The Wander Years
7 min read
I wasn't supposed to be counting but somehow found myself calling out the names of past lovers that Amanda had tossed out like a piece of worthless trash. This time, it was with Edward.
We were teens once—with braces, agonizing facial acne and dwindling self-esteem. But Amanda was still able to score the attention of the boys at school or the rascals outside the thrift store down the street.
The first time I laid eyes on Edward was at the supermarket just outside of town. It was one of those years with torrential snow that left many shops out of business for hours or even days. Blue-eyed Edward stared nervously at the counter—and I was inclined to help. I had never seen someone looking so lost while shopping. Besides, he was taking up space in the aisle.
We had exchanged phone numbers and I was the first to ring him that evening. The next day, he asked me out to a drink at the bar and I obliged a little too quickly. It was the holidays and most people fancied a little alcohol for their stiff, cold bodies.
My sister, Amanda, had tagged along—we did go everywhere together except for the times I wasn't in the mood for her too-loud parties and she, easily bored and irritated by my intellectual gatherings and friends. Edward had worn a blue hand knitted sweater that evening, that made his ocean eyes stand out even more. To my amazement, his eyes nearly popped out of their eye sockets like a cartoon character, upon sighting Amanda.
After multiple rounds of beer, with fish and chips, we returned to the flat with Amanda sprawled on the sofa like a crazy woman and Edward's phone number scribbled inside her palm. I should have wiped it off right there and then. But what was I, ten years old and jealous?
It didn't take long for my friendship with Edward to take a sharp turn into a full-blown relationship with Amanda. I was the third wheel of their seemingly perfect relationship of four years. During holidays, concerts and even shopping, I was there anyway.
“You're breaking up with him after all this time? Why?” I should have been happy hearing the news first hand from my sister, but it was shocking Edward was being thrown to the toss pile amongst other things—exes and past lovers weren't the only thing Amanda got rid of easily. She had morphed into a million habits, lifestyle changes and even music genres throughout her lifetime.
“It isn't a crime to break up with someone now, is it? It's not like we were married, or even engaged.” She muttered snobbishly. God forbid she had walked down the aisle with Edward—it wouldn't have changed her decision one bit.
“No, it's not. But what could have influenced your decision? Did he cheat on you?” It was a ridiculous question and the look on her face made it more obvious.
“No, Evangel. He did not cheat on me. Breakups don't always revolve around cheating.” She was right, but also very wrong. A lot of breakups had to do with affairs and cheating. Just like our Mom and Dad who called it quits on their marriage all those years ago when she caught him pants down in their bedroom with the regular pizza delivery girl.
“OK. If you say so.” I said shyly, not wanting to say anything else but curious enough to know more.
Amanda moved towards the living room and collapsed on the sofa just before casually saying, “Besides, I'll be taking a little trip. Nobody should think about stopping me because I've got my mind made up.”
She was right. When Amanda had her mind ‘made up’ on something, or someone, she rarely ever went back on it. Even when she was born, she made her grand entrance into the world with a head full of jet-black springy hair and a distinctive fair skin that mom or dad couldn't fully understand.
“She will outgrow it soon enough and become a little melanin princess, just like you.” Mom had said but Amanda grew up to be the only light skinned occupant in our household and family.
My sister was a handful but she was also an overachiever. Dropping out of two boarding schools because the curriculum wasn't good enough and settling for a university miles away from home. Mom had watched Amanda pick the smallest luggage in the closet and fill it with all sorts of junk that she proudly called personal belongings. Her trip to Uganda was exactly the same—the same small luggage but with new junk to fill it with.
It was in the middle of June and the heat wave— as the meteorologist called it—cast us with glaring sunlight and sizzling heat. If it was this hot here, how hot was it going to be in Kampala then? Amanda was dressed amply in a pair of jeans—stained with green paint at the right knee—and a little top, showing off her belly ring—it was one of the physically attractive things that had pulled Edward in.
“You promise to write to us every day, right?” Mom said, shielding her forehead from the sunlight with a hand. If only she had worn some sunscreen like I had told her to, but she often rejected the idea because “black don't crack”.
“I’m not going back in time, Mom.” As expected, Amanda chided. “Of course, there's electricity and Internet in Kampala so I'm going to spam you with as many photos as I can get from the resort, OK?”
The plane took off a few minutes later and just like that, Amanda was gone. She hadn't told us how long her trip was going to last, and we didn't ask either. We simply went back to living our lives, or trying to. Mom always made an extra cup of tea for Amanda but with her absence, it ran too cold to drink so she tossed it down the drain. She kept at it until I began drinking Amanda’s tea rations.
Amanda bombarded us with images and videos every other day when she wasn't hiking, swimming or doing something “nature-like”. In the photos, she glowed in the East African sun—dishing out exotic and colourful swimsuits and khakis. Staring at a photo from the newest collection, I applauded Amanda for her courage—she wasn't afraid to try out new things all by herself. It was something I could never do, or even consider for that matter.
With Mom’s 50th birthday approaching, I decided on throwing her a party. It ought to be a surprise but I wasn’t good with those. Instead, I designed a little birthday e-Vite card at work on my computer. Amanda seemed to have loved it completely—she hadn't used any bad words for the font, colour pattern or wordings. It was truly perfect!
Mom’s birthday party came with a small cake with shabby icing—I couldn’t bake a cake without her knowing about the surprise party. Edward was one of the first guests to arrive at the flat that evening—we hadn’t seen him since the breakup and it was a miracle he even came around to celebrate with us. His ocean eyes were completely different—they barely reminded me of the sea. The stubble on his chin wasn’t doing him any favours. He hadn’t been shaving, sleeping or eating well—I could tell. He could use all three right then.
The cake was cut and Mom served punch for the guests in her prized, vintage set of stained wine glasses. When it was time for gifts, Amanda’s was among the first that Mom unveiled. I thought it was overly dramatic that she cried—but that was typical Mom. After the guests had left and Mom was passed out in her bedroom from drinking too much punch at her own party, Edward stayed behind. He leaned in for a hug and it felt just like a little boy in the arms of his mother. Vulnerable, helpless and visibly broken. It was at that exact moment I swore to take care of him.
A year later and I still hadn’t found a suitable word for Edward—friend, ex-lover of my sister, or boyfriend. So, we decided to settle for partners. We did everything together like real partners would. Mom raised no eyebrows whatsoever when she found out about Edward and I.
“I’m sure your sister wouldn’t mind.” She said coolly, buttering a piece of toast and placing it on a plate—right next to a cup filled to the brim with tea. Amanda wasn’t one to share her stuff but this was different. It wasn’t my intention to erase Edward’s memories of her, or keep her name away from our conversations like she was a haunted figure. We read the emails she always seemed to send later than usual, or the images of her at another festival alongside the village natives.
The second year without Amanda, came with heavy downpour. Even during summer afternoons, it poured like it was never going to stop. Amanda was dating again now. He was everywhere in the photos she now rarely sent, alongside his background voice in the haughty voice messages she left us. I let out the trapped air in my mouth upon seeing him—he was nothing like Edward. Not even close—a little older than the men Amanda usually fancied, pale skin and a chipped tooth that required the job of a good dentist. They looked happy together, and so were Edward and I. I had accepted that Amanda was never coming back home, so we moved in together into his small flat that was actually an underground basement. We played poker games, had our baths together for an entire month and took turns cooking for each other.
The third year of every relationship—or partnership—picked up very quickly. Edward and I could have gotten a dog or a cat, but someone might be allergic to fur, so we settled for a pet goldfish named Bubbles that Edward had swapped for a pair of old shoes at work. That same year, Amanda stopped forcing herself into our lives with sparse messages and Mom started crying again—over the distance she had put between us. Maybe she was tired of rubbing it in our faces how good life was going for her, or she had only just realized how well everyone else was doing without her.
Mom’s frantic voice mail that Sunday morning left me frazzled and disoriented—even though it was barely 7 A.M. “You’ve got to head over to the house right away. Something’s happened.” Her voice filled the speakerphone, after listening to it three times in a minute, and one more time in the car. Edward was still sound asleep in bed when I arrived at the front door of Mom’s flat. The door was slightly ajar, and there were loud cries coming from upstairs. It sounded just like Mom’s, but had a young and childlike hint to it.
I stumbled upon Mom with wet eyes. The moment she spotted me—she collapsed on my shoulder with fresh tears streaming down from her puffy face and all over my oversized blouse. That was when I realized what was happening. A lean figure was right there on the red sofa, twiddling her seemingly wobbly fingers.
“Amanda, is that you? Wha-at are you doing here?” The words were already out of my mouth before I could stop myself. My hands fled to the midsection of my blouse immediately.
“Evangel, what sort of question is that? You haven’t seen your little sister in such a long time, for crying out loud.” Mom said after me in a snarky tone. Thankfully, she had stopped tearing up like a leaking faucet.
I could barely connect the dots in my head to make a reasonable sentence, so I stayed mute. It was really Amanda—with bloodied marks on her flesh, bruises all over her feet and a swollen, busted lip. She twiddled her fingers some more just before letting out a croaky demand: “Can I get some water to drink? Anything warm is fine, really.”
Mom was already in the kitchen, putting the kettle on and fixing cups of tea for all of us. I quickly called out to her and declined the offer for tea, but she still did anyway. I braced myself to hear the horrid experiences that led to Amanda’s return but it was really simple—she had been scammed, robbed of all her money and severely violated by the man in all those photos—he turned out to be a con artist. Mom served tea and biscuits and as our hearts burned to comfort a sobbing and distressed Amanda, so did our tongues after emptying the cups of steaming, hot liquid.
“You look different. Are you…?” Amanda laid her eyes on the small but noticeable bump, struggling to stay hidden.
I nodded briskly.
“Wow. Congratulations. I’m happy for you.” She didn’t look quite ecstatic but quickly remarked, “I’m so sorry I left. I don’t know what I was thinking. I should have come back home when I had the chance.” She said in between sniffles.
“That’s not your fault, darling. It could have happened to anyone. On the bright side, you’re home safe and sound with the people that love you dearly.” Mom muttered, taking another bite of her biscuit.
“That’s not true. This wouldn’t have happened if I hadn’t ended things with Edward. Has anyone heard or seen him all this time?”
My hair prickled in the warmth of the room or could have been the way Amanda blurted out Edward’s name—like he was still hers to keep. Mom cleared her throat awkwardly, awaiting my response, but I was still too stunned to speak.
“Maybe I should get us some more tea.” Just like that, Mom exited the room hurriedly. I adjusted myself on the sofa and as soon as I parted my lips to speak, the words wouldn’t stop gushing out.
Author: Oseyi Zack Edetanlen is a writer born in and currently living in southern Nigeria, passionate about writing fiction pieces that explore numerous themes. Her works have appeared in The Kalahari Review, Afrocritik, The Ugly Collective and elsewhere. When she's not thinking of the next big thing to write about, she's fixing herself a quick cup of coffee. You can find her on X with the handle: @oseyizackwrites