Tuesday 16 January 2018

Stolen Letters: Episode One

Dave, 3:00 am, Nairobi.

This is a story that deserves to be told. It is the story of two Nairobi lovers who have lost the ability to speak to one another.
I was trying to mind my own business tonight. There I was, being silent and omnipresent when Dave; who had been twisting around for some time, rose from the bed he could no longer lie in. It’s a terrible thing you know; lying on a bed made from guilt, lies, impending bills and more than just a dash of undetected high blood pressure.
He walked into the toilet five steps from their bed. The door creaked when he swung it inward. I hate that door. This couple must the last one on planet Kenya to be the unfortunate tenants of a landlord who thought that a wooden door into a bathroom with a hot shower would be an excellent long term investment. And this was the house that fate decided to make me the resident fly on its wall.

Anyway, in went Dave, feet on plastic mat. He emptied his bladder. Such a shame the urine did not leave with some on that shoulder heavy guilt he was carrying. Long after the trickling had stopped he stood there. Just staring at the piss in the bowl with that insufferable ring of dirt that even Harpic in all its glory could not eradicate; a lovely metaphor for his life. He was trying to figure out how to best explain to the love of his life why he cheated. His mind scurried around, trying to come up with all manner of clichés, but he felt that he at the very least ought to respect her too much for that.

He smiled a little as he turned away from his soiled toilet bowl. No flushing toilet sounds for two reasons: he was saving water, and whenever a toilet in their apartment was flushed at night, the noise would wake even the most ancient of ancestors. As his feet slapped against plastic mat back onto cool tiled floor, Dave started to remember the night that he met the woman he had left behind
under that duvet. He was wondering where the guts to propose to her had come from.

It does seems just like yesterday that I watched him stay up late, ripping apart scribbled foolscap after crumpled foolscap just so he could come up with the perfect set of lines to show her how much she meant to him, and hopefully, have her say yes. But as he tried to walk back to the bed his feet decided to haul him into the sitting room instead. And there he sat, staring into Microsoft word. The cursor blinked at him, just like I did. It seemed to say, “Speak or sleep, sir.” He chose the former. Calibri body, size 12. Swift were his fingers across the keyboard; fingers that needed the words to come out and set every organ in the body free…

Dear Noelle:
How can I make you see through my eyes that you’re still the girl of my life? How perfect your giggle is when you blush and the way your hands fit just perfectly in mine when we walk hand in hand..? The way you perfected the one hand bite during burger night, just so you can keep me from winning and I’ve to carry you to the couch on my knees, every single time. You’re still as strong willed as you were the first time we met “accidentally” and I fell for you at Joe’s party…I knew there and then we’d spend eternity together and I was willing to do anything and everything to make my fantasy a reality.

The last couple of weeks haven’t been easy for the both of us my love and it is no excuse for my cheating. However, please humour me on this one.

We haven’t been intimate for a while and it has really been affecting our relations behind closed doors. I can only be so understanding when you get home tired, have a headache, are stressed, not in the mood, cramping, sleepy, too full….it’s been one excuse after another. Nothing seems to cheer you up anymore, not even your favourite bottle of wine makes you want to rip my clothes off on date night, chocolates boxes are just piling up on your dresser and flowers just wither in their vases. Like a puppy in training, the constant rejection made me question myself. Are you getting bored or going through something at work or even having doubts about us? Are we getting stuck in a rut and you’re afraid to bring it up? What’s come between us that you find it so hard to open up to me, your teddy bear?

I still and always will love you and you know that no matter what your desire, you can talk to me and together, we can resolve it, like we’ve always done in the past…just you and me…I just want us to get back to what we’ve always had, our perfect union.

And while he typed, the heaviness persisted. So heavy it was. He didn’t notice Noelle, standing in the doorway, watching the man she had cheated on earlier that evening writing as if nothing else in the world mattered.


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