Whoever father nature is, he has offended his wife again because she is crying; her sorrow is a slow, bitter downpour that falls from her hidden face. She cries without shame for no one can see her.
It has been pouring for three hours now and I’ve been outside his house the whole time, waiting.
I know I am a tad too early today but I couldn’t wait to see him. Since I came, I’ve been watching his suffocating silhouette swim perfectly along the curtains that obscure him from view. Those flimsy curtains do a lousy job at protecting his privacy. Sometimes he would put on an exotic show just for me but today he didn’t, he won’t.
The streets are deserted. His house is on the outskirts of town and everyone has enough space in their yard to accommodate three cars and two mango trees. Cheap land.
It’s not just cars that stay inside, people do too. There’s not much to do here, but I have to keep my visits discreet. I always park three blocks away.
Taye, he would be out any moment now, wearing one of his six polo shirts tucked into dark blue denim, bb holstered, looking like a modern Adonis. Since it is cold, he would be sporting a black neck scarf, It is either his favorite or the only one he has.
But what do I care about scarves? He is perfect, flawless like ray of morning sun, my Taye. Coffee-skinned, tall, pretty but not too pretty face, staggering with his lean, well muscled frame. He is also witty, with a good sense of humor. I smile like a nutcase. My Taye.
The gate to his house opens and soon after, he drives out and parks gently. He then briskly walks back in to lock up. Even under the rain, my Taye does not run.
Usually, I would drive after him to Wine Shop or Pablo’s where he drinks with the guys till some time past midnight and after which they would all go clubbing. Before the night is over, I would find the perfect time to break into his car and leave a mild whiff of my perfume, hoping that he would pick out my scent in the office elevator the next day. I always make sure we get in the elevator together. I always make sure we’re never too close.
But I’m tired of hoping. Tonight, I would be breaking into his house, to bask in his essence and live as his wife, if only for a night. I would cook him a pot of soup, wash his clothes, do the dishes, clean the bathrooms, polish the floor tiles, dust the furniture, and when I’m done, I would douse everything, from the hand-towels in the kitchen to his suits in the wardrobe, with my scent. I have five bottles of Lady Million with me. I would empty four bottles completely and leave the empty canisters along with the fifth fresh bottle as a mementos on his dresser with a mystery note.
I would give him one last chance at noticing me at church on Sunday. I would be right next to him at the choir stand. Oh! The voice of him!
We’re meant for each other, I know it, but If we do not find love after this weekend, we would have to find it in the afterlife.
He only takes coffee on weekdays, so today, I would put a strong sedative in his Nescafe. I can always get rid of it if he brings me back home from church. If he doesn’t, come Monday, I have planned our own beautiful version of Romeo and Juliet. As he sleeps on the kitchen table, I would let myself in and we would have our first kiss. Cherry Cyanide. We would die a classic death. Together. We would find love in the afterlife.