I climbed down the Black Maria and wished I had controlled my anger that evening. At least if I had, I won’t be ending my life in prison for my inability to control it.
Men had called me beautiful. Many had
told me I looked like an angel, that my presence in their life would help them get to a higher ground. But I refused. Not that I was proud. It wasn’t also because I was rich. Yes, I was rich, very wealthy. Both of my rich parents were dead and that automatically placed me in wealth I never worked for. More so, I was hardworking.
It wasn’t also because I hadn’t seen the man of my dream. In fact, about three men had made my long list. But I couldn’t double date. Rather, I couldn’t double love. I was in love with Jensimi. He was dangerously handsome. His height was just that of my dream man.
And so on the day my problem occurred, I was daydreaming about him, expecting him. He wasn’t rich. But I had covered that vacuum. Î gave him a car, a house, everything. He was the exact person I wanted as the father of my children.
And that was our sixth year of being friends. I met him on my 28th birthday after one of my friends introduced him as her cousin.
Today, he came in, looking elegant. I was short of breath as he approached the table.
Everything in me had waited for this day. Everything pointed to the fact that he loved me. So, why the delay?
After we’ve exchanged pleasantries, talked generally, and eaten, I decided to voice out.
I’d ordered one of our favourite wines. We would use it to celebrate the great reply.
I swallowed hard. Maybe he was going to say it.
‘You go first’, he said.
‘I just wanted to know if you are enjoying the meal’.
I knew it. He was shy.
‘Ok…Jen, what’s happening between us?’
He looked up, his fork hanging from his mouth. I looked at his hand. He was a fast learner. I have never seen such a man who was humble, who could stoop so low to learn from a lady, from me. If joy were bulb, it would have lightened my face.
‘What? I see you as a younger sister.
My heart felt like falling out through my mouth. I needed something to hold as I blinked severally and my mouth opened like the opening of the caves, which had no hope of ever closing. I held the wine
bottle, to strengthen myself through his
confessions that hit me like arrows.
‘Yes. You’re just a younger sister’.
‘You are mad’ I shouted and smashed his head with the wine bottle. He fell. I smashed again. And again. Until I controlled my anger. By the time I stopped, his skull was soft and cracked.
I had lost it and had to face the music…