SOLOMON'S BRIDGE {Part I}

HOGAN SPEAKS *15*

EDIMA

I roamed the house.

When moving in I'd had so much renovation to do; the roof leaked in several places, the walls were cracked, most of the carpets had to be replaced, the mattresses aired and the whole land fumigated, but other than that-it was a tastefully furnished home. My parents must've been optimistic at one time, preparing for a large family, never thinking that they would have only one child together. I ran downstairs, plopping unto the parlor settee.

Quiet reigned in the premises, and it was already quarter to seven. I recited warfare scripture in my mind, everything I knew about breaking curses and deliverance, about destroying evil altars, the Lord's Prayer was my mantra; the lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear? Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I shall fear no evil. A rainy night in the slums of Aja, Lagos, commandeered my focus quite suddenly, I did not know I'd fallen asleep. A hurtful memory permeated my dream...

I stood under the pelting torrent, and felt the cold right through my bones, my tears indistinguishable from the streams drenching my shivering body. My lover, the only man I'd ever so deeply cared about, stared at me like he saw a blood sucking monster. "You mean," he shouted above the downpour, "you're like a witch or something? Because Eddie, this sounds bad, I don't believe in bad things that are actually good. I don't like Harry Potter."
I knew that.
I knew so much about him, "I'm not a witch!"
He shook his head as if to clear the daze, "What are you then, some 'babe' who can see the future, and ghosts, and demons? Where is that written in the bible, Eddie?!"
But it is written, we will not all sleep, but we will all be changed; thus seeing ghostly apparitions didn't make me evil. The dead in Christ were alive in His light, the dead in sin were captives, slaves, the grave, is not so simple a place to decipher. Children of God are not exempted from having revelations, visions, prophecy, rhema. I did not understand, why I was the way I was; I'm certainly not John on Patmos, "Don't judge me, Alex. Let me explain..."

"Explain what! Do you want to tell me five years from now when I'm asleep in my bed my wife will be talking to the late Tupac Shakur? Huh, I can imagine the scenario, oh, how's the weather in hell Tupac, would you like a cold beer, an astral projection, a strip tease?"

I am not a necromancer. He was twisting my words, "Stop it! You don't understand-"

"I can't accept you, damn it! I can't just pretend that everything is fine. I don't want to marry someone like you! I wish you'd never even told me about this, shit!"

He turned away from me.

I stood there, long after he'd driven off in his Honda, thinking about how cruel men were, how selfish. I'd followed him there at his request, to seek out a long lost sibling; the argument started because he took one jaded look at the drug induced ragamuffin, who still sniffed the addictive white powder in between sighs of ecstasy, and declared that 'that' could not be his half brother...

I argued with him: Alex, he has a problem, we all have problems, but we can help each other-we can help him!

But Alex didn't want to be involved in Raga Man's 'problem.'

Would any of what I've just told you make you love me any less? Then why should his case be different, Alex? This guy's had a hard and unfair life, if we are to go by anything your late father wrote in his will and I firmly believe the chief wanted you to take positive action... Alex remained quiet throughout my eloquent serenade, stuck in the splendorous detail of my own 'problems.'

The truth met us like that; outside Raga Man's shack, my confession rendering him momentarily speechless. He could not love the real me. The him I loved did not exist outside my head. The shock of him abandoning me, of, just driving off into a future that didn't include me, blotted out Raga Man's presence until he spoke in broken english,