No, men are not all the same. We all do different things when drunk. They are those who become experts at second generation moves; moving their limbs up and down, keeping silent as though they are meditating. The moves look as impossible as what you see on TV but these ones are accompanied by unsteadiness before the participants lie flat on the ground. Some transform into gifted singers. A Bruce may walk into the pub but once he's had a few he sings better than any Caitlyn.
I choose my drinking buddies according to how they act when intoxicated. Take for example Baraka, he's a good guy but no one wants to hear his lame jokes for the rest of the night, "Unajua Usain Bolt anaeza kimbia hadi apite exams." Ngatia on the other hand, he is quite something and I always look forward to when he would invite me take one for the road. He gets extremely generous when under the influence and I take advantage of that. He can sort your bills, buy you a watch, get you a plane ticket. Most people have benefited from this and it's no surprise that he's going bankrupt.
Me? I do nothing interesting when intoxicated. Just the ordinary guy who mumbles to himself and later dozes off. Unless of course you consider the date where our story begins. That night where, all the booze in my head took an ultimate high when I was talking to a lady. I can't remember what I said to her or whether her hair smelt of coconut oil or shea butter. I don't even know why she agreed to go home with me or why we saw each other for the better part of the following week. I just needed to get my mind off Joanne and the fact that she won't be in our bed when I go back home. I was desperate and when the brown bottle told me a one night stand would do it seemed like a good idea. A longing to vent out on someone else is what drove me. With this new chic I didn't have to face my problems. This escape that everything is fine made me safe.
But that's the problem with us humans. We are such suckers for safety. We can always carry an extinguisher or break glass in case of a fire but our preferred option is to be where there is no risk at all. Doesn't matter if what is out there is better than what we have we'd rather stay inside and let our eyes dance with the flames but never responding to their call.
No one likes Mondays. Solomon Grundy would be happy because it was the day he was born but the thought that he would be dead and buried in a matter of days kills his celebratory mood.
Weekend hangovers became harder to deal with when they put the weekly meeting on the first day of the week. The last thing you need when your body is half-asleep and a migraine is noisily munching your head is someone screaming at you saying what is expected.
One Monday morning, a bigger problem presented itself. I looked up and saw beauty staring back at me smiling with the promise of love. It is hard to be seated opposite an attractive person. Your whole mechanism gets confused wanting to stare at the lass but doing so with caution so as not to alert the person that attention is on them.
The struggle became harder. Changing seats did not help; it is as if the whole energy of the room is concentrated on that one person. I gave in a little after that and walked up to her hoping to find answers for my emotions.
Her eyes did that eye sex thing that very few can do. A spectacle that happens when you look at her and my system becomes faulty. Mouth speaks incomprehensible words, hands sweat as though the temperatures are too much, legs become jelly weak and mind cannot explain why heart is happy.
An angel had walked into my life and I was determined to keep her. My whole life revolved around her until we became complacent with each other. The dangers of being used to someone presented themselves where one doesn't appreciate the other. All of a sudden someone is not as amazing as they used to be storm they would cause within becomes a little drizzle. Not that we had problems. None whatsoever. We were not as happy as before.
On my birthday she would get me chicken wings and even though she now worked at KFC where such a meal is very easy to get our relationship had reached a point where such a gesture demanded a lot of effort. The fact that the chicken wings was accompanied by chicken thighs and later on her thick thighs and thin lips suggested that maybe there was hope for us.
That hope, however, kept dwindling. Any tiny aggrevation would ruin what we had built. We were fed up with each other and a quarrel we had confirmed what we had feared; that maybe we needed some time apart.
Seeing her suitcase wheel away crushed me. Thoughts of what we first shared rushed through me and I got scared of a future without her. These same thoughts led me to the bar for a quick fix. Just a small affair, that's what I told myself. Something to get my head back in the game.
The affair was indeed short and when Joanne came back to give us another chance there was no trace of any girl around. I was happy about our rekindled love I knew I had to tell her what I had done.
Every day I left the office planning to confess to my girlfriend. I wasn't the cheating type, never will be and my mind was set on making things straight before moving on. But I swear the way she welcomed me to the house and her effort to make things work made me postpone my confession and just enjoy the moment. All my objectives went back to factory settings; loving her and I became a fool of her love.
It was like I was entering a forest. At first I didn't want to get lost so I tied red strings on the trees I have passed to make my return easier. Then, as soon as I got in deep enough, as though I was not myself I rushed back and destroyed all the red strings. Suddenly being lost in her arms and warm embrace was the only thing I wanted. Her lips on mine made me erase any other agenda.
She almost died when I had told her what I had done. It broke my heart to break hers. Something I'll never forgive myself for. Something I am still paying for. Thus time she left for good and nothing I could do would change that. Our pleas became a round song ; I was begging for another chance and she was screaming that it was not possible.
I should have followed her that day for I have gone everywhere we used to go together to look for her. She changed jobs, changed towns and she probably changed her name because no one seems to recognise her. Maybe if I left the red strings, it would be easier to find her. Nothing is torturing me more than knowing I did this to myself. All I need now is wings; wings to fly and look for my Joanne.


Post a Comment