Dayo - 2 (A short story)

I felt the world around me stop for a minute. Everyone was waiting for me to speak up but my throat went dry, I could hardly feel saliva in my mouth. The sitting room was pin-drop silent, I could hear the clock ticking. Doctor Fumi tossed the diary to my side and crossed her arms standing right in front of me. I bent my head in regret as I stared at her shoes, my old red diary on my thighs. I felt so messed up.

My daughters were sensitive enough to excuse us after they exchanged questioning glances. Then I opened the diary, feeling every part of the pages soaked with depressing thoughts of my early days. My late father gifted the diary to me on the day before he passed on. He instructed that I write positive things only but I did not keep to his wishes. As soon as my last marriage turned sour, it became a book of my darkest secrets and deep bad thoughts. 

“I also read it. How could you, Tinu?” She said, “I thought you loved your son! I thought you loved Dayo!”. She was not 'scolding me' per se but I didn't take it. The last thing I wanted was for someone to scream at me.

“ Fumi... I understand you being his doctor but coming to my house to yell at me is something I'm not going to tolerate. Now if you would excuse me, I have to speak to my son” I snapped with my eyes that could spit fire and stormed out giving her the 'eyes'.

The door to Dayo's room was open. I looked and there he was, sitting on the bed cuddling two pillows, rocking back and forth. One would think he practised “roll like a ball” in yoga. I removed my heels quietly and sat at the edge of the bed taking a closer look at him. He moved farther away from me while I saw a tear roll down his eyes to touch his quivering lips. Doctor Fumi stood at the door, arms crossed, looking sorry for her outburst but I didn't even care about that. She deserved it. 

Dayo struggled to speak up from his shaky lips. He played with his fingers and scratched his head at intervals. My poor boy. “So...you never w.w…wanted me?” He stuttered as he took a glance and focused on his fingers again. 

“No. My God, No. Nothing like that.  I wrote that years ago, I was young and stupid”. I said interrupting him. Convincing Dayo every time was a hard task, I said a quick prayer for heaven's help. The miserable look on his face made my heart sink.

“Stop lying! I saw... I saw it!” He replied throwing a pillow at me. “It read: I always wanted a perfect son not a mentally disabled half baby. I got that sentence so well! Mum, you never loved me. I want to go...go far away from you!” He said with so much scorn. He could not even stand me.

“Dayo, that was eighteen years ago. I promise you, everything is fine now. Writing that down in the diary was a stupid mistake. When your father ended the marriage before I birthed you, I was depressed and sad. Trust me, those days are over. I love you so much, more than anything” I said wishing that he understood me. 

Awkward silence. He stopped moving and stared into space, biting off his fingernails. He stole glances occasionally from me but never said anything. I wanted him to say something. His silence was killing me.

“She showed me” He said. 

I felt sick to my stomach. At that point, I sensed where all these were heading to.

To be continued...

Image Credit: Google (Masterfile).

Anakor Vanessa M. A Nigerian enthusiastic writer of human interactions and fiction stories. She looks towards securing a challenging role in the writing company, to bring fresh value and vision to the business. She is aspiring to be an author and scriptwriter soon.

P.S: There is so much to learn from this story that's why I'm unfolding events slowly and steadily.

Part 3 will be the last one. I promise☺

Leave a Comment, share and subscribe for more short stories!