On Sunday I woke up tired. My muscles were screaming. Fully clothed, wallowing in a swamp of my own sweat. It was 6am. I had sharp hunger pangs and blog post idea steaming in my head. And I thought, ah, si we’ll be home the whole day? Let’s work on it. But first, we eat.
So I went and had my usual, a banana and tea.
The banana was the first to go down. I’m not in the business of taking plain tea. So I fished for a chapo from the fridge and gave that tea a proper send off.
Then I went back to the room to get the laptop and that’s where the problem sprouted.
Grisham’s The Summons was lying there on my bed. It’s a hardback, with one of those removable paper covers. I must have taken it out the shelf, admired the artwork, and chucked it there. Now the paper cover was repositioned a little. And I could see that the book was black. You’d mistake it for a long Bible. It smelt like a century and craft mastery. And I thought, my word! This thing is beautiful.
It was like looking at a lady with a flimsy top loosened at one shoulder, that small stretch of skin running down her neck. That exposed part of her skin that, if you look at it long enough, can ignite flames that quickly lick your loins.
I thought, only a chapter wouldn’t hurt.
I’m halfway through the book now. I’m still finding it hard to like Ray –the protagonist- but his brother Forrest I loved immediately. The black sheep of the family. A reckless drug addict with fashion sense and a sex drive to boot. I just can’t wait to find out his fate.
Needless to say I haven’t let go of the book. Not enough to let me work on that piece anyway. So let me tell you things about last week:
I got dumped that morning. I was seated in bed, naked, brushing up on a piece I loved putting together. I just couldn’t wait to get it out there.
And then the phone call came, and at the end of it I was a single man. A naked baffled single man.
But I’m not going to tell the whole story here. It’s too grainy. Detailed. You can’t put it in summary. Besides, it’s too soon friends. Too soon.
I had a late lunch with Bett –my mentor. She kept me waiting for over an hour but I couldn’t get mad because I was hungry and she was the one paying. We talked about writing, mostly, and everything else that surrounds this beast. People. Sex. Books. Booze. Everything.
And then we swung by Mojos and that’s where we met a most thorough bartender. She was short and plump and loud. Everything she said came out amplified, especially the ‘manze’ she kept ending her sentences with. She talked with her lips leaning to the side so her voice was deep. A voice you don’t expect from a lady of her height really.
At some point Bett says,
“She’s rough eh?”
“Haha. Probably likes to be slapped in bed.”
“What’s wrong with liking it?”
We have a nice back and forth, Bett and me. She’s a real hoot.
Let’s say you’re a 20 year old girl who has vowed to remain a virgin until marriage. Your morals are well adjusted and you attend fellowship sessions once a week. You have a boyfriend who you’ve been dating for close to two years now. It’s the first serious relationship you have ever been in. From the start you let your guy know about the sex thing and he says sawa. Says he is not interested in sex and he will wait with you.
Then one day, your guy leaves his phone with you for a bit. A pop up text lights up the screen, and naturally, you look. It’s from another girl you’ve heard about. She’s good friends with your man. The text is flirty.
You get curious. You decide to find out what’s going on, so you open the whole chat, Pandora’s Box. It’s evident they had slept together, a steamy thread of texts that brings mist to your eyes. It’s betrayal. Your trust has been robbed in broad daylight.
You find it hard to accept that it happened. You cry in bed at night, picturing them lost in horizontal desire. Your world doesn’t make sense anymore. You bombard this guy with questions, like where they were, and how it happened, and if he had feelings for her and why he did it.
This conflicted girl is called Catherine. If you’re wondering, they’re still hitched. She sat him down and told him to break it up right there. Because she wanted to watch him do it.
Having read Gone Girl –which you should really look at with keenness, especially if you’re a guy- I wanted to know what she was thinking, what she feels every time she looks at the lad. What she’d do if she found out he cheated again.
“I’ll make him pay I swear.”
“I have my ways. But when I’m done he’ll come crawling back.”
It was a hot tale, and I greedily sank my teeth into it. It was meant to go up on Instagram, but halfway through the interview she said she wasn’t ready for the story go, that the wound was still fresh. Maybe I should give it some time?
I had to look for another story. I found it the next day. And I wrote it here.
Meanwhile, let’s not make this blog about all about me. Tell me about your dating stories. We all have that one person that clenched our hearts with their fists right? Just 800 words, send it to me, firstname.lastname@example.org
We’re all friends here. We won’t laugh.