I walk up to the receptionist, grateful for the soft soles of my sneakers. Wiping my palms on my jeans, I try for confidence.
“I’m here to see Doctor Buwa Coker.”
“Is she expecting you?”
I manage to pull off a polite smile.
“We spoke on the phone.”
She finally looks up from the notepad she’s been scribbling on.
“Down the corridor to your left, it’s the only door.”
I find myself wiping my palms on my jeans again as I stand in front of a black wooden door. It’s the only thing that isn’t white in this place so far.
The door swings open as I raise my hand to knock. There she is, tall and commanding in a white silk jumpsuit to match her straightened white hair.
There are juice and sandwiches spread on a small glass table across from her desk. There are two plush armchairs on either side of this table. She gestures me to one as she takes her seat in the other.
“So, what’s your story?”
She looks bored, unimpressed like she has heard every bizarre thing there is to hear. I lose my nerve. I shouldn’t have come here, what if she doesn’t believe me? What if they know I’m here?
“Okay, let’s start with your name.”
She’s patronising me. It’s obvious in the small smile and head tilt.
Looking her straight in the eyes, I return the smile with what I can only hope is a bright and confident one.
“My name is Airénọlogbuan Imasuen, and I think I’m dead.”
Her smile freezes in place as she raises an eyebrow. I have her full attention.
