I Am Ethan – Episode 1

Author’s Note:

This is the product of a super bored and over-worked imagination. It is fictitious. I mean come on, if you believe this really happened, any of this, then I think you should stay away from the booze…just for a while. How do they do this again sef? Huh, any resemblance to anybody alive or dead is a miracle…or prophecy (you never can tell), if you bought this without a cover then you should be aware that it was reported as stolen to the author, yada yada blah blah.

I hope you have some fun reading this
I AM ETHAN (The Series)

Episode 1: Wild Night


“Everything that can go wrong will go wrong”.

I’ve kinda forgotten who said that. Can’t even remember where I came across it, prob’lyGandalf or Merlin’s crazy uncle. They all look alike and give the same shitty advice anyway.

I’ve started rambling again, haven’t I? Huh, introductions? My name’s Ethan, short for Ethanol (yeah, my uncle’s kind of a schmuck), I’m almost a graduate (will be done with secondary school in a few moons), I have a sister, if you can call her that.What else? Oh, guess I’ll be telling you about my crazy life.

Yeah, crazy’s the right word. I have a friend that’s 50 shades of weird and crazy and another that’s addicted to Ariana Grande and whose IQ and my shoe size share the same digits (I have small feet) in the same order, a sister that pulls insane stunts on me, a Food and Nut teacher that’s more nuts than food, a Biology teacher that gives me ‘sexy eyes’ and a principal that promised me that I won’t graduate till Solid Star (one Nigerian artiste like that. Nobody knows him) wins a Grammy.

And my school’s even weirder than all of these combined.

In narrating my story, I will flagrantly violate a few laws of grammar. Why? Because I can. I will also use needless abbreviations, also just because I can. This is not being graded by any teacher so, whoo!! On the plus side however, I will do my best to bleep a lot of swear words out. My friends cuss…a lot. Me on the other hand, my whole life is one huge swear word.

That’s crazy right? See ya at the end of the page.


earlier in the morning

“Bartholomew!”. The teacher screamed, adding more bass to his voice this time.

“Bartholomew”. The teacher took a step forward, aimed and threw a marker straight at Bartholomew’s forehead. It landed with a loud ‘thunk’.

Bartholomew then looked up with a surprised look on his face. He wasn’t sleeping. His eyes weren’t even closed. They were wide open but the grey matter sharing a room with his eyes was not in the class. He was thinking about the latest Ariana album and the website to best steal it from.

“Bartholomew”, the teacher repeated,“Now that you’re here, would you answer the question?”

My best friend stood up but the confused look on his visage said it all. The teacher is one of the few people that still call him Bartholomew. The rest of us just use the shortened form, Barry.

Barry looked at the board but couldn’t get a clue. It screamed ‘C.R.S’ back at him.

“Ah…what question sir?” He said with the most innocent look he could muster plastered on his face.

The teacher sighed and gestured for the marker to be thrown back at him. Barry gladly returned the favour but missed by a couple of inches. The marker clattered harmlessly against the board.

The teacher picked it up and said:

“We were talking about the nativity story. You know the nativity story?” My friend nodded enthusiastically. “Well, we kind of got stuck on the name of Jesus’s mother. Can you help us out?”

“Say what?” was the reply that came from Barry. “I didn’t quite get the question, sir”.

Exasperated, the teacher dragged on his ears to signify attention and he took especial attention to stress each word “Jesus…has…a…mother… right? What’s her name?”

“He does? I thought God didn’t have a wife. I’ll be damned”. He went on tentatively “Was Jesus born? I thought he just existed”.

“Well…” The teacher started

Barry jumped in again without missing a beat, “Figured God must have said: “let there be Jesus, whom I shalt call my son for future purposes (getting nailed being one of them)”.

“What are you tal…”

“So God had an affair with an angel?” Barry interrupted again“That bugger. Him condemning extracurricular affairs and all.” He paused for effect “What’s the name of that singing angel again? Lucifer, yeah?”

Like someone that just discovered the secret of immortality, he screamed: “No wonder pastors cheat with choir masters and mistresses. So that’s how it started!”

“WHAT THE F*** IS THIS DUMB N**** SAYING?” The much loved C.R.S teacher screamed, breaking character for the first time.

“I believe I just answered your question sir”. The smug look was still on Barry’s face “The final answer is Lucifer”.


…7 hours later
“I still can’t believe Mr. Israel did that to me”.

I quickly ran over to him before he smashed my limited edition lampand carefully returned it to the shelf. He hadn’t stopped fuming since the teacher punished him. It was nothing serious, really but he’d probably never done something like that before. But seriously, anybody that says that Lucifer is Jesus’s mother deserves anything he gets.

Actually, it IS kind of funny.

“What’d he tell you to do again?” I just had to make him repeat it.

“The crazy man took me to the toilet, made me enter the stall with him and watch him uh, uh, shit. He made me watch him shit”.

“Then…”I prodded.

“He gave me a brush and told me to scoop out his, uh, business from the toilet bowl. Then he made me write ‘I will never blaspheme’ with it on the toilet wall till the shit ran out”.

“Didn’t the principal hear about it? Didn’t anybody stop him?”

“The Principal?” He scoffed “Mr. Six eyes, yeah? The lazy bastard walked in after the first 62 lines. Yeah…” he nodded vigorously, “…I counted”.

“Whoa, that’s pretty serious”, I muttered, trying to look concerned and at the same time keep the laughter from bursting from my lips “Hope you didn’t get hurt”.

“Nah, just my dignity”.

“Barry, you’re my guy but I don’t think you had much of that anyway”.

He just shrugged.

Then my phone rang. I let it belt out the first line of Kiss Daniel’s ‘Woju’before picking up. It was JD, the third member of my clique. People call us the Triad.

Well, that’s not technically true. We callourselves the Triad. We are pretty cool but in a school where the average student uses an iPhone 5s, being cool is not the only criteria for social acceptance.

“We still hitting Demulcere tonight?” JD piped into my eardrum.

Demulcere? Damn, I’d totally forgotten about our club date. It is a Friday night and we had decided to up our game this time. Roll with the real big boys.

“Sure. It’s still a go”. I raised the corner of my lips in mock disgust “Like I’d really forget something that important”.

“You can never be too sure dude. And I kinda have to get back to something right now. See you at ten.”

He clicked off.

I held the phone to my cheeks for a while then threw it on the bed. It landed between my super fluffy pillows that my head can never get enough of.

“We need to get some new kicks, man.” Bartholomew chipped in.

“No, we don’t.” I groaned “I just got these crazy Guiseppes and those red Jays o’ yours still kick major ass any day”. By Jays, I meant Air Jordans.

He moved towards me and put both hands on my shoulders. With the most serious expression ever on his face, he said:

“This is the first day of the rest of our lives, man. This is the day we shed the jackets of childhood and don the denims of manhood. It’s moments like this that we’ll talk about to our children.” He looked me straight in the eye “This day started with a lot of shit for us, literally, in my case. But I promise you”. He said solemnly “I promise on my mom’s grave that this will be the greatest night of our lives. For this is the day we become men!”


Then I sniffed the air around him.

“Is that Magic Moment on your breath?” I said. He nodded enthusiastically. I pushed him away. “What are you talking about? Your mom’s not even dead. She’s in Germany. She’s on vacation, remember? You know,” I went on “Sometimes I’m convinced that you’ve run out of stupid juice. That your psychologist can still hold on to his license. But then you just come up with stupid shit like this and I’m like, hold that thought n*****, hold that thought. Bravo” I clapped. “Bravo”.

“You done?” He said.

“Sure.” I chuckled. “Till you outdo yourself again”

“Grab your keys, man. Let’s go shopping.”


The shopping ended up being a harried affair. We couldn’t get a parking spot at the mall so we’d settled for one of the ‘low-budget’ ‘mini boutiques’. (See how I had to put the two under marks? Yeah. They’re that bad). I’d bought a pair of black Renato Dulbeccs and Barry had opted for an O’TEGA. The shoes were grossly overpriced, no surprise there of course. We looked gullible enough.

Now we’re all dressed up and ready for our big night. All that was left was JD.

My sister is probably asleep already in her room upstairs and my parents wouldn’t be around till the end of the following week. The house helps had gone home for the night and Adamu would be smoking one of his never-ending wraps of cheap weed that mom keeps warning him against. She’s not around now of course, so, ‘coast clear’.

JD waltzed in at a few minutes past ten. Though I hate admitting this, but JD is unarguably the freshest of the Triad. His full, rich black hair is always cut in a hybrid Afro-Mohawk style. His beards are styled like Jason Derulo’s and his fair-complexion made him look, very convincingly, like a mulatto.

“Let’s rock n roll folks.”

Barry hollered and hooted in response. Then he said.

“Why do I feel I have butterflies in my belly?”

“Prob’ly the caterpillars you had for lunch?” I said, grabbing the car keys.

I made for the door. JD placed a hand on my chest and said.

“Your pop’s not around, right?”

I nodded.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

He looked at me disbelievingly.

Oh. So that’s what that has to do with anything.

My dad is kind of a car buff. He has a whole ‘fleet’ of super awesome cars. We’ve had our eyes on his 115k (USD) Aston Martin DBS for days. But then I know he would never drop the keys for me, not even to save his life. Fortunately for us, he’s one of the few people that leave their keys in the ignition.

Mr. Aston was going to be our ‘Partymobile’ for the night.

I returned the Chrysler keys to the rack and we raced downstairs to the garage.

We climbed into the car (literally). I, driver’s seat, JD rode shotgun and Barry, grumbling, got into the back. I turned the keys and the car obediently purred to life. I gently backed out of the garage.

The headlights then settled on the frame of a small girl waiting for us diligently at the end of the driveway.

My sister.

Barry shuffled uncomfortably in the back. He has history with her. He leaned close to me and whispered, as if he was scared she could hear him.

Knowing my sister, she probably could.

“We can’t let her stop us tonight man” He breathed “Run her down”.

“What!?”JD and I screamed in unison. We looked at him disbelievingly.

Splotches of red started appearing on his cheeks.

“Y’all shouldn’t go all righteous on me. It’s not like one o’ you hasn’t thought of killing the little witchat least once”.

I pushed the door open. I could hear JD saying behind me.

“What the hell kind of meds are you on this time dude?”

I moved towards my sister and dragged her out of sight.

“Why are you not sleeping?”

She ignored my question. Instead, she placed her small hands on her waist in the universal female sign of resistance and said.

“Where do you think you’re going Ethan? And why are you taking dad’s car out?” She looked at me like I wasn’t three feet taller and almost fifty pounds bigger than her. “You know if anything happens to the car, dad would be on death row and you would be on a mortician’s slab.”

“What could possibly happen?” I asked, condescendingly “And where I’m going is none of your business”.

“If it results in me staying in this house all alone, then I guess that makes it my business. Don’t you think?”

“Oh. So you’re afraid of the boogieman?” I sneered “And besides, Adamu is here so you shouldn’t be worried about being alone.” I dropped my voice to a low whisper “And then, God is always with you.”

Once again, she waved my response aside.

“Let’s go say hi to your friends.” She said “Shall we?”

She made for the car. She pushed her head through the wound down driver’s window and said

“Hi boys”.

“What’s up baby doll?” JD piped. He’s the only one that she would allow to even think of using affectations for her.

Barry just sank deeper into his seat. She ignored him.

I turned her around to face me.

“We have to run some errands tonight. Man stuff.”

She chuckled.

“Well, at least I know you’re not running drugs or anything. You don’t have the guts for that”.

She bumped fists with JD and made for the house.

“I won’t call daddy tonight, Ethan. Just get me my usual”. She said over her shoulder. “Have fun boys”.

I sighed and got into the car.

Barry jumped on me as soon as I settled in the driver’s seat.

“Are we safe? What’s her usual?”

“You really don’t wanna know” I replied, pushing him back.

I started the car and we got going.

I honked at Adamu at his guard’s post as I backed the car out of the compound into the ominously dark night. He puffed smoke in my direction in response.

The beautiful thing about Demulcere is not its architecture. It isn’t even the caliber of the crowd it attracts. It’snot the fact that anything and everything you can possibly imagine goes down there (BDSM? check).

The most beautiful thing about the club is its ambience. When you’re inside, you feel at peace with the world and you don’t ever want to come out. 

Of course I didn’t know all these before tonight.

Demulcere is the kind of club that uses only two thick velvet ropes as its perimeter security. You just don’t go there if you know you don’t belong there. JD hits the place regularly though. He’s the one that suggested that we up our game this weekend.

Cops don’t go there. The district’s DPO receives a fat envelope at the end of the month and he in turn makes sure they are pretty much left to their vices.

So, here we are.

I maneuvered the car gracefully into the parking space.  There were a few cars there already. By few, of course I mean more than a hundred freaking cars. I found space between a yellow Gallardo and a gleaming silver F-Type Jaguar.

We got out of the car. I brushed my pants and, like rock stars, we made for the door.

We entered without incident and then we split up.

I really can’t start describing the place so y’all should just take my word for it. It IS probably the most beautiful place I would ever enter before I die of a heart attack while doing my thing on the treadmill at the tender age of 102.

I headed for the bar and ordered some Reyka.

Glass in hand, I scanned my environment.

The partying was in full swing.

There was just the usual club crowd really, just with extra zeros on their credit. There were the ‘bosses’ lounging on sofas with fat Havanas hanging between their lips and girls flanking them.

There were stairs leading to upstairs rooms. Bouncers that look like they could scare Bigfoot were guarding each stairway though, so I knew that was a ‘no-go’ area.

There were lots of celebs around too, I noticed. A-listers. Nollywood stars, musicians, models and a few TV personalities I could recognize. Everybody was getting their groove on.

I sighed and lifted the glass to my lips. This was going to be a long night.

Then the unexpected happened. A model-type looking girl smiled at me from across the room. I knew enough to understand that she wanted me to talk to her.

Move, leg, I screamed in my mind. But the harder I tried, the more difficult it became to budge from my seat. I was literally frozen to my seat. Oh my God. I couldn’t bear to look at her.

I heard the stool beside me shift and, looking sideways, I saw it was my friend, the model-type girl. She placed her hands on the bar and brought out her phone. I knew she was waiting for me to talk. I was waiting for me to talk but my tongue just wouldn’t move.

Finally, it shifted an inch and my words came out in a rush.

“Do you like salt?”

She turned to me. She smiled.


My God she’s beautiful. Her dentition is perfect and those eyes. Aaarghh.Those eyes.

“I was just talking about the turnout today” I waved dismissively around the room. “Lots of people around”.

“Oh”. She smiled again.

She waited for me to speak but I didn’t.

“What crew are you with?” She said.

“What?” I asked. I’d heard her but I needed time to think about my response.

“What crew are you with?” She repeated.

I looked around the room for JD and Barry. JD was nowhere to be seen. He’s probably in one of those guarded rooms. Barry, on the other hand was having his advances rebuffed by a girl that was clearly above his pay grade. What is he doing? Annoyed, his quarry grabbed his glass out of his hand and poured the drink in his face.

Am I with his crew? Hell no.

I turned back to the angel beside me.

“I’m a Lone Ranger baby. I fly alone.” I turned on the charm “What’s your name?”

This time she laughed. It was beautiful.

“My name is Dami but my friends call me Opa.”

“Opa?” That’s a weird name, I thought “That’s a cool name.” I said.

“Wanna go somewhere more…private?” She said, biting her lower lip lightly, seductively.

Hell yeah.

“Sure”. I said, trying to sound uninterested.

She jumped off the stool and dragged me towards a door marked ‘Men Only”.

Oh yeah, I thought, my mind racing. The iron curtain’s goingdown tonight.

I let her drag me into a stall and then I threw away the last shreds of my composure.

I pounced on her. I attacked her lips savagely, my breath coming out in rather loud rasps.

She pushed me away gently and said in a surprising baritone.

“Take it easy buster, don’t ruin the makeup”.

I was too far gone. I jumped on her again but this time she stopped me with a firm grip on my throat. She lifted me a few feet off the ground. My, she’s a strong one.

“You’re going too fast man.” This time, her voice was all bass. “You’ve messed up my attire””

She pushed the stall’s door open and headed for the changing mirror. Dazed, I followed her.

She gently tugged at her hair and the upper layer came off, revealing a snazzy Mohawk. She then pulled her lashes off and carefully placed them on the cabinet. This was followed by her nails and, wait for it…her teeth. She then pulled off her clothes; skirt, blouse, bra, everything. She pulled out a secret drawer from the cabinet and stuffed her things in it. She then brought out pieces of male clothing and put them in.

The transformation was complete. ‘She’ became a ‘he’.

Throughout all these, we didn’t say a word to each other. She…he, I need to get used to that, checked himself out in the mirror.He turned to me.

“We still doing this?” He asked.

“Hell no” I screamed in revulsion. My insides were playing a number on me. I felt like throwing up.

“I f****** kissed you man”. He just shrugged.

I couldn’t take it anymore. I ran out of the room, screaming like a little girl.

I was blind to my environment. I ran into the ‘official dance floor’ and smack-dab into a drunk actor trying to impress a wide-eyed girl. Barry screamed something along the line of “What’s going on man?” somewhere behind me.

The actor’s goons descended on me. One of them connected a beefy right hook with my jaw and this sent me reeling to the shiny floor. Then Barry came out of nowhere and faced off with the actor and his lackeys. He blocked a punch that was meant to make my brains a permanent feature of the dance floor.

The amazing thing about Barry is the fact that though he’s 99% goof, when his mean streak rears its head, it is on.

He picked a bottle of half-finished Johnnie Walker from a stout mahogany stool nearby and smashed it on the actor’s head. Itlanded with a satisfying smack and the actor whose name I still don’t know collapsed to the ground.

The club’s bouncers then came in and broke up the fight.

Saved by the bell.

We were thrown outside and told sternly to “never show your ugly butts around here again”.

JD strolled out a few minutes later and we went home.

It was the longest and quietest ride of my life.

a little over an hour later.
I dropped the dudes off at their respective houses.

My sister was still up when I got home. She was wearing her pajamas and the fluffy bunny slippers that had ‘Tomi’ written on it. She was watching her favourite TV show, Death Machines, on Discovery World.

She tried to ignore me again but my heavy and dragged footsteps made her turn around. She took in my appearance, disheveled clothes, one shoe on, and the puffed up cheeks that looked like hastily-blown balloons.

She whistled and said.

“Wild night, huh” She chuckled mischievously “Looks like you’vebeen drinking some punch”.

Somehow, I knew she wasn’t talking about the drink.

This time, I was the one doing the ignoring. I headed straight for one of the bathrooms upstairs. She followed me.

I slammed the door behind me and half-walked, half-ran to the toilet.

She didn’t have to put her ear to the door to pick out the sounds of violent retching coming from the toilet.

She smiled and went back to her show.

Ethan and co will be back…

God bless Nigeria


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