Adam's Apple

In the silent hours of the day and the chorus minutes of the night, I have craved nothing more than to grow up. I have watched as men and women walked past me, and conversed with certainty that their growth had reached its peak. I have learned their ways and christened their beliefs.

From them, I have learned about the creation of the universe. With the burning of the midnight candles to keep me warm at night, I have also learned about secrets of Bermuda. Lastly, and most importantly, I have learned what it means to be a man.

I had just arrived from school, as I did on most days. My schoolbag was tied around my neck. My uniform was tucked in halfway. My white socks looked like I had been in a muddy battle with baby elephants, and my shoes were the color of the earth.

My mother, who I called mummy, was cleaning the living room. We did not have a lot of furniture to clean because we were poor. Yet, somehow, my parents knew how to make poverty look royal. Our floors were always sparkling clean. Our bathrooms smelled like lavender flowers, and the kerosine stove we used in the kitchen, well... looked like a kerosine stove that you use in a kitchen.

"Mummy welcome," I said as I walked into the living room.

"Ah welcome my child," she replied, "How was school today?"

"It was fine," I answered. I avoided any form of eye contact because I knew she would be upset if she had seen my dirty clothes. So, I ran to the closest couch I could find, and I hid behind it. I, then, continued to make small talk until I could run to the next couch.

"I got a nine out of a ten in my math classwork," I continued, as if saying my accomplishments would make her less angry.

"Good! Next time, get a ten out of a ten," she said.

She slowly looked away and looked back at me. She caught me midair, jumping to the next couch!

"What is wrong with you?" she yelled. "Why are you always dirty when you come back from school?"

"What will people think when they see you coming home?"

"Do you want people to think I am not taking care of you?" She continued yelling.

But I knew better than to answer those questions. It is an abomination— and some would say, could warrant a death penalty— if a younger person talks back to an older person. So, I stood there with a pang of guilt and turned my eyes to the sparkling floors beneath my shoes.

"Go inside now and take a bath now," She said, "We will be having a guest come over tonight."

“A guest…?” I thought.

I never knew what went on in the house. In fact, that was the first time I was given a head notice of the arrival of a guest. So, while being yelled at, all I could think of was, why are we having a visitor? Also, who is coming to visit?

With my face parallel to the earth, I slowly walked into my room and took a cold brill shower.

**********************************************************************

After my shower, I turned on the television. Back then, we used a cathode ray tube television. It was the kind that left a sting sound in your ears every time you turned it on. So, I sat close to the television, with my lunch in my hands. Channel 12 always showed Pixar and Disney cartoons from 3:30 PM to 6:00 PM.

My eyes were glued to the television when I heard the door in the living room open and close three times consecutively. Then, I heard someone stump the floor three times. I immediately knew it was my father!

You see, my old man loved to open and close the door three times before entering the house. Sometimes, if it rained like it did yesterday, he would stump his shoes on the welcome mat to remove the mud off them.

Once, I asked him:

"Daddy, why do you open and close the door three times before you enter the house?"

He replied, "To chase away mosquitos."

Chase away mosquitos! Seriously! Chase away mosquitos! Yes, that explains why he does it at night, but it does not explain why he does it in the afternoon. It also does not explain why it has to be three times— all the time. Either way, I could not say those words to him because— remember— it is like an abomination. So, I simply smiled and replied, "okay."

My father walks into the living room with a man behind him. The man was tall and rawboned. His shoes were not clean, but they were not dirty either. His black cotton pants had creases from folding, and his belt looked like he had carefully worn it a million times. His white long-sleeved shirt was clean and shining. His face…...

“Wait , what, in God's name, is that?” I yelled in mind.

Something was bulging out from his neck. It was about one-third the size of his neck. It had a sharp and pointy edge that looked like he swallowed a Rubik's cube.

As I stared at it in genuine wonder, my mother walked up to greet him. She partially kneeled on one knee, as was customary in the Igbo culture. Meanwhile, the pastor took a bow to greet her back, as was customary in the Yoruba culture.

"Ah mummy, good evening ma, how is your family?" he respectfully asked.

In Yoruba culture, it is customary for you to call someone, mummy or daddy if they are older than you and old enough to be a parent.

"We are all fine, thanks for asking," my mother replied." How are the wife and children?"

"They are…."

I spaced out just looking at his neck. There was just something about the thing in his throat that stole my total attention. When he talked, it moved up and down like a creepy bug. On the other hand, when he stopped talking, it stood still and rested on the lower half of his neck. It was as small as a grapefruit but looked as heavy as a moonstone.

"Can he swallow it," I thought

At that moment, I had an overwhelming urge to touch it. Scratch that, I had an overwhelming urge to punch it! Maybe, if I pushed it hard enough, it will go away. Maybe, I need to get him water. Hopefully, if he drinks enough water, he will swallow it.

I did not like it one bit, but I could not take my eyes off it. In all my elementary studies, I have never seen something so troubling. I have read about the biology of growing up, but I have never seen anyone with that thing on their neck. "What will I even call that thing," I wondered.

I looked at my father and mother to convince myself it was uncommon. I noticed my mother did not have it. However, my father had it; His own was not as big as the thing in the pastor's throat. His own was only about one-fifth of his neck.

How is it possible that I never noticed my father had that thing? I wondered. As I stared profusely, my attention swiftly returned to the pastor's neck.

"Kassy, won't you greet me?" The pastor asked.

"Good evening, sir," I replied as I slowly approached him.

**********************************************************************

Many minutes passed as I continued staring his neck…

My parents and the pastor sat in the living room talking about the kinds of stuff adults talk about. In summary, they laughed and prayed. Then, they drank Maltina and laughed. Then, they laughed again and prayed again. Then, my mother and I served food to the guest and my father, followed by them laughing and praying again. Finally, they ate and slowly talked.

Meanwhile, with all the many minutes that passed, all I cared about was the thing on his neck. I noticed it went up, and down, the more he ate. I touched my neck to see if I had one. There was nothing! So, I gathered all the strength in me and courageously interrupted their conversation.

"What is that thing on your neck?" I asked.

The room went quiet. My tiny fingers were pointing directly at the pastor's neck, and, at that moment, I realized that I had committed another abomination: Never interrupt adults when they are talking!

"What thing?" he replied. It was as if he didn't know what I was talking about.

"Uhmm… that thing?" I continued, "You know, with the pointy end."

He first made eye contact with my parents. My mother gave him one of those smiles that said a million words, and he looked back at me.

"It is called an adam's apple," he answered

"Does it hurt?" I continued.

"No, it does not," the pastor replied.

"Why do you have it?" I continued asking.

Then, it hit me! The smile my mother made was not meant for the pastor to understand. It was meant for me to understand. In fact, it only actually meant one word: Shut up, or I will come shut it for you!

So, I immediately lost interest and stopped asking questions to avoid getting into trouble.

"It is meant for men. Only real men have adam's apple."

"Only real men!" I smiled.

"I have always wanted to be a man since I was a boy. I have always wanted to drink beer with my father and talk about real football. Does this mean that I will have to get an adam's apple? But common, the pastor's adam's apple is too big." I continued thinking.

My emotions swiftly shifted from curiosity to disgust, and back to curiosity. I had a thousand more questions I wanted to ask.

When did it start growing big? Does it feel heavy? Can I touch it? Can I punch it? Is it an actual apple? Have you tried drinking water and swallowing heavily? Who named it adam's apple?

All those questions crossed my mind, but I had reached my limit, and asking any further question, could get me in trouble. So, as I have always done, I smiled and replied, "Okay."

"All right Kassy, that's enough," my father said, "Take our dishes to the kitchen."

I stood up and picked their dishes. As I was heading to the kitchen, I heard the pastor say, "Your child is very bold. Watch out for him because he is going to be a great person when he grows up."

My father replied, "It is curiosity that killed a cat. He needs to learn how to tone it down a bit."

My mother responded, "It is also curiosity that makes good thinkers. It is okay. Let the boy be curious."

"She is right!" the pastor added.

**********************************************************************

As I washed the plates in the kitchen, I thought more about the adam's apple. "Does it have anything to do with Adam and Eve in the Garden of Eden?" I wondered.

"Maybe, after Adam ate the apple from the forbidden tree, it got stuck in his throat, and God cursed him and his children. Wow, if that's the case, if I go back to the past and stop Adam from eating the apple, no man will have an adam's apple. At least, the pastor will be relieved.” I thought.

“Poor fellow, he must be stressed out with that thing in his throat." I whispered to myself in the kitchen.

I then touched my neck again to confirm I did not have it.

As I was doing this, my mother walked in.

"Nna, you have to stop interrupting adults when they are talking," My mother said as she slowly walked into the kitchen.

My mother calls me "Nna" whenever she wants to pamper me. So, I immediately knew I was no longer in trouble.

"I'm sorry mummy," I replied.

My mother joined me in doing the dishes.

As I was doing the dishes, I continued thinking about what the pastor said. Suddenly, a vibrating fear flowed through my body.

"I am going to have an Adam's Apple when I grow up!" I thought, "I don't want to be like the pastor."

"Nna, please, pass me a bowl let me store the leftover in the fridge."

I rinsed my hands and reached for a bowl in the lower cabinet.

"Here mummy," I handed her a bowl.

"Mummy, why do men have Adam's apple?" I hesitantly asked.

"It is the way God created men," she replied.

"Do all men have it," I asked.

"Most men do. For some, it is smaller than others," she replied again.

"Why?" she asked me.

"I don't want to have an adam's apple," I responded

"Then, you won't have one," she chuckled, "But know that when you start growing up, there are some parts of your body that will begin changing, and there is nothing you can do to stop it. It is the cycle of life."

"Plus, for a boy as handsome as you, having an adam's apple will only make you more attractive." She added.

I looked at her with a conflicting face. I want to be attractive, but I don't want an adam's apple. Besides, people are very weird if they find an adam's apple attractive.

“Maybe, if I use a hammer to push it in, I will not have an adam's apple,” I thought.

"Or maybe, I need to swallow food in really sizes." I pondered.

"No no no no no no, I will never have an adam's apple, especially one that big," I yelled in my mind

"Don't worry mummy, I will never have an adam's apple," I said out loud.

My mother smiled and said, "But you will have to grow up someday."

“Hmm…” I heavily breath in and out.

I held her left hand, looked her in the eyes, and, with total conviction, I said, "Don't worry mummy, I will never grow up."

She looked back at me confused and said, "You don't know what you are talking about."

She handed me a bowl. "Take this and put it in the fridge." She said

What she did not know was that I knew exactly what I was talking about. In fact, saying those words to her broke my heart into a million pieces because it was a great sacrifice I had to make for the greater good.

I took the bowl but deep down. I wept and wished there was another option

Today, I remain a boy that was never a man. With boundless feelings of immortality, I sacrificed my freedom to be different, and, with the corrupt expectations of my society, I held my apple tight so it would never fall from its branch.

**********************************************************************