Faces

The sky. A flock of birds in the distance. The green canopy of the leafy trees above. The weathered tarmac of the sidewalk. Hurried stepping of other pedestrians. The fleeting glimpse of vehicles speeding past. Ireti looked everywhere but the person at her side. 

She’d been working herself up to interrupt him, waiting with a fast sinking hope for a lull in the torrent of words that gushed forth from his mouth. But he kept talking. He mouthed inanities. Something about being greatly offended. An expected sympathy from her. In truth, the talk was meaningless to her. 

She was beginning to feel uncomfortable and a little faint. Her armpits were clammy from cold sweat. Her breath came out in short bursts from mounting anxiety. 

Any moment, she was sure, he’ll become dissatisfied with her mumbling replies and prod her to speak. She could feel it coming. The right side of her face prickled from the questioning glances she was certain he was beginning to take. If only she could bring herself to correct him.

She stumbled on a jutting stone.

“Be careful, Iyanu.” Her companion said, reaching for her arm.

She waved him off. “I’m fine.”

She’d already found her balance. All the same, there was a look in his eyes that spoke of confusion. His brows furrowed. He cleared his throat and crossed his arms.

“If you say so, Iyanu.”

They resumed their walk. He seemed to no longer feel the need to talk for which she was secretly grateful. They walked in silence, following the winding path to the female hostels. 

It was a fine evening she observed, the kind that drew a person to muse. The air was fairylike. The low light cast by the setting sun softened even the university’s brutalist architecture. She wished she was in her room in front of her window. The view it afforded was incredible. She found herself pulling ahead of the person next to her — now forgotten — when she heard a shout, interrupting her thought.

“Iyanu!”

Someone was waving from across the street. Ireti did not recognize the person. Nevertheless, she raised her hand too and waved.

Her companion laughed. “You know everybody, Iyanu.”

Ireti only nodded.

“Are you okay? You’ve been acting off this evening. Are you sure you’re okay? If there’s anything the matter, you can always share with me.” He suddenly asked.

“No, nothing is the matter. I stayed up late and I’m still tired.” Ireti lied, but he seemed satisfied with her answer.

They were approaching the gates of the female hostels. She said goodbye to her companion and she watched as he walked on. She still did not know his name. He’d approached her familiarly on her way out of the library and she went along with it. She was used to it happening. 

She glanced at her watch and groaned. The walk had taken far longer than she'd planned.

*

Her sister was still not back when she entered the room. 

Ireti thought of calling her to tell how the afternoon had gone but she decided against it. 

A stranger in the room would quickly conclude they were the only two sharing the dormitory room. It was easy to tell.

On one part of the room, the bed was neatly made, the walls bare but for a single black and white photograph hung above the headboard. Art supplies were arranged orderly nearby. The wall on the other side exploded with images and various cutouts. Around the bed were a mish-mash of various odds and ends.

The room reflected the sisters’ disparate personalities.

Ireti sat down, facing the open window, and soaked in the view. She picked her diary and began writing:

“I remember it happened for the first time when we were nine. Our neighbor was throwing a birthday party and we’d been invited. Iyanu and I were dressed in those matching pink frocks I eventually came to loath. Yes, the one with the ruffles and belt with little bells. Urgh! 

“Even then. Iyanu was the outgoing one. She’d walk into the room and you’d see her eyes sparkle at the sight of people. I still don’t understand how she enjoys it so. How can she stand it? I can’t. Up to this moment, I find it exhausting.

“I found a corner to watch everyone from, sipping from the pack of orange juice we’d all been given as we entered the party. I’ve always been able to find spaces like that; nooks from which I can comfortably observe the world.

Then it happened. One walked up and addressed me as my Iyanu! Now, I could have corrected her. I could see Iyanu, surrounded by people, outside from a window I faced. But my next word set me on this path. I answered, “Yes”.

“Why it happens with such frequency is something I struggle to understand. It is an interesting puzzle. I used to come up with elaborate theories to explain. They involved me being an extension of my sister. 

“Sometimes literal, sometimes metaphorical. 

 “At one time, I was my sister’s doppelganger, a ghost living a simulacrum of real-life like in Sixth Sense. Then, I began to think, considering how inaccessible she could be, people so liked my sister they simply chose to see me like her. There must be a word for it; allowing belief to shape your reality. Delusion?

“Anyway, I believe I have a better explanation, much closer to the truth too. People simply can’t tell the difference between us. It’s not more complicated than that. Funny thing is, sometimes I don’t mind it. I can even lose myself in the role of playing my sister. It’s not too hard. All the small tricks she deploys to make people comfortable around her: imitating the way their manner of speaking, repeating their last words, saying their names. I’ve observed her long enough to play her.

“But at the end of the day, I want to be me. Even if my twin shares my face.”