by Agnes Musa
Chapter 2
I’m baby-sitting Kimberly, Hope’s fifteen months' old for the afternoon. The social scene, with versions of what happened, the concocted, the real and the imagined is not exactly the place for me.
There’s David himself, where he’s and what he’s doing and most of all, with whom?
Not that I mind his being with someone.
You see, if she’s better than me, there’s my friends’ sympathetic and over-protective concern to deal with, the strangers’ and his friends’ what was he doing with me in the first place etcetera.
I’m happy to baby-sit Kim.
Kimberly knows how to throw a tantrum.
The way things stand a cost and benefit evaluation is in order.
For little people like Kimberley candy effectively remedies the situations.
Hope doesn’t allow candy but meanwhile Kimberley and I are back on speaking terms.
Next time, if there ever will be one considering how little people like painting vivid and detailed pictures of their days for mother dear, I will consent to baby sit only if Hope brings Kim with a comprehensive instruction manual and a remote with the mute button clearly marked.
These children keep changing.
Or could it be my gray hair? Saw two more strands today.
Jacob saw that too, suggested dye, escorted me to a pricey hairdresser, selected a color he saw flattering one of his younger women, over-ruled the hairdresser’s choice for something more sedate for me, insisted on his choice then drove off and disappeared for four hours.
I wept privately for my gray hair.
Here was a symbol epitomizing indisputable evidence of my life’s span.
A physical milestone signifying that time in one of its various facets had finally caught up with the skin of my flesh, and the assorted bones.
David will come back - mark my words.
In life there are some things, then there are other things.
The Davids of this world don’t leave the Lisas. It’s the Lisas who leave the Davids.
He will be back, I need patience to wait, show him who the bigger person is. David will come back, even Ruth says so.
You start dating again, happens one day.
It’s the day you meet Markus the rebound. Markus assesses and awards himself points for good hunting.
You see him evaluating, calculating. Lots of Markuses chase you if it becomes public knowledge that David left you a sprawling simplex in a choice neighborhood.
But a house anywhere is good for Markus, even a car, as long as it legitimately belongs to you.
Hope says if you’ve to evaluate, don’t nauseate.
Markus did so, no thank you and goodbye. I thought it best to see what other fish there are in oceans, seas, lakes, dams, rivers, fish tanks and fish and chip shops.
I hope you’ve not forgotten my name. It’s Lisa.
We’ve been together for a while now haven’t we?
I suppose I should describe myself to you. I mean, if we meet and you fail to recognize me after I’ve enjoyed your company so thoroughly, that would be a disaster.
We really could meet.
Stranger things have been known to happen.
My appearance, yes. I’m what people with limited vocabulary term nondescript. It’s after all, other people’s perceptions of us that describe us to the world.
From observations made over the years, however, I concluded that my posterior is large. Most times when I look in the mirror, which I do cursorily, it’s to reinforce that the image and name are one and the same.
At least I don’t fantasize about my image.
When David was away making the bread, I spent time with Oscar, the Wilde man.
After him came Mr. Wallace and Mr. Durrel.
Then Madame Kaye escorted me to her far pavilions. On the way back, I encountered the enthralling purity of Samborera, had an evening with Mr. Bocelli, spent hours with Cassiya, Mr. Barry White and Mr. Springsteen.
David didn’t allow reading or listening to music in bed.
The bedroom was for sleep.
Everything in its place, and a place for everything. Dinner at seven sharp, if he made it.
With the number of times he didn’t, one had to be innovative, have a friend to call.
I ate a lot of dinners with Hope.
I better tell you about my friends. Hope is a collector. She likes classy clothes, classy furniture, and classy homes.
Addresses are very important to her, so are classy children and classy phalluses.
Hope has sex, on average, once in every quarter. With Hope you even have to watch what you say. The words too have to be classy.
Ruth says she doesn’t believe in achieving, conceiving, giving or deceiving.
Trish is Trish.
Of these ladies, one dresses better than magazine models. I know because Hope said so.
The other has hair, skin and nails worth looking at for hours. Skin you simply wish to look at and not have because it costs a packet to keep.
The third lady is truly beautiful.
There, I’ve described my friends to you. You want to know the people you’re getting to mix and mingle with.
One big happy family, minus David. He left, even when he knew my friends were going to talk. Friends who were there before him, there with him through the marriage and still around after he left.
You’ve met, well, not all of my friends exactly.
You see there was a man friend too.
Gerald.
He used to join us for tea right at the beginning. Things were fine until he got a Merc, and a Prado.
When we heard about the boat, we decided he was spoiling things for the rest of the group.
We did have homes to go to after tea and men to share news with, so, Gerald left us no option.
Tom pointed this out, through Ruth. Tom is Trish’s husband.
Trish was livid, not about Ruth and Tom, but about the unfairness of the affair with Gerald.
With Hope and Ruth to convince her, Trish eventually saw reason. I was my usual self.
It’s drizzling again.
Natalie is gone and my mother is visiting.
People do that, when a husband leaves. Come and go, visiting frequently and unexpectedly and going just as frequently and unexpectedly.
Not that I mind or question people who have not graced our doorstep for years suddenly pitching up. I’ve no reason to begrudge my mother a visit.
It’s her fake hugs and usual topics of conversation over the years that strain.
Another thing, I’ve not seen my mother smile or laugh. She concocts her face into a semblance of what she believes will pass, for a smile that’s.
I wonder if she practices in front of a mirror.
Conversation with mother:-
Mother: “Come sit with me for a minute Lisa.”
I take a chair and sit slightly away and to her left.
Mother: “When I come here, it’s to spend time with you, not your house, furniture or domestic help.”
Me: “Yes mother.”
Mother: “Move closer or we’ve to shout to hear each other because of the size of this room.”
Mother will give you instructions on where to sit, what to cook, how to cook, etcetera in your home notwithstanding the fact that you’ve domestic help carrying out the duties impeccably.
Mother starts off with talk of other people’s children.
Mother: “You know the Kerridows? Their youngest’ wedding was last weekend.”
Me: “Oh really, forgot all about it, how was the wedding?”
Mother: “As to be expected from such people. The girl is nothing to look at. Still, I suppose it’s a good match.
If you had not stubbornly insisted on marrying David and listened to me, the boy would have married you. Instead I get to see you make a mess of your life with this, this David. Where is he now?”
>
Me: “I don’t know where David is right now mother but I remember you approving of David!”
Mother: “How dare you defend him after he abandoned you and the boy? Plus the shame for your mother and family! David walked out, walked out after you made him all that money!”
How come its almost always the injured party who usually get credit for accomplishments they rarely had anything to contribute to? Anyway, we move on to what other people’s children are doing for their mothers.
Mother: “Mrs. Kerridows was telling me her boy bought brand new stuff for their kitchen …….”
My brothers and sisters who have not been paying homage in maternal or materialistic dues.
Mother: “It’s painful to hear people say they saw your children drop off friends in the neighborhood, right in our own neighborhood. Why not drop in and say just hello to your own people?”
Lateness of the hour maybe? Main item on the agenda, my father.
Mother: “It’s because of your father. (His health problems) He’s crazy. (His miserliness). The man is mean and insensitive.
Forty-five years I’ve lived with your father, forty-five years. (His lack of gratitude for all the children) What do I’ve to show for it? You tell me Lisa? Does he ever once say thank you for the children I bore him. No, not once, not ever.”
and related stories.
Mother: “All your father thinks about is himself, his drink, and his friends.
They laugh so much people think he’s certifiable. I’ve a hard time telling your father to behave like a normal human being.
Were it not for the lot of you, your husbands and your brothers’ wives …”
Depending on which side of her two marriages you fall, she ends up with the physical and material comforts she sacrificed on your behalf. If your luck is out you get to hear the sacrifices she made on account of the entire family.
Mother: “You’re all grown now and have children of our own. I suppose it makes sense that you’ve no time to see an old woman whose only tie is giving birth to you.
What with your fancy friends you take to tea at fancy restaurants, something an old woman like me would not enjoy.
I’m grateful you do remember me at Christmas and my birthday ….”
The weather and company are a perfect match.
As there’s a risk that I may end up being rude and inhospitable to my parent, which is graceless in any person, a diversion, Russel, man’s best friend, will do for this woman.
Better enjoy a drench while I walk the dog. Heaven knows, I need cleansing, especially now, after the fiasco with Graham.
Graham skillfully taped into me till I was reduced to an emotional roulette ball.
He dictated my very breath, was the height of sensitivity, the accomplished lover, the spender and the keeper.
The rope he let out a little at a time caressed till I believed that suicide, if done for him, would be noble.
A heart is indeed a terrible thing to mess.
Incidentally, it’s Ruth who figures all this out. I tell it to you as she would have told me.
Not that you ever ask Ruth for an opinion. No.
She gives one when she’s not asked, will talk about what pleases her, and not necessarily respond to your question.
A quotation, from Ruth, “Men are like computers, always needing upgrading.
You do it well enough till he concedes there’s nothing left of him that works. However, should you, be the one to point out this fact, it’s you who will immediately be deemed obsolete.”
I know my moods.
I know whom to call when I’m in a particular one. Semi turbulent is for David. Frivolous or desperate – Jacob.
Of course, there are mood exceptions, like Graham the man for all senses, seasons and reasons.
Graham chased me for a year and some months. He got, bedded and slipped away like an eel.
Afterwards, for one whole year of begging, whining, cajoling, prostrating, purring, writing, phoning, begging, - nothing.
The man would not budge. All he would do was listen to outpourings of unbridled desire for months on end.
One rule applied.
I was not to repeat what I said. Imagination about one subject, if not egged on by physical gratification, withers.
That’s a fact.
Graham: "Let’s say even if one felt the very same way you do, got involved in the emotional mud bath that you’ve immersed yourself in, it’s worth it?”
Me: “What mud bath are you talking about Graham?”
Graham: “How much does the sleepless nights, needless worry, craving for attention translate to in dollars and cents?”
Me: “I love you Graham.”
Graham: “Don’t start. Listen to me, cut this off and move on”.
Me: “I love you.”
Graham: “You phone me a hundred times, disrupt my life. You repeat the same thing over and over, irritating me.
I waste valuable time chatting with you.
I don’t chat; I don’t have time to waste. Now will you please get off the phone and let me do some work?”
Men leaving affects your sense of reason, the ability to differentiate between friendship, affection, attention, attraction, when to take a rain-check or say an outright no.
Ryan is an example.
We had been on joking terms on the professional circuit. Also had the makings of a great friendship, that’s, until the disastrous weekend.
I will only say this. I couldn’t fake it. If another person is dominating your mind ...
I suppose that explains why Ryan has not spoken to me since. Still, as Ruth says, pick up the phone, you never know.
Me: “Hi, I looked for you under the computer and the stationery cupboards.”
Ryan: “Sorry I forgot to call. I meant to.”
Me: “Why didn’t you?”
Ryan: “I was not sure how to start the conversation.”
Me: “We are talking now.”
Ryan: “Not the way I had in mind. I don’t like a person who toys with my emotions Lisa.”
Sounds angry. Not good. I let him rant a few minutes and when he starts quietening down, I cut off.
Funny thing though, notwithstanding the weekend, Ryan is a good man.
For the record, Graham would have enjoyed exchanging roles with Mr. Morgan Freeman when he played the role of the Creator.
The only problem would have been later, trying to convince Graham that it was just a role.
I wonder where Graham was when they did the casting. He has the looks, the intellect, the ability and most importantly, the genuine desire to be worshipped.
Graham: “Hello”
Graham drags the h in hello then runs his tongue over the ‘ell. His voice is clear, has a soothing quietness that makes it possible to listen to for hours on end.
Graham is not talkative.
I’m surprised to find there are quite a lot of men who are like that, quiet men.
Ryan is one. Jacob is not. It takes a talkative person for you to know just how talkative you, yourself are.
Me: “Saw someone who looks exactly like you.”
Graham: “They say everyone has a double.”
Me: “I went and stood next to him, to see if it would feel the same way it does with you.”
Graham: “Tell me how it felt.”
Me: “Nothing, absolute zero.”
Chuckle.
Graham will laugh delightedly at anything that puts him in a better light than a competitor. He wants to know what you think about other men, hear you say that you find them inferior to him whether or not thats true.
Me: “I told my friends how delicious you’re!”
Graham: “No one is like that.”
Me: “You’re. I tasted.”
Graham: “How come I don’t know that?”
Me: “Because, you cannot taste you.”
Graham: “Pity that. What wou
ld you like to do to me today? Go on and tell me, you know you want to.”
Me: “Eat.”
Graham: “Do you know that my son is standing right next to me”.
Me: “And you let me talk like this?”
Graham laughs, an absolutely delighted laugh and gets off the phone.
15 April
To:[email protected]
Subject: hiedehie
Sweetlips,
You said I should not miss you but I do. The more I fight, the deeper I become entrenched. I love you so.
Cannot believe I lived before you came into my life.
Take good care of yourself.
I would know grief if anything happens to you. Thank your mother for giving birth to you.
Miss those sweet lips.
Counting the hours till I see you.
Happy hunting.
15 April
To:[email protected]
Subject: hiedehie
Sweetlips,
I imagine you sitting in a chair and me at your feet. Will phone to tell you how we proceed from there.
***************
