Ifemi Aiko: Born of our love

I am underwater, staring up at the bathroom ceiling. I am in the bathtub, allowing the treatment in the water to help heal the last of my burnt skin. It has been almost a week since I saved him from the apartment. Since I saved him from Ogun. He had triggered a failed transformation, and the demigod wanted to kill him because of that. Luckily, I was able to get there on time. Like I always do. Like I will always do. Forever. Until the end of time. Whenever that comes.

I lift myself out of the water, then give myself a moment to think as I remain sitting in the bath. So far, the events playing out this time have been mostly the same. He comes to Japan, we get to know each other, he meets the family, his powers start manifesting. Which means, the gods must have tried to kill him, and I—I mean, she—must have already fought for his freedom.

That is good.

Things are on track.

I step out of the water and tie a towel around my chest. I walk toward the door and try to exit the bathroom. That is when I slip. Mentally speaking.

I start to chuckle uncontrollably. My shoulders shake up and down as I do so. I throw my head back and burst into full-on laughter. They were going to take him from me again. Wouldn't they?

And again, and again, and again. Just like all those times.

There is no stopping it.

There is no stopping them.

Not unless...

I look down at my hand. At my claws.

Not unless I stop them first.

All of them.

Permanently.

...

As I am changing in the bedroom, a little gremlin comes bursting in with incredible speed.

"Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom."

She shoots into the room faster than I ever was as a kid, throwing her arms around my waist and nearly knocking me over in the process. She is strong too. She got that part from her father.

"Mom. Mom. Mom. Mom."

"Ifemi Aiko," I call out to the little girl while I struggle to finish wearing the belt for my pants. "Will you wait? Let me finish changing?"

"Nope," she replies, talking into my stomach.

I sigh.

"Alright," I say, resigning my fate to whatever my daughter wants in the moment. "Let's hear it. What do you want this time?"

She removes her head from my stomach and looks up at me. Through those big green eyes and beautiful brown skin.

"Can I fly to Nigeria by myself?"

"Absolutely not," I reply.

"What?!"

She briefly lets go of my waist in shock, and I use the opportunity to finish wearing my trousers.

"But why, Mom? I'm just going to see Grandma, I swear." She lifts her hands defensively, revealing some of the tattoos she had inherited from her father at birth.

"Ife, you are too young to fly on your own," I say as I button up my shirt. "What if—and spirits above forgive—but what if you get tired and fall? I won't be there to catch you."

"But Mom, I promise I won't fall," she says, coming closer to hold my hand. "I've been practicing, and I am becoming faster. Just look."

"Ife, wait—"

Before I could say anything, she bursts out of the room and ends up outside my bedroom window an instant later. I walk toward the window to watch her. She waves and smiles at me, and I smile while waving back. Then she begins her demonstration.

She performs a little bow and stands up straight, with her eyes already starting to glow. Then she transforms into Adze, a West African spirit of flight. But the cute, miniaturized, baby version.

I smile and give her a thumbs-up, and she nods before taking to the night sky with a flap of her wings.

Damn, she's fast.

She performs several quick maneuvers. A spin. A loop. Another loop. A third loop. I am impressed. But she doesn't stop there.

She displays her quick reaction time, which is almost as fast as her father was when he first started flying. I can barely see her as she moves through the cloud with blinding speeds. Jumo definitely would have been proud. By the time she gets back down, I am already a mess with tears. I am standing outside to receive her, and before her legs even touch the ground, she transforms out of her spirit form and rushes toward me.

I catch her in a hug.

"So did you see, Mom? Did you see? Hey. Why are you crying?"

When we separate from the hug, I cup her cheeks, then plant a kiss on her forehead. I run my fingers through her beautiful curly hair.

"It's happy tears, my little gremlin," I tell her. "It's happy tears."

...

"So, does this mean I can fly to Nigeria myself now?" my daughter asks me as we make our way back into the house.

"Yeah, totally still not happening," I say, laughing. "You're still too young."

"What?! But you saw me just now. Wasn't I fast enough?"

"You were the fastest," I reply. "Honestly, if your dad was still alive, he would be so proud of you."

"I miss Dad," my daughter says.

"I know, my little gremlin," I reply to her.

"I miss him too."

...

Deep down, a part of me wants to leave them alone so they can enjoy the time they have together. Maybe this version of me is not destined to suffer the same fate as myself and countless others. However, the other parts of me, consumed by grief and a never-ending sense of loss, want to steal him away and burn everything to the ground before it ever has the opportunity to happen in the first place.