Story of my life: Sometimes, I battle with inconsistency; not because I detest pattern and certainty and regular-ness but because I can’t help it; because life happens; because although I love you and care about your desires, I get achingly busy sometimes. So here is a late should-have-been-Monday post with no excuses. I am sorry and thank you for loving me anyway! ❤
“When there is an old intimacy, with new friends.”
You have a date with Samuel in about two hours but you don’t feel up to it. The whole day has dumped its burden on you and Samuel deserves better than having the day being dumped on him too, so you chat him to cancel.
Me: Hey Samuel. How are you? Did you have a good day at the office? I had been looking forward to seeing you later today but I don’t feel up to it. I am sorry. I promise to make it up to you, okay? Take care.
His response is immediate, as if he had been awaiting your message all day long.
Sammy: Over 24 hours!
Sammy: I haven’t seen you in more than 24hours Miss Me. Do you not miss me?
Me: Nice what you did up there. Lol! But well, no, I don’t miss you. *Tongue out*
Me: *A kiss for your wounded heart*
Sammy: I can live with that!
Sammy: So, how was your day?
Me: It’s almost 5pm. Should you not be preparing to leave work?
Sammy: It is the 21st Century already. Should you still be answering a question with a question?
Me: Fine! Day was okay.
Sammy: Really? Day was okay?
Me: Yes, sure. Your day?
Sammy: No baby. Not the mechanical response so quickly. We are still on your day. So! If your day was “okay”, how about that date?
Me: I told you Sammy. I don’t feel up to it.
Sammy: Either you tell me how your day really went or you have that date with me. No jokes baby.
Me: You are relentless.
Sammy: I am baby.
Me: Fine, we will talk when you get home.
Sammy: Okay baby. Cheers.
Sam is at your door in thirty minutes. You had not been expecting anybody so it had taken a call on your phone to distract you from the music playing from your CD player to the knock at the door.
“What are you doing here?”
“Good to see you too baby.”
You laugh. “No, really. What are you doing here? You did not say you will be coming to visit.”
“Well, you said we would talk when I get home. I am home now, to talk. To you.”
“You cannot just come here whenever you want Samuel. You let me know first! No springing surprises on me like that!”
“Hey…” he pauses now, worried, as he extends his hands to your shoulder. “Are you sure you are okay?”
You take a deep breath, in and out. “I am sorry for going off like that Samuel. Please come in.”
He hesitates before coming in, and when he does, he sits at the edge of the bed as though you might ask him to leave anytime soon. You sit beside him.
“My day has been overwhelming Samuel. Today, the past few days, my whole life… is, has been overwhelming. I had an interview that went well, and returned home to a call from my mum accusing me of being promiscuous because my landlady had called to tell her she had seen guys visit my house. I almost had sex with a married man, my ex. He did not tell me he was married before we made out. He didn’t even tell me after we made out, or before he walked out of my house that evening because I screamed your name instead of his when his fingers were inside me. But that’s not why I feel angry, or wrong, you know? It is the fact that I found out on Facebook myself when I was stalking him because I was feeling guilty for fantasizing about another man when he was right there with me lighting my body on fire. He was never going to tell me, maybe. And I ran into an old crush, someone I had wanted to be with for a long time who finally asked me out to a date some months later, after which he stopped contacting me. We only kissed that night, thank God, right?!—” you pause to laugh, then you continue “—so, when I asked him why he had been avoiding me, and why he would not pick my calls, he said because I deserved better. And I was like, really? How did you figure that out so quickly? Damn! Lies boys tell!”
He doesn’t say anything in response, and you are thankful for that. “Do you need something to eat?”
“I want to say a lot of things but I don’t think here is a good place or now is the right time.”
“I have had a really long day.”
“I know. I should let you rest then.”
Before he reaches the door, you ask “would you like to stay?”
His response is instant “I want to stay.”
You smile in relief, and you run to hug him before your waiting tears begin to pour. It is the first time your bodies meet. He smells like a collision in heaven; a cascade of beautiful things.
“But did you really mention my name in the middle of having sex with the ex?”
You laugh. “I freaking did!”
“Damn baby, you are in love with me.”
More laughter. “Just shut up Samuel.”
“I am a mess. Don’t fall in love with me”, you manage to warn him
“I have. Shoot me now or never.”
But falling in love was not the plan.
Because what is love? Is it not what mum thought she had found in dad before they got married? Is it not what they made before they had Temi and then made again before they had you? If it is, then what is the point? Why did daddy not choose her everyday? Why did he not choose her that day he slept with the help?
Because what is love? Is it not the vows people make on their wedding day? For better, for worse? In sickness and in health? Is it not what Gbenga and his wife shared… is it not what they share? Is it not the glow in their eyes on their wedding day picture? Is it not the color of their daughters smile as she stares into the camera on Gbenga’s profile picture? But why did he not choose his wife and daughter? Why did he kiss you back? Why did he set your body on fire like that?
Because what is love? Is it not what Gbenga said he felt for you? Is it not what you saw in his eyes when he kissed you in the kitchen the other day? Because if he loved you, would he not tell you he was married before trying to have sex with you? Would he not give you a chance to choose to be hurt by him?
Maybe love is selfish. It wants what it wants when it wants it. Maybe love does not make sense; maybe it is not supposed to make sense.
And love wants Samuel now. Even though, that was not the initial plan.
But you don’t want to fall in love. You don’t want to be fallen in love with. You want something more permanent. Something decisive. Something explainable. Something that stays.
“Let’s not. Let’s not fall in love Samuel.”
He keeps silent now, and you raise your head to kiss him. His lips are moist; waiting for you.
© The Short Black Girl, 2018.