“That’s really you!” Mma pointed to the television and clapped.
“Yup,” Marie said, smiling. She had worked so hard to get to the cooking championship show; this was the semi-final competition, and she had made it to the top 6 best chefs so far.
“You know, Marie, I want to be like you,” Mma said, fiddling with the biro she found on Marie’s table.
“There’s just one problem,” her face dropped as she drew with the biro.
“What is it?”
“I do not know what I want to do,” her voice, teary. “It’s so hard deciding. Mother wants me to be a surgeon; father supports her, but I…” She paused as her voice almost became a whisper.
“Oh no, you don’t,” Marie walked over, arms spread. “Listen, big girls don’t cry. You are 14 and you get to decide what you want to do, okay?”
Mma nodded as she wiped her tears with the back of her hand.
“I want to be a fashion designer,” she broke the brief silence. “I have a lot of designs in here,” she pointed to her head.
“You are a great designer, Mma. I mean, look at this,” Marie held up the paper Mma had earlier drawn on. It was a flower-laced gown.
Mma giggled slightly.
“You know what, Mma? I will talk to your mother about it. I know they want what’s best for you.”
“Thank you, aunt Marie,” the smile on her face made Marie’s face lighten up even more.
“So, aunt Marie…” She was halted by the sight of Marie on the floor. She was gasping for air. “your mom,” she managed to say.
At the hospital, Mma’s mother sat outside with her. She ran her hands through Mma’s hair while Mma laid on her lap, wondering what was wrong with Aunt Marie.
Just as Mma’s father came running in, the doctor appeared too.
“What is wrong with her?” Mma’s father enquired, trying to catch his breath.
“It’s a severe food allergy case. We’ve successfully stabilized her respiratory rate, but she’s still unconscious,” the doctor said, observing their faces.
Mma breaks down crying.
“It’s okay, darling; she’ll be fine.” Her mother patted her.
Weeks later, Marie woke up to the beeping of the machine. The rays of sunlight made her shut her eyes immediately.
Mma’s mother, Mrs. Gloria, noticed this and called quickly for the nurses.
“Do not worry, you will be fine,” the doctor assured her.
“Uhmm, may I have a word with you, Mrs. Gloria?”
“Sure,” she followed him out.
“I am afraid she may not be able to differentiate the taste for now,” the doctor explained.
“Oh poor child,” Mrs. Gloria whispered.
“I learnt she is a chef; I’m sorry she’d have to wait until she’s recovered.” He pulled out a card and handed it to her. “She has a condition known as ‘Aguesia’ which is a loss of taste. The good news is that it’s not permanent, but we do not know how long this would last,” he glanced at his watch and excused himself.
Mrs. Gloria did not know how to break this news to Marie. Marie already missed the finale of the cooking competition; that news was enough of a heartbreak on its own, and now what? A loss of taste?
“Marie, you’re back?” Mrs. Gloria said, closing the door behind her. She turned towards Marie, heaving a sigh. She went close to her and placed the back of her hand on Marie’s head to feel her temperature. Marie turned to her; she looked at the paper and then back to Mrs. Gloria’s face.
“Oo this? It’s nothing to worry about,” she said, putting it between her back and the chair in which she sat.
“How are you feeling now?” She held Marie’s hand.
“I feel a little dizzy, and my mouth is dry,” Marie whimpered softly. Wincing every word, she said, “Talking… is hard.”
Gloria held her hand, gnawing at her lip with worry.
“This is sad, honey. Should we ask the doctor to break the news to her?” Odunze, Mma’s dad said, slowly chewing on the grape he had in his mouth.
“I don’t know, dear. The doctor doesn’t really know how much this means to her; I feel like he isn’t going to say it in the best way,” she sat on the kitchen chair, rubbing her forehead with her fingers. As she did, she noticed a bee flying around the flower she had kept on the windowsill. She stared at it for a while, and soon enough, it left.
“Are you with me?”
“Oo! I’m sorry, I got carried away,” Gloria said.
“Alright, honey,” he walked over and began massaging her shoulder. “I think you’re thinking about this a lot.
She’s still hungry; the doctor has asked us to feed her, and that we must do. I’m sure she would be able to pull through,” he said, taking a seat.
“Most importantly, she has us,” he continued, holding her hands.
“You’re right,” she stood up.
“Let’s get this food for her.”
After a few debates outside the room on who would break the news to her, they stood in front of her with the food pack in their hands.
“Marie, there’s something… we… I mean, my husband needs to tell you,” Mrs. Gloria said. Her husband turned in shock; this wasn’t the agreement.
“Well, we… we brought your meal,” he said, handing over the pack, “but… excuse me, I need to… “ He cleared his throat. “I’m thirsty,” he hurried out.
“You may not be able to taste food for now, Marie,” Mrs. Gloria said, a pang of regret and relief hit her. That was too direct, but she deserved to know.
Marie looked at her; she had no words. Her heart raced, “What do you mean I can’t taste?” She asked, letting out a nervous giggle. She looked at Mrs. Gloria, the look of pity in her eyes. She opened the pack in a hurry and first took a grape. Aunt Gloria was right; there was no taste. It was bland!
Weeks after Marie was discharged, she had herself locked in. She stopped going through her mail; it was only filled with a reminder of what she was missing; her passion was dying away. Aunt Gloria had told her that this was temporary but, this was just a few days to a new month. A whole month, and she can’t even taste a watermelon. She grew lean from skipping meals some days.
“May I come in, aunt Marie?” Mma’s tiny voice came from the window.
“I do not wish to speak now, Mma. Come back some other time.” Marie said.
“You promised you’d let me in today,” she pestered. When there was no response from Marie, she slipped in an exercise book.
Two days later, the smell of food coming from Marie’s kitchen had Mma running towards her house.
Marie had seen her from the window and smiled; her little trouble was here.
“Aunt Marie! You’re cooking again!” She screamed excitedly.
“Well, a wise woman said, “We define our passions; our passions don’t define us,” Marie said, smiling. Mma bowed her head, feeling slightly embarrassed. She had written a lot in that note—anything to stop her aunt Marie from becoming a shadow of herself.
“Mm, what is this about the fashion design brand you told me about?” Marie asked while dicing ginger.
“Well, mom and dad agreed. I’m starting my own fashion brand,” she reached out for the apple on the fruit bowl and washed it. “They think it’s a good way to delay me a bit, but it’s good still,” she shrugged and bit a mouth full of the apple.
“What do you say about joining me every evening to taste my meals?” Marie asked, holding her hip.
“Since I can’t taste, I’m going to make these meals using my intuition; the next cooking championship game is around the corner. I’ll try going for it.” Marie said, her face lighted with enthusiasm.
“Yes, we gladly will,” Mma’s dad interrupted as he stepped in with his wife. Tears gathered in Marie’s eyes; to her, this was a fresh start. A journey to becoming something better beyond the limitations, a journey to fulfilling dreams regardless of uncontrollable circumstances.
—
Nwabugo Chiamaka Favour is a 20-year-old anatomist. She is a creative and content writer with a passion for crafting stories and informative write-ups. Inspired by personal experiences and literary influences, she creates relatable and thought-provoking narratives.
Nwabugo has a keen interest in educating people about their health and contributing to their journey of self-development through her writing. This passion for writing helped her excel in her B.Sc. project, earning her an excellent grade. She believes that a healthy body and mind are major contributing factors to an individual’s productivity.
Dedicated to developing her voice and making a greater impact, Nwabugo considers writing a major hobby and looks forward to sharing her work and exploring the world of writing.
—
Read – Growth from Unprecedented Changes – A Short Story by Aaliyah Chemutai – Kenya
