropes came undone, I waited for your eyes to meet mine .

Summer came and went, and slowly, Beijing’s roads were filled with yellow leaves. And then October came around, with its cold breeze. And my father called and told me the doctor said my mother would not make it through Christmas if she was not operated on.

My father had tried his best to avoid anything that would require cutting open my mother’s skin. But that was the only way he could keep her around now. And so he let them slice my mother open.

And when I told you about my mother, and you took my hands to say a prayer for her, I watched your face and listened to your words, and I wondered who you were praying to. How can a man that has refused to listen to God, talk so casually to Him. But you carried on praying. Because as long as my mother was just alright, I would not need to leave Beijing and you.

And for some time after her surgery, she was okay. And so were we.

Until the first snow of the winter. I still remember that day. It was the morning of December the thirteenth. It was not supposed to snow that morning. I know because I checked the weather before booking my supervisor’s flight the night before. But it snowed. And her flight to Shanghai was delayed until later that morning.

When I woke up feeling a little ill that morning, like the previous mornings, I quietly made my way to the bathroom, opened the test kits I had bought on my way back from work a few nights before, and made sure to follow all the steps, three times.

A little while later, I heard you get out of bed, and I ran out the door with very little clothes on so I could get rid off the test kits in the bin downstairs. And that was when I noticed it had been snowing.

And for a moment, I debated going back upstairs to put on more clothes but I was not ready to announce that you were going to be a father. I was not sure how you would take it.

But I did not want another lie to come between us again.

I was going to tell you. I decided I would in the elevator. But when I got to the door and heard you on the phone with your mother, and that you were telling her how good things were in Beijing, a chilling fear settled on me.

So I waited outside our door, until you went back upstairs.

The neighbors that walked by were a bit confused, I tried to smile, to let them know everything was okay. The groceries I ordered the night before arrived. Some of your packages too. Mr. Williams said hello as he rushed off to school. But not before stopping to let me know his family in Maryland were coming to visit for Christmas when St. Paul’s High closed for the holidays.

As I stood in the hallway, watching the snow through the window, I recalled going to China Japan Friendship Hospital with Martha a few years back, so I planned to go back that weekend. But I would later develop a cold that kept me in bed for a week. 

I was scared you would find out. I imagined every possible way it would happen so I could be ready for it. And then, I recovered. Days before Christmas. And I got the call from my father that I needed to come back home. He would not say why. But I knew then that my mother was not going to make it. 

And just like that, a fear greater than losing you barged into me. And so I began planning my trip back to Maryland. But I could not bring myself to telling you the truth. Because with you, I was always careful not to put too much on your plate. 

You hated having too much on your plate. It made you sick.

My mother hardly prayed for herself when she was in the hospital. Not even when the doctors said her health was improving, or when they said she was getting worse. She did not like to bother God with inevitables. So she focused her prayers on my well being. 

My father said she did so because she loved me. But if you love someone, what good is your absence?

I wish she knew about the baby. Maybe then I would have a reason to keep her around. I do feel my father knows. He has been very careful with me lately. Or perhaps it is because of my mom. Nonetheless, I am ashamed of how I spent the last few months of my mother’s precious life. And I do not want a child that will remind me of it.

Anthony, I pray no one puts you through what you put me through. While my actions back then may have hurt you, it takes true hatred to burn someone down with a slow fire; to hurt them until that is all they know how to feel.

Before my mother died, she held my hands in prayer, and asked God to deliver me from the evil that men do, and to send me someone who can be honest about the little love they can spare me.

So far, I believe He has answered one of her prayers.

Maybe it is not such a bad thing that your cousin Ifemefuna is with child. People are not just one thing. Perhaps it will do your mother some good to experience a little disappointment. Because it is pathetic to only love a person on their brightest days. 

Antonia Anderson.