Page 46 of Release (Symbols of Love 3)

"I can’t believe this road is named after him. It's so crazy. I wonder if he even knows." I point to the big road sign as we drive past it.

"Of course, he knows. This road was built with money from the United States government and naming it after him was one of the provisions in the aid packet." Our driver, Ken, shouts over his shoulder at us.

I don't know why he's shouting, but he seems incapable of speaking in a normal tone. I've tried to avoid speaking to him because I realized that he was going to scream at us even when he was telling us how long the trip would be, or asking if we needed to stop and use the bathroom. And the first time he laughed, I screamed looking around me in terror before I realized the noise was coming from him.

Between that and Porsha whispering more detail than I'll ever need to know about her and Kojo's apparently very acrobatic and frequent sex, I'm ready for this car ride to end.

I actually share Porsha's excitement. I loved being in Cape Coast. It's beautiful, a fishing town that’s got a sleepy, easy vibe. But, because the electricity was out in the house during most of the day, we spent the majority of our week at the hotel. Besides visiting Elmina Castle and the National Forest, we didn't explore the town. There were plenty of times I felt that if I closed my eyes, I could have been in any tropical city. So, I'm happy to get back to the capital where the distinct character of the country is on constant display.

We spent so much time at the hotel, and there were plenty of moments I felt like I could have closed my eyes and been anywhere.

"So, you can't tell Mummy about Kojo or your British boy. If she knows we have men we want to see, she won't let us out of the house." Porsha leans over to warns me quietly but not quietly enough because Ken yells, “Eiii, Porhsa. Is that what a week away has done to you? Lying, sneaking?"

We both jump and heads bump.

"Ouch." I groan rubbing my forehead.

"Why are you saying ouch? Your gigantic head is hard as a coconut, Lilly. How could my delicate head have hurt you?" Porsha grins at me. I've realized now, that her love language is insults.

"Oh, I beg your pardon, wasn’t it your delicate head that couldn't find a hat to fit this week?" I ask and stick my tongue out teasingly.

"Oh, shut up!" she grumbles good-naturedly and scoots closer to me.

"So, we're going to tell her that we have a revival at a church in Ridge. We can't spend the night, but we'll make the most of our days, okay?" She says, her voice lower now- a true whisper.

"Porsha, I'm almost thirty years old. I'm not sneaking around and lying about where I'm going."

"Thirty, fifty, eighty. You're not married and you're staying with my mother. You can't spend the night out. This is Ghana. Not Miami. And if you don't want my mother to call your mother and scream about the disgrace you've brought to our family, you'll be sneaking and lying like a professional." She scolds. "It’ll be fine. I've been doing it for years and it's never cramped my style. She still thinks I'm a virgin." She says proudly.

"Why in the world don't you move out." I ask, completely stupefied at how cavalier she is.

"And go live where? In a small, dirty apartment where I'll have to fight the rats for the food in my pantry. Do my own laundry. Cook for myself? No thank you." Her furious whisper drips with disdain at the idea of having to take care of herself in anyway.

"You've seen our house. I'm very, very comfortable. I can focus on my studies and on finding myself a nice rich husband."

"Well, you’ve made a good start with Kojo. Harry says he talks about you almost non-stop."

"Oh, you’re so naïve. Yes, Kojo is very handsome. He's got a good job. But I want the man who he's driving for my husband. Not him. He's got a nice mouth and he knows how to use it."

"Porsha, that is so damn shallow." I admonish her.

"Well, if my father was a millionaire like yours instead of dead civil servant, then I would give Kojo a chance. Not all of us were born with silver spoons in our mouths I won't apologize for knowing my reality and going after what I want." She sniffs indignantly and tosses her hair over her shoulder, narrowing her eyes to slits, her thick lashes tangling with each other as she observes me. "I don't see you fucking that poor student. You've been rolling around with Mr. Moneybags, so shut it."

"You don't know anything about it." I know she's kidding. But her implying that what I was doing with Harry was the same as what she was doing with Kojo, irks me. I realize that it’s never been casual between us. But, it doesn’t matter and I shouldn’t even be thinking this way. Our arrangement is temporary, it will end when we both have to go back home. We won’t have a choice and if I let myself forget that, I’ll find myself falling in love with him and that’s just not something I can afford.

So I won’t let myself expect anything else from this encounter. I’m taking it for what it is and when it’s over, I'll walk away.

Even though he made me feel brand new. Even though every single inhibition and insecurity that plagues me is nonexistent the minute he looks at me. His kisses, his touches, his smiles they all feel so right.

This week, I've had entire days where I’ve felt like the Lilly I used to be. The way he laughs at my jokes and listens intently when I rant about politics, or food, or music, made me nostalgic for the days when I had friends. I've given oxygen to the part of my life that I've smothered for years. And it has felt good so good to laugh with abandon; to bask in the warmth of his smile and his unabashed adoration.

He didn't know that I hadn't told a joke in five years. He didn't know that I'd stopped watching the news. He didn't know that a year ago, I was celebrating someone's death. I didn't have to tell him any of those things and it was glorious. I wished that we could stay here forever. That I could act like this was chapter one of my life and not chapter thirty.

"Heh, get away. We don't want any." Ken's bellow makes me look up and I see that we'd stopped at a traffic light. It's the first one we've encountered since we left Cape Coast. The intersection is teeming with hawkers. People selling things from cold bottles of water to rolls of toilet paper. Everything balanced, impossibly in bright plastic basins on their heads.

The person he's screaming at is a young boy selling orange wedges. He stood at Ken's window, having braved entering the busy road to catch us. I looked up and saw that while I'd been talking to Porsha the streets had transformed. They were lined with stalls of all sizes that had dispatched the sellers to go and ply their goods to the people who were stuck in traffic on this road.

He couldn't be any older than twelve and the look of horror on his face had me reaching to roll my window down. The rush of hot, dusty air carries the smell of engine oil, sweat, spices, and sewage into the car.

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