Years back, I had struggled so much to stop bed wetting. My parents sent me to a boarding school. I had strong materials to wear my bed so urine didn’t bath my mattress.
One day, school dismissed and my friends decided to grace my corner. While we were on our way to the hostel all the jokes made me vex while they showed the world their teeth, for me, those were white shovels sitting on the mercy of old stinking and green vegetable infected red walls, or tooth gum, whatever.
I reached for the hostel door first, they came behind me.
“Hey, why are you rushing?” One had asked.
“Ask your dead father.” I replied too soon.
I ensured the quarrel continued. We got to my corner, and Moses wanted to sit, I augured with him.
“Hey, don’t sit on my bed; your sweating shorts will wet my bed.” I ordered him.
“First, you said your Father not mine was dead, now, you wouldn’t let me sit.” Moses complained.
At that time, Collins and Clinton had gone for my cup board. Moses and I struggled for my bed. Collins got my key; I had asked him to hold it in class. He opened my cupboard and Clinton raced fast for my bed, a big rat chased him but to escape. Collins lay on the floor; he got scared by the cockroaches that found their way out. Immediately Clinton yelled;
“Hey, I found the red sea on Daniel’s bed.”
He jumped out and they all took my bed and hung it in front of the hostel. All eyes saw the steady drops of urine on the ground. Someone came to ask me;
“What’s happening here?”
“It’s a live movie production…” I’d answered opening my teeth and bold.