The never wavering eyes.

If you have not figured it out right now, I'm introducing to you my mind. the smiling face, the girl in the chair and something about the angry fellow.

In my last post, I let you glimpse at the angry fellow, by telling you about my cycle of expression. But you must understand why I never really went into her. She exists no more. She has been replaced, since my anger has died down through the years. I truly did not go into her and you may get glimpse of her in my later posts, but what more can one explain about anger? If not many times, I have at least indicated once, that I was quite the angry child growing up. But that matters not, as this time, I'll introduce you to the eyes.

It was a sunny afternoon and one of my father's friend's, uncle H was around. He was and still is one of my favorite uncles. He has such a broad mind that never seems to stop. His open mindedness allows him to flow with people of different kinds, no matter who they might be. I had just told him about one of my crazy ideas. He and my dad were eating and my words sometimes sent him laughing or nodding in agreement. Like all good conversations, they always digress. Soon I found myself telling him about my new book, the one I was working on at that moment, the sister in white. That is when I heard my father say;

"Who is going to buy your book?"

The sun dropped right on my head..........The pause in the room, only great minds could put into words. Of all the things he ever said, that one hurt. I could here uncle H say;

"Don't say that. Just because Nigerians are not natural readers, does not mean the rest of the world does not exist." that is when I saw the eyes.

I found my self in a chair in a dark room. The smiling face was doing her thing in front. I made a glance at the angry fellow and could tell she was ready to go. But I wanted to stand up. I was confident the smiling face and the angry fellow were unnecessary in this conversation.  Then I looked up. The eyes staring out at me in the dark room were very clear. It's white eye balls and well crafted pupils stared me down.

No.
I was going to get up no matter what. But, my body did not move. Even though I can't get up, I can talk. The eyes in the dark loomed over me. I knew it was a person, but till this day, I know not what it looks like. What kind of situation is this? This is my life and no eyes can stare me down.

I found my self looking over at my father and explaining to him what my book was about. I talked for a second before I saw him get up. Not relenting, I continued to speak. he looked through the shelf till he found what he was looking for. I had not been talking for more than two minutes when, he turned around and started talking about his own work.

"I write too. what's there? Its a family thing." He said. Under any other circumstance, I would have thought he was trying to communicate with me. But his tone made it seem as though it was nothing special to write. I maintained my blank face. Today, I will tell him about my work.

No. He talked on. After a while, he had finished telling me about his life as a writer, that never went passed those note books he scribbled on, he left. I don't remember ever telling him about my work since that day.

Now that I think of it, what was I expecting? He had always been like this since the beginning of time. He was one that, if we wanted to talk about what we are doing, we would have to endure listening to how he had already done it.

It's funny. When I dropped out of school, that was his stance. He did not ask why. He instead, told me what he went through in school. The way he said it was a clear;

There is nothing you can say you have gone through cause, I've gone through it all. I found my self sitting back in that dark room. No matter what, I would not look up at those eyes. I will sit in that chair where I belong.