Betty Tuesdays

Published on June 19th, 2012 | by Marilyn Eshikena

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REVOLVER

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Hello again beautiful people. Welcome to this week’s Betty Tuesday. I would love to read your thoughts on today’s story in the comment section. Enjoy!

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Warm. Cold. Coarse. Smooth. My grainy palm alternated slowly between handle and barrel, eyes shut, slowly ingesting the spasms that this small, beautiful object sent down my spine. Perfect liquid beads formed colonies on my entire body and my breathing was heavy and short spaced. I thought of nothing. I saw nothing. All I did was feel… the masterpiece in my palm’s grip. Her voice brought me back… startled me and I remembered that I was not alone. Reluctantly, I opened my eyes and turned towards the bed that filled the entire room I was in. She had not moved. Hands cuffed to either bedpost, eyes behind her satin scarf, thighs pulled apart, legs positioned at right angle to the mattress. Naked. I verbally responded to her call. I lifted the Blackhawk revolver to my eyes and smiled. With my left knee on the bed, I kissed her opening and carefully inserted my brother’s revolver into her. I pulled it out and I heard her sigh. Her voice reached my ears again. Twice… thrice… I pleasured her with my brother’s revolver. Each time, she wriggled her lower body. I thrust my brother’s revolver into her again; I kissed her lower abdomen; I smiled and allowed my middle finger lean firmly on the trigger.

That was the dream that woke me up hours before my wrists were forced to kiss each other by cold police handcuffs.

“I want to help you but I need to know. Did you do it?”

It has been over twelve hours and yet the man seated across me, my lawyer, has refused to accept that I have no answers to his questions. I may have been shielded from the world for twenty three years but I know for a fact that nobody, not even this lawyer who claims to be interested in helping me, will believe that I am innocent of the charge adjacent to my name. I cannot even vouch for my innocence. I am no learned individual but I do know that there is nothing this man can do to save me. This is my fate.

One afternoon, two months ago, our paths crossed again. Miriam… light skinned big black eyes, brown long hair. She looked exactly as I remember her. She seemed oddly excited to see me. I was sceptical, yet I accepted her offer to take me to lunch. I kept staring into the big black eyes sited across me, searching for the regret, the apology, the gratitude. I found nothing. This woman did not seem to bother that she was in unsafe company. I wondered if she thought me incapable of hurting her… punishing her for ruining my life. She told me about her career achievements, how successful she had become. It was just like her to be the centre of any discussion.

That night, I shared what had happened earlier with my brother. He got very upset. He could not understand why I would agree to spend hours with the woman that threw me in prison unjustly. Amidst our conversation, he made a remark that caused ideas that I had suppressed over the years to resurface. “Unless you are planning to deal with her…” The last time I had thought of punishing Miriam was seven years into my sentence. For some reason, I was certain I would be acquitted long before my term was over and that I would make her pay. As years sauntered by and I began to accept my fate, I stopped thinking about her. So when a few months ago, the human rights activist that took a special interest in my case was successful, I refused to press charges against Miriam and her family. I had no reason to. I believed that my life was not entirely over. I was only thirty nine and life was supposed to start at forty.

Weeks had passed and Miriam still stayed in touch. She had even taken me to visit her apartment. Every time I heard from her, the urge to deal with her heightened.  I cannot remember when in high school we became friends but I know that at some point, our friendship blossomed into something bigger. To the public eye, we were just friends, but we both knew better. The toilet was our meeting place. We would explore our bodies for long minutes. It was our special extracurricular activity and I remember I loved it. One day, I remember it was a Friday, Miriam claimed to be angry for spending too much time with another girl. We were not dating so I could not understand why that was a problem. I apologised nonetheless. She then went on to ask that we become official. Without thinking, my sixteen year old self asked if she was going to let me have sex with her. To my surprise… well, maybe not, she walked out on me. I rang her phone a few times all through the weekend but she would not speak to me. On Monday morning, I left home armed with peace offerings for my darling friend. I had no idea what was waiting for me.  For whatever reason she had, Miriam had told her parents that I sexually harassed her. The details of what she said to them are still alien to me.

Yesterday, while going through my brother’s things, I found a gun. I held it in my hands and an odd mixture of rage and peace engulfed me. I sat on the floor and let my mind go where it wanted. The calm that revolver gave me must have sedated me. I woke up from my nightmare, gun missing from my person, to a knock on the door. The police had come for my brother who was out of town on business.

Yesterday, Miriam was found dead in her apartment with a Blackhawk revolver, registered under my brother’s name, at the opening of her vagina.

“Mr. Barry? Your fingerprints were on that revolver.”

I have nothing to lose.

“Yes. Yes, I killed her.”

About the Author

Marilyn Eshikena

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