He says my love is like thunder, so loud it cannot be ignored.
Sometimes when I am not looking, he would make notes, scribble thoughts that came to him about me,
So, when I call, he knows that there is something…he does not need to ask,
“Do you know what bothers me about you Dee…it’s just that you are too good and too slippery for anyone. You run before anyone can think of catching you, like the wind, no, like the unknown…when will you hold still for love?”
“Did you read the book I sent you?” I ask.
He laughs. He knows me and yet I refuse to accept this truth.
“What are friends for?”
“So, what do you think?” I ask in between sips of my third cup of coffee. It’s too hot inside this house but I’d rather sweat and pace up and down than let the mosquitoes in.
“Love…it’s like giving someone white flowers when you know you want to present them with a rose, a single red rose and the truth between those two gestures is in the actions that prompted you to present them with flowers in the first place.”
“An apology…”
“No, when you know you cannot catch the wind and you’ve tried all your life, what comes next is more painful than an apology Dee…it’s surrender.”
It’s the first time we’ve faced each other and my heart’s on my sleeve, my soul frozen in a moment long gone. I do not want this. You can feel it, the tension, the angst, the shards of glass you’re standing on…yet you continue, like it’s a cigarette, once lit, it’s gotta be smoked.
You take a long drag. I fold my knees to my chest. It’s raining outside, the kettle stopped a while ago, I’ll probably spend another evening in the dark. You stretch your hand, try to grasp as many drops of rain…and then shake them off.
I do not want this.
“You are not here, Love. I know, but I had to see you. I know…no, I don’t, and truth is no matter how hard I try, I cannot shake it off. It’s like there is a part of me that is missing and when I couldn’t take it, I just got on the bus and came here. This is a nice cosy place you have.”
I do not want this.
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You shrug your shoulders and continue, “You remind me of Howard Roark. I never wanted to read that book, but you insisted, remember? I cannot shake how symmetrical the author described him, but it’s not just his sheer will or pursuit of his life, it’s how he refused to be conquered. You have refused to be conquered Love, and that scares me…it scares me how you can choose to remove yourself from a situation without a trace of emotion.
How you bleed but there is not one sign of your pain reflected to the world. See, to know you, I have to look for you in between the lines you post on your blog, how sick is that? Even then, I can never truly say that it is truly who you are, you choose which side to show and to whom and for how long…that scares me. So, yesterday, the guys and I were hanging out and Marto asks me, ‘what happened?’ and I couldn’t speak. I knew what to say ‘I messed up,’ but even those three words could not come out of my mouth. I want answers Love, but the questions are not yours to answer and yet I demand them from you, how selfish is that? How is it that I wound you but I am the one who never heals? Look, are you happy here? Have you met someone? Is he good to you? Are you happy? I just need to know, maybe then…I’ll stop going round in circles, killing my lungs hoping to smoke your existence away. I did not come here to give a speech…maybe if I wrote you all this, you would remember every word. Then…you always do, I may even read it on your blog, you are great with words, but greater with pain and I’ve caused you so much pain that in so doing I have wounded myself. I do not want this life Love. I guess, I am sick and tired of paying bills, watching everyone I know have someone to call their own while I let mine go. You don’t have to say anything…you shouldn’t.”
“The lights are back, can I make you some tea or coffee?” I ask…and you shake your head and as my feet touch the floor, I see it…glistening on your cheeks and I know it, because I have been there, not once, not twice, not thrice but seven times Stardust…seven because to count the eighth would be to admit that I let you choose the value you placed upon me.
I walk to the next room, turn the kettle on and stare outside the window. The neighbor’s brown cat saunters into her house, drenched.
I can hear you…and even though my soul is torn, my heart knows not to show mercy, I guess this is what it feels like to be broken.
What I can promise you is that you’ll never die, I guess like every good thing, you’ll live on in my words. You’ll find yourself in between lines on every post I write, because you’re on your way to healing and I will not interfere with your wholeness…for you’ve learned that when you wound the ones you love, you are not spared the pain…this is my testament of love.
If you would have asked Henry what being caught between two women felt like; he would have told you, “like Samson, standing in the Philistine temple.”
It is the kind of feeling my mother says makes monkeys flee when a storm is brewing.
Henry remembers the numbness he felt when he first met Grace. She was poise, charm, beauty and intelligence. He remembers taking her in as though he was working in a vineyard, tending to berries that would produce the finest quality of wine.
He could not bring himself to speak in her presence and for two weeks, this unnerved him. He walked into a room and people got to their feet, but with Grace, just one look, or the awareness that she was around him, rendered him helpless.
He did not as a result, later on, tell her about the wife and kids. Leah belonged to another realm. He attended to her in that realm and cherished every daylight with Grace.
“We are not as the world would seem,” he would say to Grace every time she raised an eyebrow or tilted her head to the side as she watched him.
He did not unravel the mystery that were; Daniel, Samuel, Jonathan and Delilah; his children.
If you would have asked Henry what it felt like when Grace told him “Don’t” and turned her back to him, he would tell you he didn’t know what you were talking about.
It’s like my mother says, “There are so many ways to break a man, but a man who lets himself be wounded is the kind that forests never speak of.”
It comes to me in pieces; that day after the party, at your place, outside Naivas Supermarket, the Family Kitchen Restaurant, the church and sometimes…sometimes when I try to shake it off, it comes at 2 A.M.
They say it takes time.
They say, “You are still young, you’ll move on and find somebody else.”
It’s easy. You know, you are like a Mr. Berry bubblegum wrapper, disposed just as easy and fast after you’ve got the gum. You chew for a minute and dispose of the gum and unwrap the next one. It is true, you can never just have one Mr. Berry gum…five is a start.
How would they know? I saw you walking into Mega Plaza today. You were wearing that blue shirt that gives you the Corporate look and you were carrying that awful laptop bag that needs a wash more than a truck ferrying sand. You were talking to someone, ‘her’ I suppose, but there you were…two steps ahead of me and I could hear you, see you and if I tried hard enough, I could have taken in your scent.
It’s never the same.
It is never about who was wrong or who felt betrayed, but more about what happens. I wish it was more about us back then. You never listened…passion trumps rationale, and you would never know it, but I lost our child. Baby Emmanuela, a gem, the one you longed for…and what hurts even more is that you never gave me a chance to share the news with you.
They told you I was with your best friend. They said,‘you can’t trust these chics, they can definitely bring you down, kwani is she the only one?’What’s worse is that you listened to people who were surrounded by liquor they never brewed or produced. You took in the word of people who never invested in our relationship and you refused to listen. You threw away a friendship because of your inability to deal with your fear…the fear that you could lose me to James. He is an awesome guy, a great listener…but he will never be you, but you never cared to listen.
I walked behind you until you stepped onto the escalator and descended to the floor below. The lady was now holding your hand, leaning into your embrace and you were smiling at her.
They say I will get over it…and things will be okay, have you ever broken glass? Have you ever looked at the shattered pieces and seen how the light strikes each piece?
I need the light to illuminate my heart. I need it just one more time, because a part of me would like to face you and tell you that on the day you saw me with James, he was calming my nerves because I had just found out that we would be having a child. You were down on finances and the thought of telling you about the baby freaked me out…so much so that I was talking to myself right outside Alpha House…and James was passing by…
Would it matter? I don’t know.
You are happy. You are glowing, a smile upon us mere mortals who betrayed you, and sometimes I reckon losing both you and Emmanuela was a gift, a reminder that life was still bright and crystal clear like glass even after your heart’s been shattered.
Gabriel wasted no time in getting Mercy to fall in love with him. He did like her, and a part of me still believes that he did love her even now. I had spent all my life with Gabriel to know what made his blood boil around women. He was the guy who always had a plan, and sometimes when I look at Mercy, it feels like he failed to understand his plan and execute it. The next time I met her was a month into their courtship. She wore a bright yellow dress and flat sandals. She had come to visit Gabriel, but he’d stepped out with some of his friends. I opened the door and let her in. She thanked me and in the softest of voices asked me for a glass of water. I sent Gabriel a text while in the kitchen to let him know that she was visiting. He asked me to keep her company as he made his way back, and I knew he’d be gone a while.
“So, you stay here with Gabriel? What’s your name?”
“Michael and it’s nice to meet you Mercy.”
“Thank you. I’m sorry I haven’t met you before Michael.”
“It’s fine. So where do you stay?
“I stay in South C with my parents. I guess you two are lucky to be staying on your own.”
“It’s a hustle, but it has its days. Are you the last born?”
“No, I’m the second-last born. I just graduated last year, and my first job doesn’t pay enough to see me move out, so that’s why.”
“It’s fine. Take your time.”
“Omg! You should hear what my folks say. They think just like you, in fact my Dad said I’ll only leave his house when he knows I’m ready to do that, and that is code for never!”
“I still think that women have it easier, when you are a guy, the moment you turn eighteen you are out of the house.”
“I still think that’s good. It makes you figure things out, so how long have you known Gabriel? You must be best of friends to stay together.”
“I’ve known him since primary school. He’s a good guy, and we do stay together.”
“That’s nice.”
“Thank you. I know he’s on his way, so just feel welcome, he’ll get here soon.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
I went to the kitchen to fix her something to eat but Gabriel had eaten what was left. I looked for the juice we had bought but stumbled upon an empty bottle near the cabinet.
Mercy fell asleep on our couch that day. I walked her to the bus station at six. Gabriel came home three days later.
The sky is blue and so is the feeling she has. To get her to open her eyes, I have to take her back to the beginning.
It’s like walking on a rainbow at night. I am afraid of the dark but hope with some little light I might make my way through.
I met Mercy on the same day that she met Gabriel. He was my best friend. We lived in the same one bedroom apartment and talked of getting laid and drunk all the time. She was at the same party with us and had a green purse. I came to know it as a clutch. I had known all along that women carried bags. I didn’t know they had names and served different purposes until she told me.
Mercy was like a bee sting.
She had an appealing bosom like I have told you- and a smile that unlike all in the room felt like a glow. She held her drink like it was a treat, and walked around the room saying hello to people like she owned the party.
I must have seen her first because Gabriel slapped me in the back of the head to get my attention. It was then that he saw her. It’s true that birds of a feather flock together, but not all fly at the same pace.
Gabriel was a bull; the worst kind of bull. He pushed me aside and made for her, and in that moment I knew he’d have her. They talked for sometime. He made her laugh, and when I couldn’t stand to watch, I left the party for home. My father had always taught me that nothing beats surrender as much as retreat. I slept my humiliation away and waited to hear the endless story of how he had her. Gabriel came home the next morning at 6am when I was leaving for work. Though he reeked of cigarette smoke, he was sober. I handed him the keys and smiled.
I knew that would be the beginning of my torture but never thought of saying anything else in case my best friend saw the jealousy in me.
It started out as a whispering. A loud and prolonged hush between the clouds that were drawing nearer the earth at eight o’clock in the night.
She held onto her sweater as she looked at the dark clouds hover above her while whispering.
They hovered and got darker and then just as they were about to merge she saw the flash of lightning bring back some light to the dark night. She looked at her watch.
The bus came and people filled it. It drove off while she was still seated on that bench. She fastened the scarf around her neck but the cold wind still stung her earlobes. She pulled out her phone and saw that she still had 27 percent battery power left.
Jeremy had called her five times. He might have been worried about her, but she needed to do this. The woman at the bridal shop had told her that matters of the heart could mess people up. If she loved Jeremy she had to face Mark. When she told the lady about Mark, the woman scrunched up her nose, scoffed and said, “A man with a four letter name is a player, haven’t you ever noticed how many women cry over Johns, Pauls, Max, and Marks?”
She laughed at this as she stopped to twirl so she could have a feel of her gown. She loved the A-line. The texture was smooth and it did not have too much embroidery. Her wedding was going to be simple, full of love and true. The woman had insisted, “you cannot move on unless you face your past and bury it.”
She stopped when she heard her name. It was a whisper as loud and real as that of the clouds she had been watching.
It was a voice she could never get out of her head just like she would never forget how he treated her. It was a mistake to him. It started with, “let me explain,” and ended with “I know I cheated but I love you.”
What amused her was how often she heard the words and how easily she believed them.
She looked at him settle beside her and braced herself for what he had to say.
” You came…”
She looked at him and then pulled out her phone. Her battery power was down to 24 percent. He had started with an observation not a question. She dug her hands in her brown bag and sighed.
“How are you Grace?”
“I am fine.”
“I can see. So, I hear you are getting married next weekend, is it to that Dentist?”
“Yes.”
“I hate Dentists. You know it really hurts when they extract a tooth.”
“Okay.”
“Don’t be like that Grace, I just wanted to see you and catch up on times and stuff, so don’t just sit there and act like I am a stranger, please don’t.”
“Okay.”
“Grace,do you love this dude? I mean, are you sure about marrying him?”
“Yes, I am.”
“He does not deserve you babe, he really does not.”
She looked at Mark and just when she was going to say something she felt the first splatter land on her forehead. She looked up and those clouds had now formed one large mass of the darkest shade of black and were sending those rain drops down on her.
The splatter increased as the raindrops hit the pavement with vengeance. Mark was shouting something at her about seeking shelter but all she could see were the lights and heard the brakes before she saw the bus come to a stop right before her.
She stood up and rushed into the bus while holding her breath hoping that Mark would not follow her.
The woman at the bridal shop had been wrong. Everything about Mark unsettled her because every time he opened his mouth, she held her breath knowing that her heart was listening to him.
He still had that scent: some musk with a twinge of lime. His hair was still cropped short and he dressed better than Jeremy. It had been two years and he could still rile her up, get her jumping and running after his empty promises. Jeremy always called her “honey,” while Mark always knew that she loved being called “babe.”
It was pouring as she ground her teeth hoping the bus filled up and left the station. It was foolish of her to think that she could still love Mark. He has asked for her hand in marriage. In fact he had been the first man to ask for her hand in marriage. He had also been the only man to make a promise and break it even before he finished saying it.
She wiped the window to look at the people and there; right behind the bench where they were seated was the red saloon car she could spot even in her dreams.
There was a man standing beside the car with an umbrella and he was looking straight at her.
She looked at the tall profile of the man and in that moment, she stood up holding her bag close to her chest and ran out of the bus. She bumped into the tout on the way out, as she ran in the cold heavy rain towards the one her heart yearned for.
Jeremy opened his arms and she walked right into them knowing he had so many questions. They stood there in the rain with the splash of rain, hooting of the bus, ghust of wind holding each other and answering their questions by touch.
She did not care about that, except for the fact that he had drove through the rain to come and get her.
She walked into the lounge at 5:09pm.
I know because I was chatting with a friend via whatsapp when I caught a whiff of her perfume. She smelled like a florists shop at dawn when the windows were swung open to let the fresh morning breeze in.
She made her way through the room her black trench coat spreading her scent around the room.
Her hair was cropped short, but she had braids falling on the right side of her face, revealing big eyes that did not meet anyone’s gaze.
She settled at the front and picked the microphone.
The patron stood up rushing towards her.
She did not flinch, but she stared straight into his eyes and he stopped then nodded at the Deejay who turned up her microphone.
And as I sipped my coffee, her voice started with
So this is my apology, for saying all those shady things, I wish didn’t really mean, I’m sorry I’m not sorry
Then she took a deep breath and held the microphone a few inches from her face, and as we watched, her hand dropped and she stayed there, her head hung…I held my breath.
My friend pushed me, “Is she crying?”
Uh?
I turned to face the front with my phone in my hands waiting. I looked around the room, there were people who had stopped drinking and chatting who were as mesmerized as me.
She sniffed, and brushed the braids off her face and continued singing Kelly Clarkson’s Someone and she had us listening but what I could feel was her bleeding heart.
And when she was done, she stood and walked out the same way she walked in. The difference was that instead of her flowery scent, the room was filled with the pieces of her broken heart.
nilichoandika 