Oluchi Ezeh: PHANTOM
Meet Oluchi Ezeh - a shortlisted writer of the Bad Form x Bad Love short story competition. Oluchi wrote the short story PHANTOM, inspired by the following line from Bad Love:
“He was the colour of dark mahogany these days, strong and weathered but more beautiful for it, from weekend trips to sunnier climes throughout Europe."
Oluchi Ezeh
Q&A with Oluchi…
Why do you write?
I'm a massive sentimentalist, and I think it's so cathartic to read and write about all these deep, scary, overwhelming feelings we all carry around with us all day.
What's your secret talent that not a lot of people know about you?
I'm trying to teach myself British Sign Language! Hopefully I'll be fluent soon.
If you could be one character who is considered a 'bad lover'/ relationship villain from books, TV or film, who would you be and why?
JD from Heathers. He is awful for a number of reasons but he was so charismatic, was genuinely committed to Veronica and looked great in a leather jacket.
Read Oluchi’s shortlisted story below.
PHANTOM
“So you guys are friends?”
Zach asks, pouring cups with a practised urgency and pushing them into our hands. Zion’s smile is easy as he takes his drink.
“We’re good friends,” is his answer, voice even smoother than I remember. He laces the word ‘good’ with something dangerous but I stay quiet, sipping my drink in what I hope is a sexy silence. I didn’t know that he would be here, but then I never know where Zion’s going to be. That’s part of his charm, I guess.
'Did you see Zion just got back from Italy? Nah, swear down he was in France…or maybe Monaco? Lemme check his insta.'
I look at him now and I can see Europe – Spain’s gift of darker skin, the gold chain he got in Germany. Zion’s eyes meet mine.
“Right Ṣadé?“
His voice makes the staccato of ordinary words sound beautiful and my name is no exception. He says it and despite knowing that he’ll disappear again, I still want to jump into his arms. I still feel the same pull, my life already bending around him. There’s usually always a pattern to it:
We lock eyes, and he smiles. Zion’s smile could blind a person. Then, later, he laces his fingers through mine and pulls me towards him, slower than slow. Time stops. He lowers his face to mine. Zion has that thick, curly hair that is ideal for this situation. The kind that you want to hold onto because it’s almost like the curls were made to wrap around your fingers, like they are waiting for it. You feel this? They say. This is yours.
“You okay?” he always asks, after. And I always nod. Because in the moment it’s normally true. But tonight, at Zach’s party, when he pulls me towards him, it’s not like how I remember it. It’s too fast and I crash into him, stumbling.
“You okay?” he asks, but the question is too early.
“Mm-hm.” I say it as he trails his fingertip down my cheek.
“You sure? You’ve kinda gone quiet on me.”
I glance at him, taking him in, comparing the before and the now. He cut his curls; another thing that Europe took. My fingers run over his head, looking for a place to catch and call home but they can’t. You feel this? This isn’t yours.
“How long are you back for?” I ask.
“Just four days.”
I read that when you lose a limb or digit you can wake up with a phantom one, feeling like it’s back. You flex fingers that aren’t yours, wiggle toes that have long gone. And as I look up at Zion, I wonder if he’s my phantom. It’s a moment that I know I will replay later, once he’s gone again, and feel the pain. But until then, all I can do is flex these fingers until they vanish to dust when Europe swallows Zion again.
Until then, all I can do is nod.
