I love my wife.
It is important to me that you understand this fact, not acceptance, not agreement, understanding.
I love my wife, but like a dress washed too many times, love faded. It took eight years, happened gradually, the flame left the fire, embers followed. There were ashes left, reminders of a time when love burned, bright and thrilling.
I do not tell you this to excuse my failing, life happened, we settled into familiar paths, routines took over, survival became more important than living. We settled into a rut. Our lovemaking, fiery and exciting, turned into a chore, something you do because it has to be done.
I love my wife and for six months I cheated on her.
I cannot tell you when or how I started to drift. I did not plan to cheat, neither did I plan not to. I was not seduced, like some men would say, neither did I fall into temptation, if you consider falling as something that happens by accident.
I can only tell you that Josephine reminded me of a life I used to know. I will not bore you with the details of my infidelity. Think of it as an ill-fated flight, take-off was exciting, we gained altitude very fast, settled into a cruise and crashed.
The day of the crash, I had stopped by at Josephine’s for our weekly romp. I should tell you that by the sixth month, the sex had lost the initial spark, the conversation listless and perfunctory, an irony, a lesson in the futility of thrills, but I digress.
When I was set to leave, it was early evening. Alas, the car I parked outside was gone! We searched like we were looking for a piece of metal, Josephine and I. I looked in the gutter, such was my confusion. There were whispers, words spoken in condemnation, neighbors rewarded with the opportunity to gloat.
The visit to the nearby Police Station was dreamlike, the interrogation, questions framed to mock and embarrass. I was the complainant, I left feeling convicted.
The taxi ride home was worse, my anguish was palpable. The elderly cab driver, discerning in the way of an experienced observer, gave me the gift of silence. I needed a story, airtight and presentable, a tale of car theft, washed clean of every trace of adultery.
By the time I got home, I had a story, or so I thought.
The missing car, ‘removed from park’, the Police called it, was right there in our driveway. My wife was leaning on the car, a sly smile on her face.
About Foluwaso Adebobuyi: Booklover| Book Club Member | Godlover| Leader|
Twitter:@afoluwaso