Mrs Me
She Steals Hearts
Scanning through a list of about fifty students including myself, after a daunting exam, one obviously stood out somewhere to the end of that list.
The only student with an ‘A’ following her name.
I had to know who she was and put a face to that brain.
The day my friend pointed her out to me in class, I had a familiar feeling known to the sapiosexual me. I moved from the back bench to sit right opposite her from that day. I needed to study her. She became my new creative inspiration. I know how stories about geeks go in movies but she was a little different; no spectacle obviously, no makeup, no jewelry. Nothing!
A pure beauty in it’s natural form engulfed in one being, poking out of her in places a man can’t touch.
Her prominent philtrum gave an irresistible appeal to her dark neatly carved edge lips covering a flawless crystal dentition that shied an adorable smile I longed to be the inspiration to. She was an addiction Mona Lisa would envy today and I had to be her da Vinci in every way.
But her calm and innocence was made for a King not me; a silhouette of a young thug, a weird loner, an obvious prince charming women picked a bone over _ but a heartbreaker whose stories came with prove of names of his broken victims (so the whispers told her).
We said hi to each other for sometime without ever having a long conversation till nine years ago on my birthday when she accidentally chanced on a conversation between a friend and I; persuading me to throw a party. Of course I agreed. I could invite her. I knew very well she will not show up but I had nothing to lose so I did. By some design I met her again a few hours later that very day and I played a guilt card on her.
“I trust once and if that trust is broken, it can never be fixed. So your yes has to be yes and your no has to be no.
Are you coming to the party?” (I didn’t lie)
Yes! That did the magic. Half way into a casual party a lady friend told me I had a visitor. She was the most beautiful thing I’d seen to this day. She wore her shyness like a blooming bud in a white silk dress with red petal prints (how she knew my favorite tactile sense was silk is a mystery we’re yet to solve as well as how I resisted touching or kissing her). It was the first time I’d seen her in a dress and I could speak for everyone at the party. She wore a light glitter on those ever amazing lips and wore shoes complimentary of Cinderella. It was easy to tell she didn’t belong there. A rose growing in a field of straws. She was eager to leave upon realizing she was overdressed for the occasion but I wouldn’t let her. She was my guest and I made sure nobody made her uncomfortable. We had a good time and a great conversation for the first time after which I walked her to her hostel being the gentleman I am (wink). Told her I enjoyed the conversation and she agreed to take a walk with me another time.
I can better explain to you who she was at that time with the conversation I had with a friend who called to wish me a belated birthday the day after. I told him about my surprise guest. He needed prove to believe me. The next ‘no joke’ when I told him I think she is going to be my next girlfriend made him crack a few ribs. He promised me a bottle of wine if that fantasy ever made it to Disney world.
We took that walk one evening, got to know each other a bit but she never agreed to go on a date with me. The rumors about me had grown stronger maybe, rumors that surprise even I to this day.
Eight years ago when we were out of school, she finally agreed to go on a date with me. Our first date. Knowing it could be the only date she agrees to, I had to let her meet every shade of mine in one day. She had to know what she’d be missing if she said another no.
It was a day worth reliving.
She met my world as a noblewoman betrothed to a King. At the end of the day she was talking about relationships over bowling and I knew my shades were beyond Grey; or so I thought, till later I learnt what actually got her attracted to me were the very stories she was told to warn her to stay away from me (how can I not love these people). She only wanted to know how it felt to date a bad boy and from all she was told, I was the epitome as far as bad boys go and she had the one chance to know.
She was in for the thrill whiles I was in for the never ending story. (Can you imagine that?)
She knew I’ll ‘use’ her and dump her just as the analysts of my cerebral loner life predicted. (They thought I was the crazy one)
We took off with this getting to know each other thing till I became her mind’s addiction. So did she. I always had to steal a peek of her racing through the gate to my house in smiles I obviously wielded. Monthly visits turned weekly, then twice weekly, then skipping work and school to be together just holding hands over conversations that knew no limits. She enjoyed every story of my life, the good the bad and the ugly and made telling secrets easy (she really wanted a bad boy). She was always quiet, her smile was the only betrayal to her thoughts.
Somehow she never agreed to me visiting her at her home. She blamed a bad road but the real reason came up the morning I called her; I was preparing to go to her house and I wasn’t taking a no for an answer. She called back few minutes later to tell me she’s told her parents I’m visiting and they were expecting me. But there was a condition; ‘do not sag your pants, my dad is an Evangelist and he hates boys like that’
I remember standing frozen for a minute contemplating what that meant. I was the young me, easily judged wrong by people because my pants always sagged. I had a long afro hair, walked with a young black male swag, spoke flirtatiously… you get the picture I’m painting? I was nicknamed tipsy in summary.
I had to decide how to make a first impression. The good image they’ll wish to see around their daughter (a genius raised in a strict Christian family) or just the way I am. Just the way I am was an effortless choice. I’m no pretender, I’ve never been one and I couldn’t’t be one now.
(Nothing had to change for me unless a real change steals a piece of me, I kept psyching myself).
I went there in the image of my young black thug yet gifted and cultured.
She brought me water to wash my hands, a family tradition. Then her mum came to say hi and left. Her dad came to say hi… but stayed (I promise I didn’t shit in my pants). Everyone else was gone but he and I sitting adjacent to each other in the hall. You know that feeling in bad boys 2 when that kid knocked on the door and Martin Laurence got the door? Mhmm, that was the trance I was in. It all started with a stretchy trying to know you conversation or since it was directed towards me alone, interview. Then he asked me to stand up. Then to turn around like I’m with a tailor fitting a suit. I didn’t bother pulling my pants up. He confronted me about my dressing and I told him nothing but the truth about me; I know I won’t be this way forever, I’m patient about my growth but till then I have no interest in pretending to be something I’m not. I was told you dislike boys like me, but would you rather have me pretend these few minutes I’ll be here with you and get back to this other guy you dislike soon as I walk out of your gates or you’ll rather have me here as I am.
I don’t know if that was the ‘pass’ for that tense interview about my lifestyle or the truth I told about my uncertainty about religion but certainty for Christ. All I know is what papa taught the young me,
“truth will always bring you love.”
After that he opened a bottle of champagne and poured me a glass. I don’t remember the toast he made, (probably because I expected him to bring out a gun or a broom; not a bottle of champagne) but that was my welcome and I knew then she was mine to keep.
Today I can fill a million pages of a book with true life stories full of suspense, romance, heartbreaks, triller, drama and comedy about she and I for all those eight good years. But she became my life partner a few weeks ago and I have a million new memories to make with her than write our past.
She’s been the muse to most of my work, both the romance and the deepest tragedies.
She’s my devil and angel and my love for her spans undivided for both the angel she is on the outside and the devil she is on the inside.
She’s given me the most love I’ve known in a lady and the worse hurt any human can crush into a vulnerable heart. Yet she is the best story I’ll never write but forever read.
Time will stay oblivious around her;
for the days I spend with her even in total silence just lying by each other and holding hands are as magical as the days we exorcise our demons in the wildest temples.
Today I woke up with her in my arms as if I have never lost her before. We both wear black rings now and at this phase of my life with all the hopes and ambitions I’ll wish for no other but the greatest peace gifted to me by a human, that one woman, the one who loves my gifts and flaws both, my Muse, my Autumn, my Ma-ti, my Alter Ego and best friend… Mrs Me.
©2020 Ezer Agyin.
