The words Ali Pita was here may not be visible. However, they are engraved on your body from your toe to brim. They do not know that I was the first fella to do a practicum here or that my stay was prolonged. Would you tell them? Would you tell them that they will never hit the bottom reed like I did?
Your new home smells of opulence miles away. I can feel rich man’s affluence flow deep in my blood as the guard opens the massive gate.
I’m surprised to see Mark’s red car parked outside your compound, shouting loud from the fleet of cars filling the parking lot. I squeeze my bike between a Toyota and Subaru. I’m tempted to scratch the paint off Mark’s ride only to stop when the guard walks by.
You claimed Mark was just a friend. We even had a scuffle concerning this relationship. Now I wonder whether he is here for the same purpose I am.
My entrance is met by a loud applause. The music goes mute. Jane and Mary jump into my open arms for a warm hug as the other guests watch with whiskey glasses in their hands. I am probably the only sober person in the room. I sit next to a marble coffee table with pricey alcohol brands from every corner of the globe.
You gracefully walk down the stairs in a white satin dress that ends inches above the knees and matching stilettoes. A Champagne flute dangling from your right hand. Those lovely eyes lock with mine. Your enchanting smile throws me into a frenzy. It reminds me of the day we were on a picnic at arboretum only for a bee to sting your butt.
Unable to hold it any longer, I shift my attention to Eunice who is dancing suggestively on Mark’s lap. Her pink nether garment creaks and tears as he tries to throw her up to his bosom. No one cares. My breath momentarily stops when I hear some movements behind the couch. Guess what? Oti and Jane romping without a care
My breath momentarily stops when I hear some movements behind the couch. Guess what? Oti and Jane romping without a care in the world. I think of smashing their asses with my glass but who am I to stop them? From my drunken stupor, I can’t help but stare.
I scan the room trying to locate the bugger who stole you away from me. He is nowhere to be found, perhaps away on his endless business trips. I can feel the phone vibrating in my jacket’s inner pocket. I fish it out only to see your name on the caller ID. Why would you be calling me? You disconnect the call before I can pick it. That’s when I see you standing on the other side of the room, pointing at your phone. Curious, I check my phone.
Let’s meet at the kitchen garden in 5 minutes, reads your text.
It is exactly eleven hours and thirty minutes before you walk down the aisle and say I Do. You do accept to spend the rest of your life with that old hag.
I quickly rush to the back of the main house eager to see what surprise you have in store for me.
Painful memories of the events leading to this day flood my mind.
Three months ago you said that you needed to place more plates on your table. I didn’t need an oracle to tell me that your mysterious uncle finally bought your heart.
You have always had a strong dislike for short men. I still cannot fathom how you fell for him. Was it because of long pen syndrome, as in, the shorter the monkey the longer the tail? Mheshimiwa doesn’t measure up to me in every aspect except that he has more zeroes in the bank than I do. But seriously, he has a face permanently tilted to north-east with eyes that can spot eight girls in one glance.
Why did you have to lie that mheshimiwa was your uncle? Why did you spend an entire night convincing me that he had just pecked you when my two eyes saw you kiss him in that shiny tin he calls a car? I stuck around just in case you changed mind.
After the missed calls, monosyllable answers, and blue ticks you pop into my place like a ewe being lead to a slaughter house. Is that how sorry women look like when they shatter a man’s heart to smithereens?
“Ali, I don’t know how to say this…”
“Just say it,” I interjected impatiently.
“Don’t get mad at me, you know I loved you.”
“When did you stop?”
You became silent and tense. Were those real tears I saw cascading down your dimpled cheeks or was it all a performance?
“I’m getting married.”
You dropped the grenade and left. I stood there, alone and forlorn.
Last night when my phone rang, I was shocked to see it was you.
“Aki Ali would you please do me one more favor, please?”
“Was there a previous one?” I wondered.
“Eish c’mon, you haven’t changed. Have you forgotten about Naivasha?”
“I haven’t…What is it this time?” I said smiling to myself.
Naivasha was the best retreat we ever had. I made a promise to always be there for you no matter what happens between us.
“Would you please attend my bridal shower tomorrow evening?”
I stood there in silence, trying hard not to confess how much I have missed you.
“Please be there.” You whispered in that voice you know I can never say no to.
I spent the entire night tossing in bed. What do men put on for bridal showers? Is it like a bikini party? I settled on that V-neck t-shirt you gave me on my birthday and my favorite white pants and shoes.
The back door is flung open dragging me to the present. You are standing in the doorway, legs apart and both arms on the hips like a she-devil. I want to raise a ruckus that you have kept me waiting for 15 minutes but the smell of your fragrance and sight of your shapely frame drives the fight out of me. You walk towards me only to stop an inch away. I hold my breath as your luscious red lips move closer.
“What do you want?” I scream in a loud whisper. You cover my mouth with that soft palm.
“Today is the last day for the bride to get wild before committing herself.”
Is your marriage going to be a commitment or a contract? To hell, today is also my day to munch a chick with its feathers.
“My boy is on a sabbatical, let’s go to the quarters,” you whisper as you nibble my left ear. This is going to be the longest walk I will ever go for.
The bedroom is spotless like a white albatross. There must have been a prior arrangement. Of course, you will say no. Before I could recollect myself, you hungrily take my lips as if your marriage life depends on it. Are you high on something? Does it really matter?
I watch you turn from pink to blue. When I lay a finger on you, you turn pale and your graceful neck elongates. I stand there like a lamp post. Wavering between running for my life or getting wild and die with you tonight, I touch your lips. They are quivering, juicy and kissable.
My hands can no longer massage you but caress feelings deeper into your skin. As you groan and sigh, I feel you drift away in an abyss of schizophrenia. Your eyes beg me not to stop. Just like the old times.
You release yourself into a moment of ecstasy, holding me tight as I join you in the song of moans. I don’t want this to ever end.
I see tears rolling own your cheeks. I can’t tell whether they are tears of joy or regret.
“I can’t imagine all these moments will go under our feet…do you think we will ever be able to do this again?”
I stare at the ceiling in silence. We both know it’s never going to work but I don’t want to burst your bubble. You rest your head on my hairy chest like we are on the beach. Your sobs turn into loud weeps. Scared that someone might hear you I try to soothe you with sweet nothings.
I never imagined this is how we would spend your night before the wedding. I feel you slip away through my fingers like spaghetti. Our hearts drifting away hesitantly like delta waters do quench an ocean. The ocean of fear and agony. Ocean of uncertainty and desolation; hatred and passion. Hating because you loved and loving because you fear.
This is the night when tears drop to the mattress, surpassing the comfort of pillows to drown away the memoirs written in our hearts. I assure you tears of lovers never dry up, they are like the clouds; they pour down when the heart gets heavy.
By Gidion Makenzi
Makenzi is prolific poet and writer. The special projects editor at Writers Guild Kenya. Email: firstname.lastname@example.org