Him.

Wednesdays are my favourite. It starts out with a fine breezy morning, the sky a brilliant dark shade as I bow in Humility before my Invisibly Visible God for a quick prayer. The water is calm, lukewarm, just for me. So I don’t have to bother with the water kettle lest I run late for my AM classes. I smile to the bathroom with song after song pouring effortlessly from my tongue; Mr Heady, my own personal inward Disk Jokey humouring me. The scrub, wash, brush and flush is seamless. Everything agrees with me on Wednesdays.

I take my time to rub on some moisturizer, feeling my supple skin beneath my fingers. I brush my long black hair and leave it to fall down my shoulders in that way that lets the breeze caress it every now and every then. I wear my best underwear today too, the blue flowery net laced panties and its blue matching bra. I don my well pressed sleeveless flared black gown, the one that stops just above my knee, wound a red muffler round my neck and drape my red jacket and black boots on. It’s Jos and it’s cold, so it’s weather perfect even though ‘m dressed to impress. Wednesdays are my best. I smear my lips with a touch of red lipstick, and spare my face some brown powder and eyeliner. I blush. I know I look stunning, it’s Wednesday.

I am eager about class. It’s a large noisy setting. The usual. Wounded chairs, unsteady tables, broken windows and a mass of people trying too hard to fit in… And then, there’s him– the best part of my day. I pick my seat. The one by the window-side at the left extreme end of the class. It’s because that’s where I have the best view of him. He is due in 10, 9, 8… I smell him already. His signature cologne- Hugo Boss. I concentrate on it as the smell draws him closer to me. Finally at the last second, he’s there. Settled in, three seats away with his friends. Together, they are called SLEEK. Soon after, the lecturer walks in but I don’t notice until a student launches for a seat beside me before he gets the chance to shut the door to ward untimely students away. Beyond a flinch, I can spare no further emotion as I return my focus to the subject of the day. Him.

The class is over in what seems like a minute, but I don’t care. I don’t mind. The sky is a brilliant golden scorch now but its mild breeze kisses the tip of my hair every now and every then. And as I pack up my books together into my bag, I am filled with glee for what I have learnt today. It’s more than all of the pythagoras theorem and almighty formula in the world. Yes. It’s something more fun, more timeless than all of that gibberish the lecturer must have churned out while I was learning, un-learning and re-learning him. It’s how he throws his head back in graceful might when he is about to let out his sing-song laughter at something one of his friends must have said. Classic.

The day runs through after this but I don’t mind still. And as I settle in bed at night, staring right at the white round magic that lurches somewhere just above the tree outside my window, the moon, I keep my smile on for what seems to stretch into eternity. I have learnt something, and committed it to memory and when next I think to laugh, I know I’ll throw my head back in that graceful way as he does. For he is my teacher, and all I crave is to be his best student. Maybe then, he’ll notice me…

**

© The Short Black Girl, 2015.