We got out of the car and headed to the assembly hall together.
“What is a type A?”
He shook his head and muttered, “You’re such a typical type A.”
“What’s a type— . . .”
“I heard you the last time and the one hundred times you asked before it. I’m not deaf.”
“Well?”
He shook his head.
“Type A personalities,” he started checking on his fingers, “One, they are always punctual for everything. Two, they hate to wait. Three, they worry excessively about their plan A not working—even though they have back-up plans—B, C, and D. Four, they see everything through to the end. They never give up on anything—not even a stupid Sudoku puzzle; if there’s a solution to a problem they’ll find it. Five, they cannot relax or take things easy—they don’t see the point. Six, they are perfectionists, everything around them has to be perfect. Seven, they have superior focusing abilities—they can block out everything and focus on a single task. Eight, they walk fast and with purpose. Nine, every second of every day is accounted for doing something ‘meaningful.’ Ten, they have checklists for everything.”
I held up my hands to stop him as he prepared to continue checking things off his fingers.
“Are you saying those qualities are wrong?”
He smiled his smug smile. “What are you so happy about?”
“You didn’t contradict me and say something like, ‘I’m not any of those things’.”
“Hypothetically speaking, if a person were what you call ‘Type A’, why would those traits be bad? What’s wrong with being punctual or making lists or having solutions to . . .?”
“Wait a minute, do you make lists?” I looked away from him.
“Oh my goodness! You do make lists! You are a typical type A.”
“Stop calling me that!”
“It was you who wanted to know what it was. Hypothetically speaking if a person were type A they would be more prone to having high blood pressure and heart disease.”
“And is this proven? Scientifically?”
“Yup.”
“I think that’s rubbish.”
“Fair enough. Can I ask one question though?” I frowned.
“I mean it might not even be related to being a type A, and if it is I promise I won’t mention it ever again.”
“Okay,” I said cautiously.
“Why do you clean the streets at 4 a.m.?”
“Insomnia.”
“Oh. You mean you can’t sleep?”
“Last I checked that was the definition of insomnia.”
The siren sounded for morning assembly.
“To be continued later,” Chidi said smiling.
I met Chidi at lunch. He had brought a packet of chocolate digestive biscuits to lunch along with his regular bottle of coke.
“Your tooth must have stopped hurting,” I said.
“Tramadol.”
I had ampesi with kontomire stew.
“So why don’t you eat proper food?”
“I do eat proper food.”
“Really?”
“Yeah, twice a day with my dad. We have a healthy breakfast and a healthy supper. Remember I was sick for a year?”
I nodded.
“The drugs made me throw up all the time, even when I hadn’t eaten. My dad promised that I could eat whatever I wanted when I got better. He broke his promise though, I have to eat a healthy breakfast and a healthy supper with him but I get to choose whatever I want for lunch. Let’s talk about something else.”
“Like?”
“Like why you can’t sleep.”
I shrugged. “I just can’t.”
“Have you seen a doctor?”
“Look, on a good night I can get say four or five hours of sleep. It’s nothing to worry about.”
“And on a bad night?”
“An hour max.”
“Does your dad know?”
“On top of everything else that’s happened, I don’t want him to have to worry about me.”
“But it’s not safe to be out of your house at dawn.”
“It’s okay for you to be out of your house at 4 a.m. but it’s not okay for me because I’m female?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. It’s not safe as in there are crazy people out there.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
“Do you have days you clean?”
“No. I clean when it’s dirty.”
“So if it’s not, you don’t?”
“Nope.”
“Call me next time.”
“I should wake you up at 4 a.m.?”
“I’ll probably be awake. I don’t sleep much either.”
“You don’t? Why?”
He shrugged. I looked at him like he was some new species.
“So what do you do?”
“Drive around mostly. Looking for shortcuts to school,” he said, grinning.
I ignored what he said about short cuts. “Your dad knows?”
“Yeah.”
“And he didn’t try to drag you to some doctor?”
“My dad and I, we have an understanding on a lot of things.”
“I forgot. Like having confections for lunch.”
He smiled. “Yeah, like having confections for lunch.”
“How many hours do you get on a good day?”
“Three hours tops.”
“Wow.”
“Like on Monday, that was a good day. Came home at 4 a.m. and went to bed and woke up at 7 a.m.”
“Then why were you late?”
He looked at me as if considering something. “I spent my night at the zoo and I was editing some pictures.”
I shook my head. What was it with the zoo and the people in my life?
“Why? Do they now allow visitors in the night?”
“No, of course they don’t.”
“Then how . . . .”
“You know the zoo is right next to the Cultural Centre?”
I nodded.
“There’s a path from the Cultural Centre to the zoo through some undeveloped land. And I know the security guy at the Cultural Centre.”
“Why would you want to go to the zoo at night?”
“I take pictures. There’s a National Geographic Photo Contest I want to enter. You could come over and see some of them and let me know what you think.”
“Not today.”
“I know. I’m not on today’s list. How about tomorrow?”
I pretended to think. “Okay.”