Chapter 2: Old Flames Under Hospital Light

“Number 52, Ifunanya, abeg enter Consultation Room 2.”

Receptionist voice loud for that side, the machine self get wahala. I grip my file, face the bold sign—“Thoracic Surgery, Dr. Ebuka.” My heart dey jump like generator wey no gree start. The letters look me back like say dem dey judge me.

For corner of my eye, I see the tall, slim figure inside glass door. The way him waist show under the white coat remind me of all those scenes wey I no suppose dey remember.

My heart jump, wahala don land. All the old memory rush me, like when NEPA take light for midnight. My eye dey trespass memory land, dey imagine all those old sweet times. Chai! If I fit rewind time, I for block my own shadow.

Just last month, that same waist still dey press me for bed, dey swear say na the last time.

I remember that night wey NEPA off light, only rechargeable lamp dey shine, as e hold me, e promise say na the last time, but we know say na lie. Memories just dey choke me.

Now, he just dey form gentle, but devil dey hide under.

The way he stand, e posture sharp, but if you look well, the guy eye get small wicked shine—like say e dey plot secret for inside.

“Why you dey look space?” My mama knack me for back. “Dr. Ebuka na top doctor wey go school for abroad. To get appointment with am no easy! Na only because me and him mama dey for the same women’s fellowship I fit get am.”

She dey form big madam, eye dey shine with pride. Na so my mama dey always use church connection solve every problem. I dey wonder if na for altar she dey find husband for me self.

Before I fit ask how she take know him mama, I hear cold voice: “Next.”

The thing shock me. Before my mouth fit open, the voice cut through the air like cold Harmattan breeze. E resemble person wey dey carry grudge.

The consultation room door open. The man wey I never see for one month wear blue mask, white coat sleeve roll up, eyes just dey cold, eyebrow raise small.

He just dey package like say he be Mr. Professional, but the way him dey look me, my body dey tell me say e still remember old gist.

“Abi you wan come back?” he ask.

I shock. Na that ‘abi’ wey get small pepper for inside. He use am cut me small. I bone, package my voice: “I dey come for checkup,” I answer am with stiff neck, dey look him Adam’s apple as e move.

I dey measure him mood, but na that Adam’s apple dey move like traffic light. E show say he no too send my shakara.

“Where e dey pain you?”

The question dry. Like say na market list e dey ask. But I just dey package, dey wait for the next thing.

Before I fit talk, my mama rush enter: “Ebuka, na me, your Aunty Nneka. Abeg check my daughter—her chest too small, abi she never develop?”

Her voice loud, echo for the room. My toe don already dig borehole for ground from shame.

Everybody for that reception fit hear say my chest na national news. Na so shame wan swallow me. I just dey pray make ground open.

“Aunty,” Dr. Ebuka adjust him glasses, “chest size dey follow gene, nutrition…”

He try explain, gentle, but my mama head dey strong. E be like she no hear grammar.

“Na so!” My mama nod like lizard. “Abi na the baby milk wey she drink as pikin cause am?”

My mama dey find cause up and down. E be like say she wan sue baby milk company join. Na wah.

As Dr. Ebuka write for paper, ‘Patient family dey suspect wrong formula cause chest no develop,’ my toe don start phase two of the borehole.

Na so my shame increase. I dey imagine say na only my story go enter family WhatsApp group.

If I do bad thing, make law judge me. But make e no be say na because my chest small, my own mama drag me go meet my ex as doctor.

My heart dey break. Person go think say na big sickness, na small chest be my own cross.

“Physical exam necessary,” Dr. Ebuka talk, flash professional smile give my mama. “Family, abeg step outside.”

His voice cool, face dey tight. My mama no wan gree, but he stand for professional code. I dey thank God for small mercy.

I hold my registration slip, force smile. “I fit change doctor?”

He no even look up, just reply with cold voice, “Go outside, turn right, register again, queue from beginning.”

E just scatter my hope. My mind dey run marathon. Queue for that hospital dey like Mile 12 market.

“Aah, no need! To queue again go take forever!” My mama just press me for exam table. “Wetin dey there if na male doctor? Why una young people dey old school like this? Doctor no dey see gender.”

She talk am with vex, eye dey roll. Na so old mama dey reason—doctor be doctor, na my own generation dey carry body.

Na wah.

I just look am, wonder if na true say doctor no dey see gender. But ex-boyfriend nko? And wetin concern thoracic surgeon with chest development?

I dey ask myself if na punishment I dey serve. Na only for Naija person go see this kind gbege.