Coconut
Beryl Zonese
You will understand why people say walk in love instead of fall in love. Because if you fall and no one catches you, you will cry blood. When you close your eyes at night, a queue of emotions will wait on you. The anger for what has happened, how you blame him for hurting you, ignoring your role in it. The confusion in figuring out what happened, drawing from memories, filtering through your actions. His actions. In desperation, you will want to pick up your phone to call him. Your friends say you need closure and that talking to him about what happened will help. No, you just want to pretend that nothing has changed.
You want to call him and tell him your father signed his retirement papers today and asked for your start date as the new manager. You had already picked your handover date with your boyfriend. Wait, he is now your ex-boyfriend. It was supposed to be during his school break. The both of you were supposed to board the plane to Douala together. It will irritate you, and you will feel stupid that you still want him, despite everything, you don’t want to imagine your life without him. You can’t call him. You already feel so fragile and frightened that you could become undone if you called and he did not tell you what you wanted to hear. You close your eyes, and the water that runs on your cheeks feels foreign. Tears are so cheap now.
You have dealt with a man’s madness.
You should have left him since. Your head is as impenetrable as a coconut when listening to his reasons for not doing long-distance relationships. He had told you, yes, and you knew that the distance would be a problem for him long before you started dating. When he asked for your plans after college, you told him you must return to Cameroon to take over the family business. You agreed with your father to be in America for five years and study whatever you want. You had chosen to study finance. You believed that just as he reluctantly adjusted to a distant relationship between Maryland and Colorado, he would change his mind about Connecticut and Cameroon. He always said that his feelings overwhelmed his reasoning when it came to you; that’s how much he could not live without you.
In hindsight, you now remember that he had never officially asked you to be his girlfriend. It just happened; he said he could not do the distance, but later, he started calling you his babe in front of his friends, and you two were together for three years. And you believed it would be the same because he said you should pick your hand-over date around his school break. You sat down with him on Facetime and paid for your and his flight to Douala. Two First class tickets. You paid because you never fly economy, and you understand that he has a tight budget as a law student. If he paid, he would have paid for the economy seats. Your family’s wealth never threatened him. You dated men in the past who never let you pay for anything; unrealistic egos.
You and the guy look good together, like how the sunrise and cockcrows go together, how morning dew and green grass fit. See, even when you walked around with him, you could tell how people affirmed the both of you with their eyes. A few even told you, and yes, your friends confirmed him. You had never met a guy like him, so free of restlessness. Although he didn’t talk much, he never used silence as a fighting tool. He wanted to talk things out, and he spoke with care not to say something hurtful, unlike you, who blurted things out to hurt him when you were upset. He was patient with you. His simplicity and gimmicky production of his deep voice commands your heart. You were flushed and smiled shyly each time he stared at you. As if staring into your soul. As if staring at your naked body. He joked that you were his own Zendaya. It was supposed to be a compliment, but you did not smile.
You could even hear the pride in your voice when you talked to your friends about him. A callous boast even. Your friends had described him, minutes into meeting him, as a “good man,” a rare comment from your opinionated friends–especially from Tina.
How did you meet the guy? It was a mild Thursday afternoon in May, and the summer winds had only begun. Daniel offered to drive you and Wilma to New Jersey to visit your mutual friend Tina. He tells you it will be an excellent opportunity to bond. You, Daniel, and Tina all went to high school together in Cameroon. And you had not seen any of them since you came to America. Daniel did not tell you he would come with his friend, whom you will be in love with for the next three years. You notice the guy the first time you see him; his face has a natural charm. The guy is handsome and knows it, so he behaves like it when you first meet him. The sluggish movement of his lean feet agitates you. You are trying to calm the awkwardness during the drive, so you ask him questions. His Cameroonian parents sent him to a boarding school for middle school in Cameroon. That’s where he met Daniel. He was in Maryland to visit family and was a rising junior at the University of Colorado. You tell him that you are a rising sophomore, and this is your second year in America. He talks mostly to you throughout the drive. He does not ask for your number or Snapchat at the end of the trip, so you forget about him until one day when you call Daniel, but he declines the call and adds you to a facetime group call.
You will start talking to him because, after the call, he will text you, he is smooth and convincing with his words, and you imagine he will make a great lawyer. It did not take long for your calls with him to go past midnight. You liked how he paid attention to you over the phone. He looked at you the way a man looked at a woman. His piercing eyes holding yours, and his cunning smile cutting through your face, the kind of smile that seduces you to love him. He will tell you that he came on that road trip because of you, that the way Daniel talked about you made him curious. Then you will start loving him unselfishly, foolishly, because you will believe the lines have been orchestrated for the both of you to be together.
You want to be his girlfriend, the last time you ever wanted something so much was your American visa so that you could leave behind the pressure your father placed on you about the family business. If you are twice as good, people will respect you when you take over. Men, not women, usually ran travel agencies. That was when the idea of studying abroad came in. Your father said people would not respect you as much because you are a woman, but they will appreciate an American college degree.
The relationship worked out well. Stephen is calm in the face of adversity while you are anxious. Like the day you missed your flight to Colorado to see him, and you were angry and frustrated; he booked another flight expressing slight disappointment but more willingness to fix the situation. Stephens first tells you I love you during your second visit to Colorado. It is also the first time he kisses you. You did not sleep that night; you struggled so profoundly to forget the force of his lips against yours. With yours and then, in your mouth. How he narrowed his eyes down to you, your heels almost equalizing the height difference, and bit your lower lip first, then soothed it. With his masterful hands, he supports your neck, and the other hand travels to your butt. He slips his tongue into your mouth, encouraging you to participate. He cautiously removes his mouth from yours and moves to your neck, sharing his lips on every area. He goes back to your lips. Desire hanging tight in the air; you do not realize the extent of starvation you had for his generously curved thick lips that taste like the crab cake he fed to you during dinner. You exhale when he reluctantly releases his mouth from yours. You are disappointed that the kiss has stopped, but you don’t show it.
You will know love has come for you. Stephen will know you so well. The kind of gifts he sends will tell you. But what pampered you was his susceptibility to you. He wants to give you everything you ask for, everything a college pre-law student can afford from his internship wage. That was the thing about you and him; you guys went deep quickly. You know you should crumble for more reasonable things than his ‘i Love you’ words or the short, sweet messages he leaves after a long call at night. ‘It’s hard to drop the call when talking to you. Even as I fall asleep, I can’t wait to wake up and see your face again. It’s crazy how you have shaped me into a better man.’
Your mornings no longer have a usual start. Maybe it has to do with the fact that these are your last days in America, and your graduation is fast approaching. Or the responsibility of running your father’s company. Perhaps it is because you unintentionally spend some time in the morning staring at your pictures with Stephen. Your gallery seems to have a splash of him everywhere. You begin questioning if any of it was real because why did it change so quickly? How does someone love you the way they had but not want to be with you because of an increasing distance? It has to be madness. Thank God you have the receipts of your chats with him to back you up. If not, you would question if it was your madness to believe he loves you deeply. ‘Babes, you are the best thing that has happened to me. Thank you for always believing in me.’ You have stared at this message with a wry, unbelievable chuckle. Then the heaviness on your chest becomes itchy fast, and you feel panicked. ‘Who lets go of the best thing that has happened to them? It is madness’. You say to yourself. People said crying helped. Crying did not make you feel better. It made you furious and unsettled.
The day you broke up with him, no, scratch that; the day you left him was another ordinary weekend. As usual, you were in New Haven to see him. You had spent your last two years of college not taking Friday or Monday classes because you traveled to him. You were so secure in your love that you had arranged your life around him. In your junior year of college, it was weekend trips to Colorado, and your senior year was now to Connecticut. Stephens’ first year of law school was hectic, so although you alternated weekends to visit each other in the past, you didn’t mind that now he couldn’t come to Maryland. When he woke up, you had just finished ironing his laundry that Saturday morning. Like a dutiful girlfriend, you did his laundry and cleaned his condo, or maybe because that was the only thing you could do for him since you can’t cook. He always joked that he would be starving when we got married–he often talked about being married to you. He was a better cook than you; his eru was tragically too good for someone who grew up in America. He comes for your waist and holds you tight. His herculean arms surround you; you are enclosed in him. It’s two weeks to your handover date and one week to your graduation ceremony.
“I can’t believe I won’t see you every weekend.”
“Babe, I will miss you so much, but it will be only for a few weeks until I settle in my new role. Then I will apply for a B1 visa.”
“Yeah, but it won’t be the same” You withdraw yourself from him. You had sensed it.
“What do you mean?”
He tilts his eyes from you, and you notice the invisible hold on his tongue and how it feels heavy. It is so like Stephen not to say anything that will hurt you.
“You are coming to Cameroon, right?”
“Yes”
“What happens after that, then?”
“When I get back to America?” Of course! That is what you are asking.
“Yeah, what happens when you get back from Cameroon? What will happen to us?” You say it with an impatient tone, and you are pleading in your heart that he does not say what you fear.
“Ayamoh, I love you. My feelings for you run deeper than I can explain.”
“When I go to Cameroon, do I still have a boyfriend?”
Your throat becomes rough, and your voice scratches. You are looking at him; your eyes do not unclench from his eyes.
“The distance is too much.”
He does not dare to look at you when expressing what you consider his stupid words. You want to tell him you two are already in a distant relationship and can make it work.
“What exactly are you saying?” Rapid rage stirs from within you; you pass by him into the bedroom. You pick up your phone from the bed and return to the living room. A fog of confusion overwhelms you. You change your flight from Monday to Saturday afternoon, and for the first time, you are thankful to be rich enough to afford an expensive ticket. You hear his ethereal voice.
“Do you want pancakes or waffles?” Whether it is insecurity or hurt—these words will mean more than him asking what you want for breakfast. He did not start with ‘babe,’ and the way he said waffles was slow. A sudden wave of fear kicks in. Was he already abandoning you?
“It’s fine. I am leaving soon. I will grab something at the airport.” He walks gently into the living room. He sits next to you and looks at you calmingly, his eyes glisten, and a thin layer of water lurks around his eyeballs.
“Please… stay.” Why are his eyes begging you? You don’t say anything. You look at him and smile. Why are you smiling?
You go into the bedroom, pack your bag, and ask him to drop you at the airport.
“Please, babe… stay till Monday.” You say nothing.
The drive to the airport is mute, and a sour quietness lingers in the air. At Check-in, he reaches for a hug, but you shrug. You move away because you will collapse into tears if he holds you.
When you turn around to leave, that is the moment your tears lose their high value. You don’t look back.
“Ayamoh, please don’t go. Stay with me.”
“Ayamoh, let’s talk things out before you go.”
“Ayamoh, don’t leave yet.”
These words have stayed with you. They are hunting you at night and making no sense. Talk about what when he did not want the distance? Is that not madness? You know your actions have hurt him, and you want to apologize. But you can’t bring yourself to call him. He hasn’t called or texted you since you left.
When the flight attendant announces that boarding is complete, the pain blankets you. You stare at his seat next to yours; the window seat–he looked at the skies the way he looked at you. But it was empty. Maybe it is your craziness you are dealing with because you had checked in his flight instead of canceling it. And you shamelessly sent it to him without saying anything else. The plane takes off, and it dawns on you that America gave you love but took it away. Unkind America.
Beryl Zonese, class of 2024, is Chemistry major. Beryl’s hometown is Atlanta Georgia.