The Last Supper

The police wanted me to say something about what happened that night but my mind was everywhere. I couldn’t coordinate my thoughts. I couldn’t piece any information together. I opened my mouth but nothing came out—not even a whisper. I was trembling with rage, fear, confusion and a lot of other emotions at the same time. The fear on my face was as glaring as a blood stain on the white shirt.

The police officer was patient with me. He understood that I had just watched my friend die but he needed me to walk him through what happened that night. I sighed as my mind went down memory lane to how it all started and to the events that led to that moment.

I did not like the living conditions in the school hostel so I went to look for accommodation outside the school.

The apartments I found were quite expensive and I couldn’t get anyone to share a room with me until the estate agent suggested Ozzy, who was also in the same dilemma as me. I reasoned that as long as he was cool-headed and was willing to split the rent with me, everything else would eventually fall in place.

The first time I met Ozzy was quite dramatic. I looked at him and wondered if men were allowed to look so good.

He was by far the most beautiful boy I have ever seen in my life. Leanly muscled and standing tall at over 6ft. The guy knew he was fine and his ‘shakara’ was top notch. I loved his energy and the way he was vibing and I knew we were going to get along just fine. He was my kinda guy. But guess what? I judged Ozzy wrongly. I assumed that he would have an interesting social life that could be to my advantage but on the contrary he was an “efiko”.. a confirmed bookworm. He was a good example of not judging a book by its cover. His looks deceived me sha.

This guy was hard on me to the extent that I had no choice but take my books seriously. Even my grades felt the difference.

Ozzy lived a triangular life that evolved around school, bible fellowship and home. Girls hovered around him like bees on honey but he saw them as distractions. He was aiming for first class and anything that seemed like an impediment to his success had to be thrashed.

Ozzy had a huge positive influence on me and everyone that knew me in my pre-Ozzy era was impressed with the person I was becoming. I was proud of myself as well.

We were in our final year when disaster struck. So, we were always busy with our research and project but we tried to catch up every night before bedtime.

Ozzy would not even let me sleep until he was convinced that I had made significant progress with my project.

On that fateful night, we were “gisting” after having a sumptuous dinner prepared by Ozzy. I was teasing him about how delicious the meal was when suddenly, we heard commotion outside our room. Our apartment quarters was very peaceful and quiet so it was strange to hear that type of noise. I have always suspected the new occupants of the room across the hall… they were either cult guys or they had cultist friends because I wasn’t particularly pleased with their lifestyle and I was sure the noise would definitely be from their room.

Out of curiosity, Ozzy went to the window to see what was going on and that’s when he was hit in the head by a stray bullet. The bullet pierced through his skull and hit the wall behind him. I watched my friend hit the floor, shattering what was left of his skull. His head was a bloody mess. Everything happened so fast. It was like what I see in movies except this time it was actually playing out in my room, right before my eyes, to my best friend. Yes, my best friend.

I rushed to grab my friend. I kept calling his name. “Ozzy stay with me, stay with me” I begged him. I didn’t know what to do. Ozzy was gasping for breath. Everything else became hazy after I heard him draw his last breath. I remember screaming loudly and running outside to call for help, then I blacked out. I guess that was when the police arrived.

Investigations were carried out and arrests were made, starting with the caretaker of the apartments, who knew that the idiots in the room across the hall were not actual students but fraudsters otherwise known as Yahoo boys. These miscreants were using the apartment as their office. Please make me understand why the caretaker would connive with others to give room to non-students when that was against the policy.

I was happy that the culprits were apprehended but that wasn’t going to bring my friend back. The pain in my heart cut deep and I was sore afraid.
If death could take someone like Ozzy, then, truly, the next minute isn’t guaranteed for anyone. I have never imagined a future without Ozzy in it and nothing prepared me for this moment.

I remember the last meal we had together. When I teased him about the effort he put into making the food, he smiled and told me to enjoy the meal because it might be the last supper.

I didn’t see the joke in what he said, I didn’t even see its correlation with what we were talking about so I chided him.

Looking back now, I wonder if he had a premonition about his death because what we ate that night was truly the last supper.

Guys are not wired to be mushy, overly emotional or sentimental with their fellow guys, maybe that’s why I never told Ozzy how much he meant to me and how he changed my life. I never had the chance to tell him that I love him but I hope he knew it.