It’s 2025.
I’m married.
Don’t give me that look.
What’s the fuss about getting married sef?
Back to my story. It’s a Tuesday, precisely, a day for a program in my church—the charismatic hour— and I am home from the company to prepare for it.
As I move into the house, which is pretty close to the expressway my wife rushes out to greet me. She’s all smiles because she beat me home that day.
“We should put this day on record,“ I said, “You reached the house before me. Wow!“
She giggles and flings her hands around me, asking me how my day went. I answer in the affirmative and amble to the calendar on the wall. She follows with her eyes as I circle the 15th day of April. Today’s date.
“You are impossible!“ she crackles and goes to get a fruit juice from the fridge. I offer my cup and she pours some and withholds the rest. I don’t complain. I just gulp it and dash into the room.
“We have 1 hour and 30 minutes to our departure time. Honey, I want to sleep for an hour. Kindly wake me when it’s time.“ she says and ambles into the bedroom.
She knows I’m the cat of the house.
As she lies on the bed, I begin anew to admire God’s creation. She is a masterpiece, and God took his time crafting her. After a few minutes of admiration, I returned to normalcy and took my bath.
As it is with me, I peel off my clothes and dump them on the bed. Off I run to the bathroom. I’m whistling one of my favorite songs by Nathaniel Bassey and Victoria Orenze in the bathroom when I hear a loud sound. A high brassy sound. It doesn’t stop as usual rather it goes on for four minutes before it stops.
As the sound stops, I realize that even though it sounds like a trumpet. It is not one rather the horn of a truck. My mind returns as the realization sets in. I take a deep breath, rinse myself, and walk out of the bathroom straight to the bedroom.
As I walk in, goosebumps spread on my skin. And this is because of the sight before me.
I pause and take in the scenery. My wife is sitting on the bed, shivering. In her hands are the clothes I left on the bed. She is clutching them, her body quaking like an epileptic patient.
She is screaming, and mucus is dripping from her nostrils. And her words are biting through me.
“God no! God no! So I’ve missed rapture like this? Noooo!!!! This is not happening to me.“
I run to her. Envelope her in my arms. But her shivers don’t stop until a few minutes later when I’ve exhausted my soothing words. Just her reaction to this makes me weak to the marrow.
And I realize that it’s possible that you reading this story might not make heaven for one simple sin of yours.
Stephen Toochi is a master of the pen. He never fails to deliver.