The Day I Checked My Account Balance

Salary alerts should come with a chair. I was standing when mine arrived, which is how I almost greeted the floor.

The message was beautiful. My name was in it. The company's name was in it. A number was in it that, for three full seconds, made me a generous person. I thought about my mother's stew criticism and how I would end it with groceries. I thought about the shirt I had been 'monitoring.' I thought, briefly and incorrectly, that I was the kind of man who saves.

The balance

I opened the app the way you open a door when you already hear breathing on the other side.

Rent had seen the alert too. Rent is faster than joy. The transfer I had scheduled on a hopeful afternoon had left with the promptness of a guest who brought their own bag. Then the subscriptions introduced themselves, a parade of small amounts that sound like coffee until you add them up and realise you have been funding four apps, two of which I could not explain to a panel.

'What is this one?' I asked the phone.

The phone, loyal and useless, showed me a logo and the word active.

By the time I reached the bottom of the screen, the number had become a suggestion. Not a crisis. A suggestion that jollof at the place I like was a story I would tell later, not a plan I would execute tonight.

The audit

I sat on the bed and did what every adult does after payday: I held a private inquiry. Who authorised the streaming thing I have not opened since March? Why is there a fitness app charging a man whose exercise is pacing while the kettle boils? When did I agree to pay for cloud storage of photos I am afraid to look at?

I cancelled two. I paused one. I left the music, because a person must have a principle. Then I moved what I could to the account that does not have a card attached, the account I call 'not for you' when I am talking to myself in the voice of a strict uncle.

Gravity

A friend texted, 'Salary don land?'

'It landed,' I wrote. 'It did not stay. Responsibilities denied it gravity.'

He sent a laughing emoji and a picture of indomie. I respected the honesty. We are not broke in the cinematic way. We are employed, which is its own comedy: the money arrives, stands up, thanks the host, and leaves with people it knew before you.

I ate rice at home. It was a strong seven, and it was mine, and the balance that remained was enough for transport and pride. Tomorrow I will open the app again, standing closer to the bed. A man should learn.