BACK TO SOME MINUTES AGO

  "I don’t want to hear your flimsy excuses!"

  She huffed. "Put on your seatbelt—I’m already late for work!"

  With that, she zoomed off.

  His mother was a doctor at a prestigious hospital in Osun State. Having earned her PhD in the United States, she now commuted to Osogbo every morning. Due to a backlog at work, she had taken another medical record book home the previous night, as she often did at the start of every month.

  Sitting in the back seat, he suddenly realized he was sitting on something. Lifting himself slightly, he reached under his left side and pulled out the medical record book. As he flipped through it, an idea struck him—his perfect escape from today’s punishment for being late.

  He glanced at his mother. Her gaze was fixed on the road, her hands steady on the wheel. Wasting no time, he carefully tore three sheets from random pages, stuffed them into his bag, zipped it up silently, and placed the book back where he found it.

  "Mom, can I ask you a question?"

  Elinqua’s voice broke the silence. He had been unusually quiet after his recent misdeed [unbeknownst to his mother], which was rare. It was either his mother broke the silence, or he did.

  "You know I’m in a hurry, right?"

  "About being late the other day… I’m really sorry, Mom." He knew that when she stayed silent like this, it meant she was angry—at what he did, not at him.

  "I’m not angry at you. I’m angry at what you did."

  "You know I don’t condone lateness, right? And this is the fifth time you’ve been late for your first class!" she added, her voice firm, her forehead furrowed with irritation.

  "I’m sorry, Mom."

  Then, with a small, wry smile, he added, "You know I love you..."

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  The tension in her face softened. A smile tugged at her lips.

  "That trick won’t work on me, you know that!" she said, keeping her eyes on the road.

  "But it already has. That smile is the signature."

  Elinqua grinned. "After all, saying ‘I love you’ to mothers is one of the most best sickles that harvests their attention ."

  "Alright, heads up! We’re here."

  Elinqua knew better than to argue with her—his mother never backed down from an argument. If he tried, he’d be metaphorical minced meat.

  He stepped out of the car, then walked over to her side and waved. "Alright, Mom!"

  "You were late, but you know that was your fault," she said before speeding off.

  Elinqua stood for a moment, watching the direction she left, then checked his watch.

  "7:04 AM."

  "Pretty fast today, but still late."

  Normally, the drive from home to school took 12 minutes. Today, his mother had managed it in 10 by driving faster than usual.

  "What’s even the difference? Two minutes? If I were driving, we’d have made it in five."

  He sighed, wishing his dad was still around—undivorced. His mother was the definition of a slow driver. A 30-minute trip in her hands could stretch to over an hour.

  He had complained—politely at first, then more bluntly—but her response was always the same:

  "I prefer the safety of our lives to the urgency of the situation."

  These were her constant 'national anthem'

  The arguments never changed anything, so eventually, he just started banging his head against the car seat in frustration.

  One day, after what she saw as he own speed limit-- 40 miles per hour, he finally snapped.

  "I wish I could get out of this snail shell right now!" he muttered under his breath.

  "You said what?" His mother’s sharp voice cut through the air.

  "Snail shell, right?"

  "No, Mom! I meant seashore! I was just remembering something I told my friend during our beach excursion," he blurted, scrambling to cover his mistake.

  He paid dearly for that slip.

  Now, walking toward the school gate, he thought back to that moment and chuckled. But his smile faded as reality hit him—he was late. Again.

  Twenty more steps. No matter how slowly he walked, he’d reach the school gate soon.

  He stopped abruptly placed his back against the wall which a perfect concealment object. Reaching into his bag, he pulled out an old handbag of his mother’s—one he had taken a few days ago for this very moment. He placed the medical sheets in one compartment and his lunchbox in another. The bag’s deep, wide design concealed everything perfectly.

  With ten steps left, he mentally revised his plan.

  With two steps remaining, he straightened his posture and walked in with confidence.

  He had been late four times before. Twice, it was serious lateness. But each time, he had managed to slip through with some clever tricks.

  Now, as an expert in deception, he was certain today would be no different.

  Just as he crossed the gate, a voice cut through the air:

  "HEY, LATECOMER! GET OVER HERE!"