Love Me Now or Never

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic

Love and commitment versus ambition and pride.

Our dear lady had made the excuse that she was too sick and too weak to entertain visitors. she just wanted to sleep and if anything we could pass by the following morning to check up on her. It was quite convincing, we bought it. I had a long chat with my friend and we watched a couple of videos on my Pentium 4 desktop, on an old white 19 inch tft monitor whose rear end stuck sharp to the left corner of my study desk. 
 
Around 22hrs an absurd idea crept to my odious head. "Bro,  don't you desperately miss her?  Can love wait till dawn?" I pressed my rhetoric. He was dumb with silence. "Let's just make a surprise visit," I mumbled, "If she's asleep we'll keep knocking until she wakes up. If she doesn't we'll creep to the window and shout until she opens up. And if it gets out of hand your sole excuse will be 'I just couldn't wait dear.  I'm so sorry. Love made me do it!'" His eyes glowed and  I could suddenly feel a spark of energy in his framework.
 
We made our way from Mmbelwa hostel room6 to Kamuzu hostel in the dead of night,  and crept the famous 77 steps in stealth like a lurking cobra. We took the left turn, passed by a sleeping guard and into the hallway, and down the stairs in the lobby. We took another right and left turn and stood on opposite sides of the door. "Should we just storm inside or knock?" I whispered. Again he was dumb and shaking. Indecision is quite costly. 
 
As I leaned on the wall my large ears caught uncharacteristic sound waves reverberating against the concrete. A cold chill run down my spine and for a moment I felt inebriate and quadriplegic. I regained composure and rose to the greatness of the occasion. I bent down and peeped into the clattered keyhole with peculiar tact. I was daft and utterly stunned. My saintry holy eyeballs had committed sacrilege. My brain jammed and thrown into a daze. I opened my mouth and uttered gibberish. I was thrown into an ethical dilemma,  to tell my friend a lie and save a love affair or say the truth and save our friendship.
 
I decided to knock.  Yes,  to grant ample time for both parties on opposite sides of the divide to salvage the situation. After a few knocks I grabbed the door holder and pushed it back with delicate ease,  my sweating hands slipping on the platted diamonds. Voila!  There was a handsome young fella sitting awkwardly by her bedside,  as she lay down on her pillow covered to her armpits in a cream white bed sheet. Holding it tightly to her right breast,  as if it would slip abruptly and expose the dark secrets beneath.
 
We acted like gentlemen of the First World. My friend went the opposite side, pulled himself a study chair and sat down quietly. I walked triumphantly and majestically by her bedside,  greeted our fellow country man and gazed intently on our lady of wisdom. There was this thing with her ruffled hair, potty lips,  and her gaudy eyes wide and large, staring back like a rabbit from an oblivious crater. "I hope we didn't disturb anything. When we heard you're unwell I and my friend couldn't wait till dawn and decided just to pass by and check up on you," I spoke with Obamic class and eloquence. I took a deep breathe and pretended to check on my non-existent wristwatch, "Oops,  it's late. We'll see you again this morning. Great night!"
 
My confused and disparaged friend collected himself from his seat like a failing pile of garbage. He warbled and hobbled on his weak appendages to the door, stormed out and left it wide open in cosmic confusion.  I had to run back and slam it shut.  We walked back to our hostel speechless and those few seconds felt like forever. When we got to the lounge we parted ways without a word,  him to his room and myself to mine. I turned my key, slammed it back with great violence,  switched off all the lights and threw myself in bed like a rag doll. I closed my eyes and saw the darkness that had settled in my soul, and felt terribly scared for my fellow on the opposite end of the hall. I felt both like a superhero and a villain. I slept dead. 
 
Two years later I met her at ginnery corner bus stop in Blantyre. I was walking back to college of medicine from polytechnic where we had a church function. She had been withdrawn on academic grounds from chancellor college in her first year. As I passed by there was a feminine voice calling my name among the crowd and I couldn't figure out who. Until she emerged from the confusion, her hands open wide in the air and running toward me. She hugged me and it felt awkward, everyone on the stage staring at us. She stood just a few centimeters from my chest, staring sharp and uncomfortably into my eyes as she recounted how it's been a long time since we met and how much she missed me. 
 
I stared back into her eyes. All that beauty had vanished. I could barely recognize her for the Cleopatra she used to be. She was that type of beauty which could hush crossing conversations and duels into silence just by her stride.  She could throw you into nirvena just by the lyric and rhythm of her voice in casual greeting. She used to catwalk to and from our hostel, the jiggling of her hips and swishing of her skirts mixed with the sweet scent of her perfume added to the exquisite taste -like the classic  samba dance perfomance.  And all of the guys would just get speechless and go crazy. The fact that she was my best friend's girlfriend and the privilege of having regular access to her added to my class and  gave me airs of importance among the boys. All that was ancient history. 
 
She is now married to some other guy. She had two kids three years ago.She is the queen of her own house and the love his life.  She is not struggling either.  On the hierarchy of economic success she is middle class. She looks like a typical Malawian woman, she is gained some weight and wears zitenje,  from her recent facebook photos. She's living the Malawian dream. On the other hand,  my friend now works at Reserve Bank of Malawi. He calls it The Bank. He flies around the world as regularly as you and I go to the toilet. While I was struggling to obtain my first UK visa he had to change passports because it had run of space for visas. He's married to a beautiful lady and they have a kid. He's living The Dream. 
 
Now here is the moral of the story. Over the years I have had to figure out what went wrong. The problem was class and personal ambition. She came from Blantyre a centre of civilization. He came from the remote and urban northern region. She was the most beautiful girl at the best university and for a time all the materials of progress seemed within her grasp. She had all the power to accomplish anything. My friend was one of the most brilliant students in class and had a promising future. He too was and is still handsome.  She had to chose between now and the hereafter.  Love and commitment versus ambition and pride. The years have given her a final verdict,  she chose defeat in the jaws of absolute victory.


Submitted: January 19, 2021

© Copyright 2021 pakla. All rights reserved.

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