May 25th 2013

"Sir, the result of your test is out," The doctor said, eyes unblinking. His statement, creates jingling momentum in Peter’s ears as his jaw drops. His eyes widen and his eye balls grow narrower with sweat racing profusely out his pores, just at the moment he wags his hands along his legs, he suddenly buries his face into his palms that now rests on his knees.
His head; filled with thoughts as he begins to reminisce the past; his past. Questioning negativities of the source of the virus he now carries not waiting for the Doctor to even complete his statement so as to ascertain whether it's positive or negative.
The doctor is still talking, saying something but he is not listening, he is hearing; but not listening.

October 1, 2013
The smell of freshly toiled earth stench the air as even birds could not but help perch at pilfering grasses hopping from place to place for its sweetness. Peter; has just had his fill at his breakfast of moin-moin and pap as he waltz into the bathroom for a quick shower. He should be humming as he bathe but today unlike other days, he mimes; as he religiously scrubs off dirt from his densely hair-populated chest, his dyke like creaky abs, and his workout simulated calves. He religiously wiped his body dry with his towel as he dresses himself in his tight fitting denim trousers and a more fitting shirt that promotes his broad chest, biceps and triceps.
With his catwalk like strides stirring him out his door with purpose; just a sole daring purpose, ‘Enjoy the weekend’.

Walking along his street, heading to the bus terminal. His eyes could not help but scan cursory at every “coke bottled figure” that walks pass him, either ‘solo shaped or big boy’, the dresses they have on get annalistic captions on pages of his mind.
His cursory gaze locks at a figure he had earlier ignored for someone else who momentarily rode off on a bike. The figure! An embodiment of assets, with a figure that makes captions go jaw dropping.
Her shadow-black mini skirt, her two inches high slip-ons, her lilac colored shirt with an embroidery of a daisy at the shoulder strap and her eyes, oh! Her eyes! His admiration for her pries him to make moves towards her.
And he does, introducing himself with his killer cute smile, a few lines from his flirt notes and his closure-safe like frame, permitting her to respond with cackles of laughter and her name, Priscilla.

Priscilla, she moved into the neighborhood a week ago, she told him as they walk side by side toward the bus terminal. He had convinced her to go with him to a nearby restaurant to catch quick soda drinks.
And as they drink and talk; about nothing in particular, only now could he dash his mind into his soul in seek of a plot that’ll get her to his place as swift and easy as possible. And he does, making her walk with him to his house.

Her body language has moods and motions sealed in them but he understands them in all. Even as she sits on his bed giving his room a cursory appraisal, he allows himself sit beside her, taking her hands into his as he watch the conflict between her mind and her body play through her eyes. He help sign a treaty with a soft kiss on her lips, the first stanza of the poetry they make. As they soon make poetry and pottery of each other. Peter the potter; molding her body into shapes and forms, and Priscilla the poet; reciting satires in rhythm patterns. And on and on they go.
But without protection, the poet and potter go about their mutual business, without protection they go. And on and on they go.
Minutes gone, he still hears the rhythms of moans in his mind ears and his drifty mind is brought to present as the doctor lays a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“It turns out you're HIV positive." It is not the end of the world” he hears him say.
As he surprise himself; see a drop of tear fall from his eyes, he watch the Doctor's mouth move, saying something or things he is listening to but not hearing, or he is hearing but not listening.

"Spread the goodness, not the virus." “HIV is real”
Written By : Shehu Abdus-Salam Aladodo

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