Part Two.
We sat quietly for a while. Bathing in the stillness we, oddly, found ourselves in. The snores were faint as though lover boy had changed positions or he’d covered his face and the blankets now muffled the sounds. Whatever the case, I was glad we hadn’t woken him.
I was still reeling. The shock of her in my house, drinking…drunk, at odd hours had worn off. In its place, however, was a billion and one questions I now had. She sat upright, her legs folded under the blanket. I watched as she nervously stretched and folded the edges. I suspect she was berating herself for saying too much. Sandra wasn’t the loose mouth type but here she was, sitting across her PA. Unhinged. She looked weary. Drained. From what? Her beautiful perfect life?
For as long as I had known her, I had coveted her seamless like life. I envied how she handled any situation with effortless grace. How her conversations, even in strife were a perfect mix of assertion and submission. Her appearance regardless of the time of day was just right. Not a strand out of place. No broken nail. No crease. She spoke concisely, no umms and aahs and she always knew what and when to say. She was never too early for meetings nor too late. She lived in balance.
I, on the other hand, was her antithesis. I was the most clumsy person you could find. Not a week went by without knocking something down, a cup of coffee, a tray of papers, my elbow against the door. I would either be ten hours early for meetings or walk in when it was just starting. I had made a name for myself for being the girl who was hired even though I was late for the interview. She had gotten grief for it and I expected her to make my life miserable, but she’s remained gracious. Now that I was thinking about it, I made a mental note to ask her why she kept me on.
Now had one billion and two questions for her.
The silence was deafening and whereas I would have been pulling words from the air and forcing them into incoherent sentences due to the amount of liquor we’d imbibed (she more than I). She remained composed. I was afraid that the liquid courage was wearing off and still, I needed answers.
“So, what about him eats at you?”
She continued folding the corners, barely lifting her face to look at me. As though she hadn’t heard me. This was a common scene in our two-man office. I’d inquire about something and she’d keep on her work, typing ceaselessly on her keyboard. Perhaps this was her process on how to formulate a polished response. One that served the purpose but emoted nothing. Not good in this situation.
“His reckless spending habits. “
Polished and concise.
“He had racked up so much debt by the time we met that he lived paycheck to paycheck.”
More info? Thank you to the gods of liquor.
“He had every loan you could possibly think of. From the car to the house. He’d even taken one of those loans that allow you to slowly pay for your appliances. Everybody owned his life but him. “
There was sadness in her voice. Defeated. Her back was bent as though all energy had been deflated. I felt sorry for her but curious too.
“Why did you go on with him? Why did you_”
“He was perfect in every other way. Perfect on paper that is. He’s from a good family, studied all the way, well-travelled and read. He has a good job and does make good money…he just, spent it badly. And he’s really nice, to me, my family is in love with him, my friends envy me. So I thought…It wouldn’t hurt to clear all his debt and we can start afresh. Right?”
Wrong
“I didn’t think it would be a problem at the time but it’s caused so much friction between us that made up for his loss of manhood in other ways…”
She glanced at the table, where the empty bottle of brown was. Shit, I can’t have her shut down just coz. I want more.
I got up and dashed to the kitchen. I had a hidden stash of liquor that I kept from, myself really, but also from the friends who come empty-handed and want to leave inebriated, by osmosis??
In there I had the best of the best, the type that I saved for special occasions, heartbreaks and desperate times. I suspected that this was somewhere in between.
“How so?” I asked while serving a generous amount into a clean glass. I presumed it would appease her.
She looked up at me. Dead in the eye and I suddenly realized why she was how she was. She was a victim of abuse. “Did he…?”
“Not tonight…tonight he locked me out of the house…for getting in him after him.”
What!!??? This shit happens? Damn!
It was still dark out. The curfew restrictions had turned the city into an eerily zombie-like scene. No movements of noisy drunk neighbours or cars zooming past to goodness knows where. The many nights I found myself in the midst of insomnia, I’d be baffled at who dared be out when everyone else was in. Where were they from or where were they headed to. Speaking of, how had she gotten here? How long was she outside? Had she gone home or was she parked out the whole night looking to courage to wake me? Why, had she come to me?
I was about to ask, now that we’d crossed the rubicon, but there was an unexpected sound coming from the bedroom. We’d both heard it. The creaking on the loose parquet floor. I glanced at my watch. 4.15am. He’s awake.
I wondered if he’d come to the living room to look for me. But he headed for the bathroom instead. We followed his movements through the sounds he made, stompy foot, light bang from lifting the toilet seat. Loud pissing sound in the toilet bowl. That meant he aimed well. I was proud. A well behaved 7, lol.
We silently sipped our drinks. Pretending not to have heard him.
The farting that followed, however, was too loud to ignore. I was embarrassed. But she wasn’t. She gave me a funny look, then burst out laughing.
One year working with her and I’d never had her laugh. Didn’t even know if she had a full set of teeth. Yet here she was, perfect white teeth and a pink tongue in full view. She had a hearty laugh, a deep guffaw that vibrated the seat we were on. She laughed so loud and long then clenched her abdomen to gasp for air. She heaved and breathed and I thought she was about to laugh again but she didn’t. She was crying. Actually crying. Complete hopelessness had converted into tears that washed her face.
I was torn between holding her and telling her it will be ok. And going to tell loverboy to not leave just yet. We had agreed the previous night that he wasn’t to stay longer than 5.01. That it was paramount that I follow my morning routine which didn’t involve him since this wasn’t anything other than the casual one-nighter. But the snoring and the farting were enough humiliation bits for a lifetime without adding a face to it. Better he remains a mystery. Besides, Nairobi is too small and I wasn’t ready to find out if they knew each other. Thank goodness though, he didn’t come to see what was going on. I knew he had heard the crying and chose the coward path. Men!
I reached out and pulled her shoulders to my thigh. I didn’t know what else to do besides pat her head. Sooth her cry and give the solace she thought she’d find in me. We weren’t friends of any sorts prior and she rarely, if ever, confided in me. But the in the dead of the night the walls of society were unveiled to reveal the people who’d take you in in your darkest hour. I may have been imperfect, but I was someone she could trust, wholly.
“I know a guy who could make your hubby, disappear…” I whispered.
“Who? The fart snoring machine in there?” She tried to suppress but ended up bursting in laughter. At least you have a sense of humour.
Samburu Girl 