He was that one book that I will always revisit in the dead of the night when sleep proves elusive. For he completed me. He was no comedian, yet the ease with which he could make me smile still puzzles me to date. Now women, revere a man who stares into your eyes, peeling layer after layer, down into your soul till essential organs like your knees beg for a sabbatical. The guy would hold my chin, stare into my eyes and I would have to rehearse all my 3 names in a certain order mentally lest I lose my mind.
He’d hold my hands while crossing roads and, men, I’d feel like the chubby baby I really am at heart. He’d watch me laugh and at the end of my fits say, ‘Wow. Your laughter is soulful. You’re just so cute.’ My lower lip quivered in vulnerability every time he said that. You know that crazy vulnerability that accompanies falling for someone? The one that makes you feel like your insides have been laid out in the open for vultures to drool over. Only that it was a good vulture in this case.
I loved him for his comely face. For his radiant smile and for his hard work. But most of all, I loved him for his realistic approach towards life. He lived in the real world. Knew enough to distinguish the black from the gray, the white from the cream and lived by the truth. He was a pillar I could lean on during my frailest of moments and stormiest of nights.
He used to call me his queen. His empress. Until she came. And he thought her prettier and more intriguing than me. I must have turned into a bland soggy burger. Let me tell, you can always feel the terrible hum of ghosts when the apocalypse is approaching. I still remember that day. He did not look me in the eyes while asking for space. And that, that, hurt like crap. Had I suddenly turned toad-ugly? When, like Vashti, I had tumbled down the ranks?
For months on, I prayed, and hoped he’d return to his senses. That he’d realize what he had thrown, or rather, was throwing away. That I was just the kind of burger he needed for his soup. But I guess, the untimely end of that chapter of the book had arrived, dressed in a flowing black gown. With a decayed broomstick in its leprous hand.
Recently I bump into him. The one book I always revisiting in the secret of night while silently wondering what might have been. Or, might not have been. And it wasn’t like old times. It was a little awkward. He, stumbling over his words and me, lost for words. I’m told that happens when too much water has passed under a bridge.
Me: (chuckling) ‘Brian, do not tell me with all the beautiful ladies the world has thrown your way you are still miserable.’
This is me pretending to not care. But I secretly hoped he was. I mean, who doesn’t like to be missed. I wanted to hear him say I was a different kind of burger altogether. And, he did.
Brian: (Looking weary and beaten) ‘Yes they are beautiful alright, for some other hot entanglements…Not emotional reasons though…’
Me: ‘You are hysterical Brian, what happened to you? You need to move on, be happy, life is short!’
Brian: ‘Nyathi, I wish it was easy. I wish it was so.’ (He seems heartbroken and it is kind of thawing the ice in my heart. And I hate it.)
I take a few hair strands from my braids from my backside and play with them in bid to dissipate the growing tension till Mikitta gets here. And saves me before I sell my soul to Brian. Again.
This lady Melodious is a charm, soulful character, lively in a manner of which sends quivers within your inner being. This piece has done something to me so profound none will understand! Unless you’re Nyathi or myself. Melodious become Nyathi for me, for but a fleeting moment. Thank you Melodious.
I surely hope her writing keeps taking this kind of valiant approach. Speaking of which, you’ll find her writings reside at this website(click here).