[STORY] TRAPPED IN THE MIDDLE (Episode 11)

TRAPPED IN THE MIDDLE by Moshood Avidiime

Episode 11.

“…I don’t know how you meant it but I’m sure you understood perfectly, how I meant mine”.

Mama dumped the plates she was holding in the sink and walked right out, afterwards.

There was a momentary silence in the kitchen, after Mama had left.

Tricia’s countenance had now long changed. I could clearly see how bad she felt about Mama’s outburst. She probably thought it was uncalled for.

I thought it was, too.

Tricia felt misinterpreted.

I couldn’t have agreed more.
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I was certainly livid by Mama’s outburst upon my wife but, I wasn’t going to express displeasure with both women in the room.

I am certainly going to address whatever “these” is (brewing between this two), but just not right away.

I didn’t want any hindrance in comprehension of whatever point i intended to establish by my speech.

I didn’t want any misinterpretation of purpose.

I didn’t want to make things worse, by probably cutting across as “taking sides”.
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I went closer to Tricia and playfully poked her.

Tricia was no longer in the mood for any of my play.

She had every reason not to be.

I apologized to my wife, on my mother’s behalf.

Just to remedy the situation, I even had to lie to Tricia, that Mama had been having a bad day.

“…Mama have been overly sensitive all day, even with me. This is most likely one of the reasons she’d reacted in that manner, over something as harmless as a Thank You. Trust me baby, she wasn’t trying to spite you with those words, it’s just Mama being Mama, in her bad day”.

Tricia looked deep into my eyes as though she saw past those words. She looked at me as though she understood every single word I’d just spat, as being just “excuses” for my mother.

It took a little more convincing but Tricia eventually nodded her head to my words before she allowed me hold her tightly, in a hug.
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I joined Tricia in cooking, from the remaining part of that morning, deep into the later part of the afternoon.

We played as we cooked.

It took a special kind of grace, restraint and serious monitoring not to have finished the meat in the food we were cooking, all in the name of “tasting”.
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Just like Mama, “gists” are never ending with Tricia.

Sometimes I wonder who that woman (Tricia) is because once upon a time, I’d had to be the only one talking, to keep the room lively.

Now i couldn’t even get Tricia to stop talking if I wanted to, and even worse, She has turned me into a gossip buddy.

I mean, our gossip is second to none.
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It was a Saturday. A day Tricia usually cooks to stock up for the week to come.

Tricia’s cooking were usually done on Saturday evenings but because she was going to be out of town later that day (for a friend’s wedding), she’d decided to cook early, hence the reason she’d stepped out as early as she did, for the food “ingredients”.
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This was not the first time Tricia and I would be cooking together but this was definitely the first time Mama would be seeing me in the kitchen, let alone see me pounding pepper, while my wife attended to other matters.
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Mama could not believe her eyes when she walked into the kitchen to find me pounding pepper, while Tricia sat on one of the kitchen cabinets, filling my ears with gists.

(Priscilla had been sent on an errand.)

Mama must have thought her eyes were playing a fast one on her to the sight of these.

Greg? Her son? The golden boy who would never be allowed to raise a finger to do anything by himself? The same Greg she often cooks and pack soups for, almost throughout his university days? Could this be the same Greg? Could this really be her son slaving for a woman, while she sits down doing absolutely nothing? How long has this been going on? Is this what he is usually subjected to, in his house?

All these and more could loudly be read off of Mama’s facial expression to the “sight” of me in that state.
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Mama stood, startled at the sight of me sweating, while I pounded those pepper. The concentration and seriousness in the manner at which I lifted and let that pestle drop on that mortar must have been too much for her to take in.
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Tricia was the first person to notice Mama’s presence.

I’d only noticed that Tricia had suddenly stopped talking.

I’d then raised my head to ask the obvious question when my eye met with Mama’s burning eyes.

To be continued… . . .

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