I wrote this as a sequel to another story. A sad story. I didn’t publish it because it got bad reviews all over the place. However, as a standalone story, I hope it fares better. I hope. Anyhow sha, enjoy. It might confuse you a bit cuz I left a few references from the first part but I’m sure you’ll figure it all out eventually.
I hate women.
Seriously, you wouldn’t blame me if you heard my gist. Because women do stuff. First, they make you like them. Then you ask them out, then they say no. You contemplate suicide but by the grace of whatever deity you choose to worship, you get over it all somehow. Six or seven years down the road, you’re about to wed Miss Just-About-Right and guess who shows up to say they loved you all along but that you should have known that ‘no’ actually means try harder? Women! But my story’s a lot more pathetic. You’ll see.
I couldn’t look them in the eye. Couldn’t bring myself to. The smug bastards! I turned from where I stood and began storming out of the airport. I heard her call my name. The gall. I practically ran out, actually. I drove off a mess.
Thirty minutes later, back at home and I couldn’t even begin to fathom what had just transpired. After a decent bit of thought, I decided on a course of action: let it all be ended. I was tired. I figured she’d have her local line on at some point during the day so I texted. You know, to clarify things.
And maybe, just maybe, I wanted to lay claim to being the one who broke it up.
“It wasn’t bad enough that you cheated on me, you had to bring Don Quixote into town to gloat. You mean bitch. I hope he develops Alzheimer’s at the bloody altar and Parkinson’s on your wedding night!”
That was a strong finish, wasn’t it? At least I thought so. I chuckled as I wrote it. However, I shocked myself by feeling worse than depressed when I saw ‘Message Delivered’ on my mobile phone display 30 seconds later. I had just terminated the best thing that ever happened to a living creature. I visibly fought back tears. She was the best. The greatest. She was just rad.
The next 24 hours or so saw me relapse into the lost-puppy-dispensation. Until she called…
I hesitated at first. What kind of conversation were we about to have? I allowed it ring for a bit while I tried to think. Finally… “Hello.”
“You called me a mean bitch!”
“I think it’s fair to say you deserved that. No?”
“Just thought I should tell you that I was, and still am, doing it for the money.”
Wow, did this chic go to the States to work or did she actually mean to procure a sex change? Because it took flesh-and-blood balls to say such a thing!
“But you forget you once told me how much you earn. How much more dough could you possibly need?” I scolded.
“Money’s never enough, boo. Besides, he’s got other qualities…”
“Apart from a wallet the depth of an industrial bore-hole? Let me guess: he packs more ammo in his camo than I do?”
“Whoa mister, someone’s perceptive today…” she paused for a second then continued, “…’cuz he actually is slightly bigger than you,” she sounded like she had her jaw arched up in thought.
“How can that be possible? He’s white. Plus, I’m a 10!” I probably sounded exasperated and she may have caught on to it.
“You mean like 10 out of 10?” she asked,
“No. I meant on a ruler.”
“Ewww Buster, how vain are you? And you’re now racist?”
Crap. Now she wanted to make ME the bad guy? She didn’t give me a chance to drop a comeback.
“Look that’s not the major reason I called,” now she sounded somber. Boy, I missed picking up on all her moods.
“Why’d you call then?”
“I wanted to tell you at the airport but you were too busy storming off.” She paused again. “Aunty K died.”
This time, the world’s most loved curse word came out from someplace under my breath. It was probably prefixed by the words “Holy”. And “flying”.
Aunty K was actually a friend of her mother who became a friend of the family. A really close friend of the family. I’d met and totally liked the amiable small lady. I wasn’t too shocked though: she was really old.
“Oh my… When? How?” She proceeded to give me some details. Her burial was the very next day and would I come? Of course I would. What other way would this story have gone? Have you NOT seen any bad movies lately?
Aunty K’s burial was not like most burials. Chic was almost a hundred years old. It was a total carnival. What was to be sad about?
Awesome old woman (who probably had grey butt-hair when Nigeria got independence) dies. Boo-hoo.
Darren was at the boisterous burial looking as stupendously neat as ever. I instantly regretted not coming along with a big comb and make-up kit in tow. I averted my eyes when I saw my ex-love start to whisper something into his ear. Well, ex-girlfriend. I still loved the big doughnut. Nuts, dough and all.
So there I am, sitting almost alone on a pew when someone shuffles in beside me and says: “Hi.”
It was Darren.
I foresaw another awkward convo in the offing.
“I heard you really took to Aunt K.” The bloody Yank couldn’t say “Aunty.”
“She was aii.” Huh?! When did I start saying “aii”? This was not looking good for me at all.
“Well you just hang in there and be strong,” as he said this, he took my hand and patted the back of it very gently. A red neon sign went up in my head: DANGER! Was this dude bi? And with all the nerve in the world! What? Did he have some twisted threesome in mind? Me, my ex and the next?! I instantly wore a disgusted look as I withdrew my hand from his. “I’ll be fine.” I mouthed.
Everything taken into consideration, the church service was probably pretty concise. Then it was party time.
Now, solve for ‘x’:
Rich woman=Rich children; Plenty of those children (6 actually) + rich woman’s inheritance=unrealistically ostentatious burial festivities. Therefore, x=buffet; a thing which I love greatly – as does my friend Chris, who threatened to kill me if he at least couldn’t show up for the grubbing.
He would ultimately regret that.
So, I’m greedily scooping stuff into my plate and behold: I see Darren chatting up my homeboy. After a while, he slips my man a card and begins to walk off. Once his back is turned, my friend – who I can see but the approaching Darren can’t – forms an imaginary gun and pops an imaginary cap into his real brain. Darren, oblivious to this, approaches me and whispers in my ear: “Your friend is pretty cute. I always like some flesh on my boys.” While my dark face turned alabaster in milliseconds, Darren walked away.
My mind was numbed! The girl of my dreams was giving me up for an amiable swinger? Oh my goodness! It couldn’t get any worse. I couldn’t breathe. I had to find her and then tell her. My poor, clueless flower. My eyes sought her out. They found her quickly for she wasn’t far from the action. As a matter of fact, I got the feeling she saw everything. I suddenly began to feel really sick. Devastatingly sick actually:
‘cuz she was holding her sides…
and literally laughing her ass off!
“Why didn’t you tell me he was gay?!” I was almost yelling.
“Someone called me mean bitch. Remember?”
Still at the party, I had cornered her and was giving her a righteous old grilling.
“Well I thought you were cheating on me with Versace over there,” I answered. Now she turned flaming red. Angry outburst on the horizon. Watch out Lucifer, this’ll burn even you!
“Yeah, scumbag. I figured that out at the airport.”
Now hold. Before I continue, I have to say that, sadly, we have come to an inevitable cliché point. I tried to avoid it but I couldn’t: this is the terminus where all the little magic tricks novelists and scriptwriters alike use to complicate the plot are explained so that we minimize the letters from agonized viewers/readers pointing out all the noted flaws in the story. I shall thus implore thee to get over thyself and keep reading…
“At the airport? But you were guilty as sin when I met you…” she tried to interrupt me -presumably to explain – but I was on a roll. “…also explain to me your silence for a while before you sent that email and why didn’t you ever mention that Darren was gay over the phone?”
“I never mentioned that?”
“No. Why else would I get insanely jealous?”
“Cuz Darren’s taller and has a schlong so long, the UN could be tempted to hoist flags off it?”
“Yeah, how do you know about that?”
“What? Gay dudes are surprisingly open to straight women. And sorry I didn’t tell you about Darren. Oversight.”
“Colossal oversight. Relationship crushing oversight. Obasanjo installing a terminally ill dude as President: that was an oversight. But this… this…”
“Dude, why do you always want to make a huge deal out of everything?”
And there it was… the best part of our relationship was back: the arguments! Twenty odd minutes later though, we were done fighting and ready to make up for lost time.
“…so you see, I had to get off the grid for a while. I know it made you think all sorts but I really had no choice.”
“You could have shot him in the face for no good reason too, you know.”
“Of course. I’m sure that would have totally aided my chances of getting a green card in this millennium!” I laughed heartily at her wit. Boy, was I still whipped!
“And I couldn’t give you tongue at the airport. Darren’s boyfriend broke up with him two days earlier. Last thing he wants to see is me smooching some handsome hunk in the ‘Arrivals’ lounge.”
“Aww, you think I’m handsome.”
“Only if you kiss me now…”
So dear Mr. /Mrs. Reader, what the jeepers are you waiting to see? Whether or not we kissed? Course we did. Till my lips were dry. I’m now the poster child for chap stick.
And Darren turned out to simply be a nice guy getting away to get over a bad break up. However, I doubt that Chris would be his much needed elixir. Chris went on a diet after a gay guy hit on him. I know I would…
She was in the bathroom; I was in the bedroom waiting with bated breath.
“I’ve got a surprise for you!” she chirped between giggles. And I couldn’t wait. I could never wait. Plus I figured the ‘surprise’ was probably her dressed in some fancy lingerie she must have bought while out on her travails abroad…
A good five minutes later, she comes out and I almost, well, COME out too (if you catch my filthy innuendo). She had on the sexiest black lingerie that made it seem like you could see through to the most beautiful body ever while you, in fact, couldn’t see. Kind of like a dirty optical illusion.
“Wow…” I whispered as I licked my lips gleefully, “…what a surprise!”
She laughed. “That’s not your surprise, silly. This is!” As she spoke those words, her hands, which had been tucked safely behind her, came forward as she stretched the waistband of a delightful piece of men’s underwear: it was a g-string… and it was leopard print.
I convulsed with raucous laughter.
“Don’t laugh yet.” As she said this, she leaned back into the bathroom and brought out a pair of black cowboy boots. Ornamental stitching and all. “Put ’em on. It’s every girl’s fantasy.”
“Really?” I queried, my mood instantly souring.
“Nope. Just mine, but that’s what you get for calling me a…”
“…MEAN BITCH!” we chorused. I always knew I’d pay dearly for that stunt.
“Damn,” I muttered as I clambered off the bed and took the underwear and boots, “I really hate women…”