The semester was polite. Like those quiet girls who seat at the front of the class during CATs. The year has been tough. I’ve been broke. I’ve almost cried. I’ve been heartbroken. I’ve met a cute girl who writes as well as she spews insults. I’ve lost a cousin to HIV/ AIDS. I’ve failed to fall in love, I’ve staggered along the edge of a whisky glass and I’ve survived. I’m travelling to shags on Tuesday. And I’m burdened.
A young man needs a friend. A girlfriend. A curvaceous lady with the smile of Christmas in whose eyes, he is safe. He needs a companion, a witness. A lover. A guide. A confidant. A protective female, in whose arms- when the toughest going has gone rough, he can hide in and cry. He needs a lady who’ll make him mad and when he’s shivering with from a cold anger say, ‘I miss my lady. I love her.’
I had one shot at that lady. She, if Bruno Mars was sober when writing that grenade song, would have been the one I’d throw myself in front a train for. But as cunning as a warm beer can be, life denied me her love, companionship and attention. She forgot about me. Just like that. The way a drunk urinates all the six beers he’s downed and moves to sip the seventh one in utmost care, class and greed. TODAY IN A TALK WITH THE MAN WHO STOLE HER I REMEMBER HER IN THIS PIECE.
Heck! I don’t know how to say this. A cigarette? Oh, sorry. You don’t smoke. She can’t date a smoker. Let’s drink then. I’ll order whisky. No, I insist. Just a few tots, you’ll be okay. She won’t mind. Yes, neat. I’m sorry, pardon my manners. I’m James. The loser you stole her from.
I know this is weird. But tell me, how did you do it? Did you make her laugh? I also did that. Oh yes, she’s a fab girl! On that we agree. I hope you know she’s a catch. She’s special. It announces itself when she laughs. And yes! In how she talks, especially when she says ‘hello’ on answering a call.
Let’s have another round. A few more. Trust me, you’ll be fine. Help a brother accept defeat. You are a jolly good lad. Haha! Of course, I drink once in a while. Well, I drink whenever I can. I quit trying to quit. Tell me, how did you make her yours? You are one lucky fool. You stole her from me.
She used to call me her linguist, you know. And she was mine. My elusive jackpot. The blue in my sky. The passion in my Fanta. Heck! She was my mystery. She is a puzzle I don’t want solved.
But you stole her from me. Yes we never did date. Yes she and I never did kiss. But you stole her from me. She’s a damn fab girl! I wish she’d have let me love her. More whisky? Okay, I won’t insist. I met her three days ago. And guess what her first words were… ‘I’m a bit sweaty…been in bed all day.’ She’s unpredictable. She’s my wonder woman! We hugged. Tentatively, touching but not touching.
You understand she’s special right? I hope you kiss her good. I hope you tell her you love her as often. Is she great in bed? Oh sorry. I think I’m high. I shouldn’t have asked that. But I’m sure she makes you happy. She’s no common girl. She is the needle in a haystack. And she’s yours.
I love her. I still do. You see, with her, it was unusual. Different. This feeling of want towards her comes and goes like a bad headache. It seeps into my pores like a ferocious heat and comes out as sweat. Watery, sticky, smelly, loud. And I hope you don’t cheat on her. I hope you tell her how special she is. You know, she’s a girl you make love to, not one you fuck.
I understand that. I know men cheat. Naaah! Please don’t compare her to Beyonce, she’s way prettier. Her face is music. Her face is a thrilling song, a masterpiece. Mozart like.
Pass me the ash tray please. Thank you. I think she saw the scared man behind this fellow who drinks and smokes ceaselessly. Oh, what I’d be if she’d let herself love me. We’d dice onions together. She, braless, in one of my shirts and only her undies below. We’d kiss from time to time. I’d look into her eyes, hold her at the waist. And kiss her just the way Brad Pitt Kissed Angelina Jolie in Mr and Mrs Smith.
She’s the one who just phoned? You better be going then. Picturing her wait for you at Ambassador worries me. A butterfly like her in a beehive… You are a good man. Give her my love. Tell her, were a doctor to look into my eyes with a torch, he’d see a crowd of lonely feelings. Unrequited feelings pacing up and about on plane field. Tell her I think of her often, tell her she’s special. And you are lucky.