Til I Overdose

A Collection of Short Stories

By L.A. Lutara

For Kampire and for Sharon For in its own way, it has been my quite culpable and annoyingly resilient inability to exorcise you from my system that has woven itself into the very thread that has come to twine all of these words together. And so for that at least, I guess I should thank you.

Contents

Preface

......................................................................4 ..............................................5 ....................13

1. BFF (X Heart X Fingers)

2. C.I.S.U.M Backwards Spells Tru Luv 3. For Everything A Reason

............................................15 ....................58 ....................62

4. The N-Word (N-I-Double-Guh-Errr) 5. No Pickles, Tomatoes or Mayonnaise 6. The Garden 7. House Of Balloons

........................................................71 ............................................78 ..109

8. With Hearts of Steel (To All the Single Mothers in the House) 9. Self Absorbed. Incoherent. Inconceivable

..................116 ..119

10. Bleed Me and I Just Might Blow Your Mind (Bonus)

Preface

One of the oldest adages given to writers, young and old, is the one that implores writers to write what they know. Over the years, Ive always taken this to mean, as well as Im sure many others have as well, that one would write best if one wrote from ones personal experience. Personally, I believe it affords a writer a certain sense of ease with which words can flow from ones fingers to pen to page or is more often the case these days, from fingers to keyboard to screen. And so for a long time I did just that. Writing exactly what I knew. Recording events exactly as they happened, describing places exactly how they appeared, not creating caricatures but spot on portraits of the people that populated my world. Over the course of the last few months however, Ive been actively trying to veer away from that. To afford my imagination a little more space to breathe. And so although the stories that follow are drawn from personal experience, they are in no way autobiographical. That being said though, I do believe that once done with these pages (assuming that you dont get bored and give up on them) you will have a more intimate knowledge of who I am than most do. It may not exactly be a pretty picture but it is an honest one, so be warned. And so with those few words I would like to welcome you to Til I Overdose.

-L.A.

BFF (X Heart X Fingers)

We used to kill bees together. With plastic swords and broken jump rope handles. With the tiny feet of ghost buster action figures and the magic 8-ball that after so many falls and countless tosses across the complex hall, wasnt so magic anymore. Bees werent our only creepies of interest though; snails, caterpillars and beetles were all targets of our blunt instruments as well. It fascinated us how each insect had their own distinct sound as they were pummeled maliciously, sometimes even sadistically to death. Crack. Squish. Crunch. Thud. Although the thud wasnt exactly an insect but a mouse that set up house behind the Leicesters stove. We went for bigger game as well, when the opportunity arose. Greg was small for his age. Or maybe I was just big for mine. He had big brown eyes and soft delicate features. Freckles on his nose and an unruly mop of reddish-brown hair that he constantly had to shake out of his face. I remember the first time we met (it was the day my Mother and I moved in) and I asked him whether I could have some. Although asked may be the polite way of putting it. I dont think I was that nice. I want some of your hair. I believe my exact words were. Without hesitating Greg pulled out a pocketknife, cut off a thick lock from the back of his head and handed it to me. Now gimme some of yours. I happily obliged, taking the knife, tugging at my tightly curled hair and cutting off a thick tuft of it. I knew my Mom was going to make a fuss about it but I didnt really

mind. Taking the hair, Greg pulled out a handkerchief, placed it in the middle and carefully wrapping it slid it gently into his pocket. Not as deft as Greg, however, I simply clutched his locks in my hand, making sure not to let go until I had found somewhere to keep them. Best Friends Forever. Greg lived with his mother Mrs. Leicester, his younger sister Kirsten and their one eyed, three footed cat Capt. Yards. I didnt have a dad and so I never thought to ask him about his. The Leicesters flat smelled of stale cigarette smoke and three day old booze. I had sneezing fits whenever I was over there. And every time I went back home with the sniffles my Mom swore to me that she would never let me go over there again. That flat was no place for a child. If she were the type to stick her nose into other peoples business she had the good mind to call protective services on that woman. God knew those kids needed someone looking out for them. Those were all my Moms words by the way. Said to faceless strangers on the telephone and tea-drinking visitors whenever she thought I wasnt listening. On more than one occasion my Mom had asked me what Mrs. Leicester got up to whenever I was over there. My answer? She stayed in her bedroom most of the time. Although she always made sure to microwave for us some popcorn with extra butter as well as setting out plenty of juice boxes before she retreated to her room so that we could watch Robocop 2 for the umpteenth time. What I never told my Mom though, was that Mrs. Leicester always had a bottle and

a glass nearby. God knows that was more than reason enough to pull me out of there. And so I had kept my mouth shut about it. Not that it did much good. The argument came on a sunny Saturday afternoon. We could hear the yelling from two floors down. All itchy limbs and grass covered hair we stopped on the 2nd floor landing and listened. There was no denying it; our mothers were going at it. Spatting, if theres such a word. We shared a glance. And then in silent agreement hurried back down the two flights of steps to the ground floor and clamoring outside, trainers slapping against the pavement, rounded the building for another round of Barrel Races. I never did find out what words were exchanged that day, all I know is that when Greg and I parted ways and I finally went back home I was forbidden from going over to Gregs again. Greg could come over any time, even sleep over but I was not, under any circumstances to enter that flat. Do you hear me? I nodded vigorously. I wasnt a fan of going against my Mom and so I stayed away. It was day 12 when Greg finally came a-knocking on our door. I know this because even then my Mom made me keep a journal. Its a good way to keep your thoughts in order. Not that I knew what that meant at the time. He wasnt alone either. Kirsten was with him. Both of them looked as if they had been crying. Come on. My Mom cajoled, gently ushering them towards me. I was sitting on the floor of the living room, my legs crossed, a Sega Megadrive controller in my hands playing Sonic the Hedgehog 2.

Im playing Sonic and Tails, I said holding out the second controller. Want to be Tails? Greg nodded and with a little nudging from my Mom came and sat down next to me. I handed Greg the other controller. Pressed a series of buttons and went to two-player mode. Can I be Sonic? Sensing that Greg didnt really want to be but rather needed to be, I agreed. Thank you. His voice was timid, cautious. So unlike him. I looked up at my Mom. I was a little confused. What was happening? I wanted to ask but my Mom silenced me with one look. She tied Kirsten to her back using a lesu, stood up straight and walked into the kitchen. Ben, I turned. Lets play. I shook myself. Without looking down at the controller I pressed start. And for the next 10 minutes we lost ourselves to the game. No words were needed; our fingers did all the talking. And for sometime, for a little while at least, that was all that mattered. Walking back into the living room my Mom slung Kirsten from her back. She gave each of us a warm mug of milk and a plate of cookies. You three be good, Okay? Mom kissed each of us on the forehead.

Ill be back soon. Greg and I didnt talk about it until later that night. And even when we did finally talk about it, it was only in fragments. The night was cold. Which was odd for the middle of the summer. And so we were huddled close to each other beneath the covers, our bodies centimeters apart, our feet touching. My mum hit her. Pause. And she didnt even do anything. Another pause. And she wouldnt stop. She just kept on hitting her and hitting her. Greg started shaking. I tried to stop her. And she started hitting me too. A sob escaped from Gregs lips. Reaching out, I wrapped my arms around Greg like I had seen my mother do. Like she had done to me many a time. After a moment, I felt Greg accept the gesture, resting his head on my shoulder. We stayed like that for several minutes. And just as I was beginning to doze off I felt Gregs lips on my neck. Delicate and uncertain. Inexperienced and unsure. My heart quickened. I had kissed a girl before. Valerie Champion. She was three years older than me. Had sworn that she was in love with me. Something Im sure she had heard on TV. Was it ok to kiss a boy? I wasnt even sure if it was ok to kiss a girl. I knew that I had liked it though. And so, following some sort of innate compulsion that I cant explain, I sought out his lips with mine- found them.

Ive always been a fast learner and Valerie taught me quite a lot. Greg caught on pretty quick too. And so soon it wasnt only our lips doing the kissing but our tongues, our jaws and teeth as well. And then it was over. With the turn of the door handle and the hallway light streaming into the bedroom. Are you two Ok? We didnt answer. Tried our best to slow our heavy breathing. Ben? Greg? My Mom waited a moment or two more and then when we still didnt answer, closed the door.

***

Morning came all too soon. Seeping through my Garfield curtains, creeping along my Garfield wallpaper, tiptoeing across my Garfield carpet. Greg and I woke up how we had fallen asleep. Gregs head on my shoulder, my arms wrapped around his like a cardigan. It was my Mom and not the sun that who woke us up however. Pulling back the covers and nudging us towards the bathroom. Showered and dressed, Greg and I were treated to French toast with jam. Something my Mom didnt make very often. After a whole lot of French toast, what seemed to me at least like liters of hot chocolate and couple of hours of Sonic the Hedgehog there came a knock at the door. It

10

was a man and a woman. The woman black with short almost shorn to the skin hair, glasses, a string of pearls, a cream colored blouse, navy blue slacks and short heeled shoes and the man bearded with a shaggy head of hair and a rumpled suit that looked like he had slept in. He had a plaster above his left eye. They talked with my Mom in hushed tones in one corner of the living room throwing glances in our direction every so often. After a moment the man and the woman came over to introduce themselves. They knelt and stuck out their hands, treating us not like children but how they would a fellow adult. I liked the shaggy haired one immediately. What happened to your head? I pointed at the plaster above his eye. The man smiled. I fell while getting out of my spaceship this morning. How about a ride Greg? Greg reached for my hand. Can Ben come? The mans face became sad. I dont think so. Its just for you and your sister. I felt Gregs grip tighten. But Ben will come and see you a little later on. The man quickly added in an attempt to reassure Greg. I promise. The woman was trying to reassure Kirsten as well who had been silent and withdrawn since their arrival the previous evening. Kirstens request was slightly different, however. She wanted to see her mother. Soon, the woman kept on saying, Youll see her soon.

11

My Mom cradled Kirsten in her arms while Greg and I walked hand in hand. The four floors down had never felt so lonely or so long. The woman carried the duffle bag from our flat while the man carried another. More of Kirsten and Gregs things. They werent coming back any time soon. There was a car waiting on the curb. A non-descript sedan. The man with the shaggy hair unlocked the sedan and my Mom slid Kirsten into the back seat. After a few encouraging and reassuring words my Mom walked back towards me and Greg. It was Gregs turn. We hugged. Tight. Best Friends Forever. I whispered into his ear. Greg drew an X over his heart. Cross my Heart he whispered I hugged him even tighter. Cross my Fingers Separating us as gently as possible, the man led Greg to the car. Urged him inside and shut the door after him. Gregs face appeared in the window. There were tears in his eyes. The two social workers climbed into the car, the man behind the wheel. As the car pulled away from the curb Greg raised a hand in goodbye. I waved until the car turned the corner and disappeared out of sight. C.I.S.U.M Backwards Spells Tru Luv

12

I knew it was love from the moment I first laid my eyes on her. That she was love. Tall and elegant. A dream, a phantom. As intangible as the smoke curling from the end of a stick of incense and just as fragrant. Could this really be? I walked up to her, shuffling my feet, hands shoved into my pockets, chin on my chest and asked her almost swallowing my words if she would dance with me. A glance is all she gave me. I could feel her gaze on the top of my head. I looked up, met her gazeshe would. But what about your feet? Her eyes seemed to say. Will you know what to do with them when the time comes? I will try. Is what I told her. Not with my lips, not with words but with a look of my own. It must have been one of apprehension, of self-doubt and of pleading because then she smiled. Ever so sweetly. But not a trace of condensation or pity could be found in it. And then, extending a lithe and supple arm, She held out her hand. Take it. She said. He voice as smooth as caramel and as ageless as time, I will show you how. I was six years old. Young, impressionable. I couldnt have refused her even if I had wanted to. And so I took her hand. Let her lead me across the floor. Everyone was watching. Every eye in the room. But I couldnt have cared less. I only had eyes for her. And we danced. Oh did we dance. It was a dance for the ages. She led and I followed. I would have followed her to the ends of the earth, if only she had led me thereIt saddened me when it had to end. It made my heart heavy. My feet like lead. I begged her for one more, clung to her waist, beat off my mother but it was useless. With a single word she dispatched me into the arms of my mother. Without raising a finger, without even raising her voice. And because it was her, because it came from her lips, there was no argument. 13

Dont worry. She said with a reassuring squeeze of the hand. I will come back and we will be together. And when the time comes, no one will be able to take me away from you. Nor you I. But I dont even know your name. I piped, my voice high with worry. I didnt want to lose her. I knew love when I saw it and she was it. She bent over, her closeness intoxicating me in a way that made me feel faint and whispered in my ear. Five letters, two syllables. She kissed me on the lips. Her breath smelled like peppermint. And then, just like a dream, like a phantom, as intangible as the smoke curling from the end of a stick of incense and just as fragrant, she disappeared. I did not fret however. She would come back. She said she would. I believed her. Her word was bond. Her word was truth. As the scent of her tickled my nose, the taste of her still lingering on my lips, I said her name. Five letters, two syllables. One word that changed my life forever Musicher name was music.

For Everything a Reason

Why do you still wear that thing? I blinked. Looked down at my hand, at the finger between my middle and my pinky;

14

examined the 'thing' to which my mother was referring to. It was made of stainless steel and was inset with a small stone. The stone was fake of course but somehow it still managed to add something...extra to it. 'It', as you may have guessed by now was a ring, and I wore it on my right hand. Looking up from the ring I reached for my half empty bottle of Fanta orange and took a sip. I'm surprised it's taken you this long to ask. I said after setting the bottle back down on the table. You've been eyeing it ever since we walked in. My mother sat back in her chair. Pushed away her barely touched plate of avocado rice (she had wanted pilao but the restaurant didn't have any and so the avocado rice was the best that they could do) with the finger tips of one hand and reached for her bottle of water with the other. She allowed herself a slight shrug. That doesn't really answer my question Ben. Unscrewing the top, she put the bottle up to her lips; took a long, deep swallow. What are you holding onto? You left her. Holding up my hand with the ring in question, I aimed for casual and tilted my head slightly to one side. It looks good doesn't it? Another sip of water. It looks expensive. My mother answered noncommittally. And how much did you pay for them anyway? For yours and for hers? I shrugged. Assumed a noncommittal tone of my own.

15

Enough. Enough for what? Enough to make it feel real. Something about this must have amused her because just then my mother smiled. Even though the smile lasted no longer than a second or two. After that, her mouth set itself into something closer to disdain. It wasn't, you know. Real. I shook my head. You're wrong. You weren't there Mom...I loved her. Scoffing my mother picked up her fork and began scraping her plate, piling the rice on top of each other, forming a small mountain in the center of the plate. No, you didn't. You were lonely and she made you feel special. That's not love. She stopped. Pointed the four pronged plastic fork at me. You know what real love is...and you let it slip right through your fingers. I nodded my head. I suddenly got it. Or at the very least I thought I did. So that is what all of this is about? You still haven't forgiven me for messing things up with your picture perfect daughter-in-law, have you? My mother leaned forward in her chair. Don't you use that tone with me Ben. This is about you not letting go and me trying to understand why. She waved her hand in a slight flourish. So would you like to explain it to me? I sighed. Looked down at my empty plate. Empty save for a few rogue strands of cabbage

16

and a small pool of brownish soup. I had eaten chips and liver. A pretty safe bet in any fast food joint and had wolfed it down in what had seemed like two minutes flat. Well? I looked up from the plate, met my mother's gaze. It was not until much later that my mother told me that my expression had looked haunted. Like I had looked death square in the face. And in a way, I had. What Ben? What is it? I let out another sigh. Swallowed, cleared my throat and swallowed again. Averted my eyes. There was a baby. My mother leaned further forward. What? I cleared my throat again, this time speaking up. There was a baby Mom. Twins actually. Sharon got pregnant. And she had decided...well we had decided to keep them. You were going to be a grand mother. My mother took a moment to process this. You said I was 'going to be'. What- what happened? I ventured a look at my Mom. I was surprised to find that she looked as shell shocked as I felt. How I had been feeling for the past few months. I think she was finally starting to get it. The doctor said it was the stress. She was having a hard time dealing with the break up. She wasn't eating, was constantly in tears...there was just so much going on...the baby couldn't take it.

17

You broke up with her when she was pregnant!? My Mom was incredulous. No, no, no. I said quickly. She didn't find out she was pregnant until after we broke up. When I broke it off I had no idea. Not the entire truth but it was close enough. This seemed to pacify her a bit. I could tell she had been about to go ape shit over the fact that her son, who she had raised single handedly by the way, had dumped his fianc when he knew that she was pregnant with his baby, possibly even because of this. My mother had been ready to tear me a new one. Tell me what happened. She demanded suddenly. I want to know everything. I nodded. Shrugged. OK. I guess it's time you knew the whole story anyway. I reached for my bottle of Fanta. Upended what was left of it and setting the empty bottle back down on the table. I cleared my throat and began.

II Eight Months Earlier I reached under my pillow for my phone. It took me a moment but after some feeling 18

around I managed to latch onto it, pulling it out. Pressing the menu button, although I could have very well pressed any other, I lit up the phone's face, in turn partially illuminating my own- it was 3:59am. I blinked, watched as the numbers blinked in reply and it became four. Letting my hand fall, it landed on the small patch of mattress next to me with a light pat. 45 minutes. I had managed 45 minutes, bringing my grand total for the past four nights to a whopping 3 hours. Sleep had been playing hide-and-go-seek with me you see. Slipping behind curtains, crawling under beds, climbing inside closets and piling under musty blankets. And every time I clamped onto her shoulder, or tugged at her foot or grabbed onto the tail of her blouse she always somehow managed to get away, as if evaporating into thin air. After four nights of this I simply stopped trying, staring zombie eyed like death warmed over at the ceiling as I waited out another night...night number five... And you know what the funny thing was, for all of her unwanted attention, Sharon was completely oblivious to what was going on. Sure, she noticed how easily agitated I had become, which was quite a change seeing as I was usually the pretty cool headed one. But here's the thing about that, my perpetual agitation had nothing to do with my lack of sleep and everything to do with her. We had crossed the three month marker a week or so before and as if on cue, the magic of the honeymoon period was beginning to wear off. All the little things that I used to find cute and if not that then at the very least tolerable were beginning to irritate the hell out of me. Like that little wink of hers that she clearly thought was seductive cum conspiratorial and that even at the very best of times I had found a little suspect now just made me want to smack her. And not in a kinky way either but in a; I-would-probably-break-her-nose-if-I-put-enough-weight-behind-it kind of

19

way. But you can breathe easy mate, I only thought about that shit, never once acted upon it, Momma taught me much better than that. Even if I did think about it more than I probably should have. And that's even before mentioning her constantly clutching, clingy, touchy-feely neediness. She always had to be touching me. Holding my hand, gripping my thigh, running a finger along the length of my neck...in the beginning it had been really charming, she was just really affectionate but now...now I slept on one side of the bed and she slept on the other. And it was a pretty big bed too. I could stretch my arm all the way out and still have a few inches to spare before touching skin. Sharon's breath came calm and easy and evenly. She was facing me and the light of the security bulb right outside the window seeped through the curtain and cascaded down onto part of her face. She was smiling. A lips slightly parted, slightly turned up at the corners kind of smile. She was pretty when she smiled. She was pretty when she didn't. Her being pretty had never been a problem. It must be quite the dream, I mused to myself. But everyone has to wake up sometime., continued my train of thought. All dreams must come to an end. Just like all good things and misplaced affections. And misplaced, I was beginning to realize is what my affections had been. All this time. Although to be honest All this time was really nothing more than three months. Three months and a few days if you really want to get technical. Surely not enough time to get to know someone. And now that I had, gotten to know that someone in question that is,. or at the very least just beginning to; I suddenly realized that I didn't even like her. Much less loved her. My breath escaped from my lungs with a slight wheeze...

20

Fuck. I suddenly felt cold. Then what the hell did that leave me with? Leave us with...? Once again I turned my eyes to the ceiling. With getting out... I sniffled. The room hadn't been swept or mopped in quite a few days and had become quite stuffy. It'll kill her. You know that right? Yeah, I know. How could I not know that? Well, you can be pretty clueless at times. Yes, I know that as well. But not right now. Not about this. Hmmph. So when are you going to do the deed? Scratch...scratch...scratch... Tomorrow...I'll do it tomorrow. Like tomorrow-tomorrow or like later today tomorrow? Like later today tomorrow. Then you better try and catch some zzzzz'z man. You're gonna need all the energy you can get. Because whether you like it or not...there will be tears III And so you dumped her. Just like that. I sighed. Shook my head. We were still at the restaurant. Plates had been cleared, the table wiped down and more beverages purchased. My mother had insisted that we were not going anywhere until I had finished my story. 21

No Mom. Not 'just like that'. Then how? Did you like take her out to dinner, buy her a bouquet of flowers, get a Mexican string quartet to play her favorite song and then drop the bomb on her? No Mom. Wait, you didn't do it in a text message did you? Because I swear Ben if you did- No Mom! Then how? Well if you let me, I just might get around to telling you. That managed to shut her up. My mother sat back in her chair. OK then, she said gesturing with her hand, You may proceed. Thank you Mother dearest. I took a sip from my replenished bottle of soda. A Krest bitter lemon this time though. Fantas were only for mealtimes and children below thirteen. Anyway, so after work that day I gave her a call and asked if I could drop in, there was something I needed to talk to her about...

***

I could practically hear her breath catch in her throat. Even over the phone. It was a moment before she said anything. People only say that when it's something bad Ben. It's not something bad is it? Pause.

22

What time do you think you'll be home? Why don't we meet somewhere for a drink? SOHO maybe, it's nearby work. Or if not that then maybe Bike Mike's. Or- Let's just meet at your place, OK?. Pause. OK then. I'll be home around 7. Cool. Then I'll see you then? Sure...I love you Ben. Beat...beat...beat... I'll see you later.

Call Duration: 00:1:38

***

She asked me whether I wanted any juice. Was I hungry? There was some Uganda Waragi if I wanted any. I said no to being hungry but said that a drink would be nice. Some juice with some Uganda wa maybe? She nodded. Coming right up. She said doing a little curtsy and disappearing into the kitchen. I made myself at home. I had always liked her place. The African art, bright colors, potted plants and eccentric post modern paper weights and vases gave it a traditional cum

23

western fusion that was shocking as at the same time attractive. I especially loved the black leather chairs arranged in the shape of a horse shoe. I had always wanted a set for myself but had never really gotten around to it. We had talked about how when we moved into together we would toss my old ratty ones and stay with hers. Sitting down I ran my hand along the grain on the leather. I was going to miss this place. Hmmph. But what about her? Were you going to miss her? Before I could consider the question Sharon walked back into the room with a tray. On which sat two tall glasses of what looked to be passion fruit juice and a plate with biscuits. She placed the tray on a nearby side table and handed me my glass. Thanx. I said taking it. She took one for herself and sat next to me. Not right next to me but nearby. So, she started after taking a sip from her glass, What is this thing that you wanted to talk to me about? I took a sip from mine. Almost blanched. Wow, you were really generous with how much you poured into this thing, weren't you? You seem tense. I thought maybe you needed some loosening up. Was I wrong? I took another sip. No, no...I just didn't expect it to be that strong, that's all. How was your day? What are you doing here Ben? You're doing that thing where you're skirting the issue. How about we just right to it, huh. Might make things easier for both of us. I took another sip. Then another. Then a gulp. I was really hoping that it would work fast. I was nervous as shit.

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I could feel Sharon's eyes on me. She was watching me. I'm sure she could tell how nervous I was feeling. Well of course she did, she had spiked my drink pretty strong. Had said so herself that she thought I looked like I needed it... You need a second? No, I'm good. I set down my glass. I was appalled to see that I had just about drained the whole thing, save for a few drops. More? I shook my head. We wouldn't want me getting piss poor drunk would we now? Sharon shrugged. It might help. I thought about it for a moment and then, No. it wouldn't be a good idea. Anyway, I guess I should just get down to why I'm here. Yeah, you should. I took a deep breath. OK. The truth is, I don't think we're going to work out. I think Sharon had probably expected but it still must have come as a shock to her. She looked like she had been slapped in the face. She said nothing for a moment. Took a sip of her drink. Then another. Then a gulp. Once the glass was empty she set it down next to its husband and then looking at me asked me,

25

Why?

IV

I struggled for an answer. I knew what I wanted to say but to say that would be even more heartless than what I was already doing. But what was the greater evil, I asked myself, sparing her feelings, if only a little bit, by denying myself the peace of mind that being honest would bring or laying it all out on the table and praying to God that there would be someone nearby to pick up all the pieces? Using honesty as a guise for selfishness, I steeled myself and decided to tell it how it was. I don't love you anymore... I said almost wistfully. If I ever loved you at all. I added almost as an after thought. An unnecessary after thought, I thought afterwards. A mean after thought. A cold and callous after thought...but an after thought none the less. Sharon said nothing. She had never been the teary type but I could see the tears begin to well up in the corner of her eyes. Oddly, I felt the familiar sting in the corner of my eyes as well. It was like I could hear the hairline cracks in her heart begin to crag their way across its surface and as unbelievable as it may seem, I empathized with her. Knowing that I was literally breaking her heart made my heart break. But not as much as what she said next. But you asked me to marry you. You bought me a ring. You bought you a ring. 26

You're wearing it right now. Doesn't that mean anything to you? It did. Or it had. At the time. I was horny and you weren't going to let me get that unless I promised to marry you. Yeah, you were that type of girl. And so in the heat of the moment, with my balls on fire and my penis pressing all hard against my jeans, I said that I would marry you. And the thing is, I've never been that type of guy before but that night, with our bodies pressed together on the very carpet that I'm rubbing my stockinged feet against right now, you turned me into that type of guy. And so after that I was forced to lie. Everyday. And I thought that if I lied long enough that maybe, just maybe that it would become real. And for a while it did. But you can only lie to yourself for so long... But I wasn't going to say that. That would be too much. That would have destroyed her. That would have made her hate me. And so I said nothing. Was there someone else? I had been avoiding her gaze. She was too painful to look at. But when she asked this I looked up. My eyes said everything that she needed to know. Was it Samantha? I Swallowed. Gulped. My eye brows involuntarily kneading themselves into an expression of consternation. It had been Samantha. I had never gotten over her. Sharon had known about her even when we had started dating. Had known that Samantha had been to me 'the one who got away'. Had even been willing to give me the time and space to deal with whatever I felt I had to deal with. But instead of dealing with it, I had simply cheated on her. I nodded. But she had already known this. What she didn't know was, When did it start?

27

I looked her up and down. She looked as if she was on the verge of breaking. Like the slightest tap would smash her into a million tiny pieces. I know I had decided to lay all the cards out on the table but this? This was not what I had expected. It's not important. I said softly. It doesn't matter. Well it does to me! Sharon's voice was shrill. A near shout. Coarse. Damn near hysterical. Taking a deep breath she swallowed, taking a moment to get herself back under control. It does to me...now, when did it start? She wasn't going to let up. She would keep on asking until I told her. I let out a resigned sigh. Her birthday. Two months ago. Sharon let out a bark of a laugh. Did you at least fuck her right? I stared. I had never heard Sharon actually say the word 'fuck' before. Did you make her come? I was starting to worry. Did she wet the bed? Something was really wrong. Or did you fuck her on the couch like the first time you fucked me? After you said you would marry me. Sharon...didn't...talk like...this... I heard the sound of couch leather rubbing against nylon. Sharon was moving closer

28

to me on the couch. She ran a hand up my thigh. Down then up again. Did she do this? She got her other hand and started doing the same to my other thigh. Does that feel good baby? Her voice was becoming huskier, she was lending it a seductive lilt I had never heard her use before. She reached for my zipper. My hands shooting out, I grabbed her wrists. Hard. What the hell are you doing? Isn't that what you want baby? To be treated like a porn star? I would be lying to you if I said that I wasn't turned on. Somehow managing to wriggle her wrists free from my grip she again went for my zipper. And this time, as much as I hated myself for it even then, I let her... When it was all over (after both times) we lay on the carpet of her living room; sweaty, out of breath and without a condom or a wrapper in sight. V

I don't think Ive ever had a more shameful walk of shame. Before or since. And trust me when I say that Ive made plenty of them. Hands stuffed into my pockets, laptop bag strap slung over one shoulder falling snugly across my chest. Every single time. As long as I can remember. Home was halfway across town but my feet didn't seem deterred, placing one in front of the other. Taxi's hooted at me, boda bodas zipped past me shouting Boss, we go. or Ssebo, tu kende. or something of the sort but I insistently ignored them all in favor of

29

scuffing and muddying up my favorite pair of sneakers in the name of clearing my head. As I put one foot in front of the other, lost in thought, I pulled out my right hand from my pocket and put fingers up to nostril. Sniffed. An odd thing to do at such a time I know, but what can I say? They still smelled of her, my fingers that is, my middle and my index if you want to get specific; my skin that grainy, dried sweat uncomfortable that served as a constant reminder that I would probably regret spreading my jelly all over her bread that one last time. Why? Well, because it was depressing and angry and weird and at some point she even cried. And oh yeah, did I mention weird? I mean, we ended up doing things that we would have never thought of doing when we were together. The kind of things that would have made it hard for me to look her in the eye afterwards. Sticking things in places that had no business being stuck with anything. Whether it was an act of desperation on her part or a savage release of my sexual inhibitions on mine, I'll never know. All I know is that when she had asked me whether I wanted to be treated like a porn star, the truth was I had. And so she did, treat me like as well as act like one. Deep breath...nerves calmed...mind blown. And as far as acts of desperation go, it almost worked too...almost. But almost has never won first place and so I had gotten up, dressed up and left her lying there, knees and elbows rug burned wondering whether everything she had just done, everything she had allowed me to do to her had been for naught. And if not for naught, then what for? Because I think that even then she must have realized that there was no going back, no amount of kinkiness was going to pull the veil back down over the pretension of our entire relationship. An hour and a half later and I was home.

30

I had worn ankle socks on high tops and so some how the sock of my right foot had slid halfway down the length of my foot causing my sneaker to abrade my ankle. Painful shit. By the time I got home I was limping. Hobbling into the house, I stripped down and climbed into the shower. Water had never felt so good. Soap never so heavenly. I scrubbed myself and switched between scalding hot and icy cold enough times to leave my skin numb and tingly. To the point that rubbing myself down with my stiff towel actually hurt. Boxers...vest...vodka...ice. Glass in one hand, I set down the half empty bottle Smirnoff triple distilled on the coffee table and plopped down in front of the TV. Richard wasn't home yet, thank God. I really didn't feel like talking. And God knows that when Richard got home he would want to. He was that type of room mate. Hopefully I would be too far faded by that time to give a damn. Scrambling for the DVD remote I pressed play; Entourage was in. The first season from the looks of it. I had watched it so many times that I could literally act out every episode line for line by myself. And so I zoned out. Five minutes, ten minutes, fifteen minutes and then...as the closing credits began to roll... Shit. My jaw became slack. I clutched my glass extra tight so that I wouldn't drop it. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. I counted back three months. 92 days or whatever. Where had we been? What had we been doing? Had she gotten the injection yet? Or were we still going through those

31

packets of threes by the box full? I threw back my drink. Emptied my glass. Which probably wasn't a very productive thing for me to do considering the task at hand. And which injection is this, you ask? You kid...right? Come on you know, the one that makes baby making baby free. Snap, snap, snap...Depo-Provera. Yeah, that's it. Depo-Fucking-Provera. But wait, even if her 12 weeks were up, didn't it take over a year for a woman to regain full fertility? I tried to think. Tried to remember but my mind was a blank. Shit. Leaning forwards, I grabbed the bottle of vodka and poured myself another drink. This one stiff. I held up the glass as if I was making a toast. So here's to hoping I didn't just make myself a baby daddy. I mumbled to myself and setting down the glass, I upended the bottle.

VI

...I'm not going to do it. I kneaded my forehead with the finger tips of my left hand. Sharon, listen- I'm not. She sounded adamant. I had never heard her this adamant before. About anything. Not even 32

with her no band, no bang rule. This was serious. I told you what happened the last time. I'm not going to put myself through that again. I rolled onto my side. I didn't feel all that good. My head was pounding, my mouth was dry, my throat felt raw, my joints were aching and every inch of my skin was dripping with sweat. I felt like I had malaria. Fucking vodka man. I knew I had too much. The 750ml bottle was empty by the time Richard had gotten home and I was babbling like an idiot. Not that I remember. Richard told me later, much later, when I told him about Sharon and everything that was going on. He had helped me with my jelly feet to my room and made sure that I fell onto my sturdy mattress and not face down on the floor. I was unconscious in moments. Didn't wake up until the following morning, the sun shining in my face, the sickening mixture of bile and vomit rising in my throat. Eyes snapping open I rolled over, hung my head over the edge of the bed and purged my stomach as best my body could. Lucky for the floor there was a red basin between it and a steady stream hot and steaming vomit. Richard man, he was that type of room mate. Once my stomach had stopped feeling like it was being wrung by a pair of herculean hands I rolled back over, wiped my mouth, my face and patted around for my phone. Finding it, squinting. I scrolled through my dialed numbers for Sharon's, found it, pressed call and put the phone up to my ear. Did some minute calculations as I waited for her to pick up. 7:00pm to 9:30ish am...that made about 14 hours...I sighed. Relief, muscles relaxed, flick sweat from brow...she still had plenty of time. Sharon picked up on like the sixth or seventh ring. Hello?

33

Her voice was hoarse, she sounded tired...she must have been crying. I tried to soften my voice as much as possible without coming off as pillow talky. Hey... Pause. I cleared my throat. My voice had come out a croak. Too much vodka, too much puking and not enough water. How was your night? I almost heard her hold back a scoff as she said, Ive had better Ben...what do you want? I...I... I shook my head; didn't know how to say it without coming off like a complete asshole. Please, that's never stopped you before... I cleared my throat again and told her. I wanted her to take a morning after pill. She still had a good 58hours or so on the clock before it officially turned into a situation. My ass hole alert went off but I kept on going. If she didn't have any, I could stop by a pharmacy and bring some over. What say she? Fuck you Ben. I'm not going to do it. And the truth was there was nothing that I could do or say that could convince her otherwise. Did I even remember what happened the last time? Before we had opted for the injection, we had tried the infamous morning after pill. Once, when in the peak of passion, with an empty box of protector condoms peeking out from underneath the bed, I had gone in raw. Had tried to pull out but Sharon had clung onto me saying,

34

No. I want you to come inside me. I want your seed inside of me. She had hooked her legs around me and raised her hips ensuring that I didn't go anywhere. We had gone out and gotten the pills the following morning. She had ended up in bed for two days afterwards. Vomiting, spitting and with one hell of a fever. The drugs, apparently, didn't agree with her... And I wanted to put her through that again? Hell to the no. Whatever happens, happens. I let out a long and worried sigh. Rubbed at my eyes. I had to get her to take that pill. I was not going to go with 'Whatever happens, happens.' Hell to the fucking no. Sharon- Ben. I've made my decision. It's my body and I'm not going to subject it to that. Now, if you have nothing else to say, I'm going to hang up now. She said nothing for a moment or three. She was waiting for me to say something. Sorry maybe? I don't know, but in any case, I kept my trap shut. Sharon sighed. She must have realized that I wasn't going to say anything. Good bye Ben. And she hung up. I stared at my phone for a moment or two. Let what had just happened sink in. Then leaning over the side of the bed, I puked again.

VII

35

So she didn't take the pill? I shook my head. Did something funny with my mouth. Crossed my arms across my chest. Nope. Shrugged, But I can't really blame her though. I Ran my ring finger around the rim of my glass. Vodka and tonic. My mother and I had migrated to the garden of her hotel after our waitress (if I can even call her that, it wasn't that type of restaurant) told us that if were weren't going to order anything else we would have to give up the table. My mother wasn't in the mood to cause and neither was I, and so we had left. My mother shrugged as well. I guess so. My mother was drinking African tea with spices. She wasn't much of a drinker, in fact she never drank anything stronger than wine and even that on rare occasions and even though it was already past five by this time had looked at me with a queer look when I had ordered my drink. Had said nothing though. She was a firm believer in letting people live their lives and her son was no exception. Which meant that I had gotten myself into quite a number of scrapes over the years. She was always there to bail me out though. With a kind word in one hand and a how could you be so stupid slap in the other. My mother glanced up at the sky; it was being moody. Mumbling and threatening bad things but I much preferred the nip and the wind to the stuffiness of the hotel lounge. My mother had her cuppa and a shawl wrapped around her shoulders so she was fine but I told

36

her that whenever she felt the weather turned too nasty we could go inside. She shook her head. No, I'm good for now. So...when did you find out that she was-- Pregnant? I interrupted. A few weeks. Maybe a month, maybe more. I was in Arua at the time, you remember? My mother nodded. So yeah, it was around that time. She kept on calling me and asking me when I was going to come back, that we needed to talk. I didn't realize at the time how urgent it was but I made a weekend trip down at some point and we had dinner. Where? Is that really important Mom? Just...indulge me Ben. I shrugged. Fine. At her place. You didn't-- No Mom. I interrupted before my mother could say it. Took a sip of my drink. I didn't. We just talked...

***

I set down my plate. Sat back in the couch. The black leather one that I thought I would never sit in again.

37

That was, that was delicious. And it had been. It was just the two of us but Sharon had cooked a feast. Had insisted on me having two helpings. I. Was. Full. Are you sure you don't want any more? I waved away her offer. No, no, no, no, no. If I ate anymore I probably wont be able to fit into my shoes. But thanx. A doggy bag maybe? You know how us bachelor's be. Sharon smiled, if only briefly. How's Richard by the way? You know him, busy still not getting laid. The smile began to creep back across Sharon's lips. And how about you, are you getting laid? She meant it as a joke but it came out as anything but. It was still too soon and both of us knew it. Most. Awkward. Silence. Ever. Sharon cleared her throat. Wine? Please. Picking up my twice scraped clean plate, Sharon headed to the kitchen. She was back a moment or two later with a glass of red wine in one hand and a glass of water in the other. She handed me the wine. What? You're not having any? Sharon shook her head. Took a sip of her water. I'm off liquor for a while.

38

I coaxed a laugh out of myself. One of those nervous, vain attempt at trying to keep my mounting panic at bay kind of laugh. Why? Are you pregnant or something? I had meant it as a joke but it had come out as anything but. Actually Ben, I am. Thats why Ive wanted to see you. Youre going to be a father. New. Most. Awkward. Silence. Ever. Leaning forwards, I carefully placed my glass of wine on the small side table. Leaned back again. Are you sure? Sharon's head jerked back as if she had been punched. How could you even say that? You know Ive only slept with you. No, no, no. I didn't mean it like that. I didn't mean it like 'are you sure that it's mine?' I meant it like 'are you sure that you're pregnant at all'. Sharon took a moment to digest this. She closed her eyes for a moment then opened them. I am. I went to my doctor and everything. It's for real. My breath began to come in short and shallow bursts. She was pregnant. She was fucking pregnant. For a moment, for a split second I wanted to lash out at her. I told her, I told her, I told her to take the fucking pill. Her with her whatever happens, happens. bullshit. Now see what had happened...but I didn't. Took a moment to imagine what she must be going through. It was a pretty messed up situation. But I'm not expecting you to do anything. Sharon said, cutting into my thoughts. I abdicate you from any and all responsibility. My voice was low when I said,

39

That's not your decision to make. You don't have to pretend to be the good guy Ben. I know you want nothing to do with me. I'm giving you a way out. Take it. I scoffed. You think I'm trying to be the good guy Sharon? Because I'm not. And you know what? You're right, you're absolutely right, I don't want anything to do with you but there is no way I'm going to walk away from that child. And if you think I'm going to do so willingly, you've got another thing coming. By this time I was perched on the edge of the couch and my voice was just a few decibels below shouting. You. Broke. Up. With. Me. Then you fucked me. On the floor. Like I was nothing more than a common whore. Sharon had moved from her seat and was standing above me. She was fuming. More than a little intimidating. I stood up. Matched her height and then some. Looked down at her. Why are you surprised Sharon? You were acting like one after all. There was a pause. Neither of us said a thing. Glared at each other. I couldn't even hear us breathing. It was like time had simply stopped. Suddenly I regretted what I had said. Was about to try and take it back when, Slap! Time began to move again.

VIII

40

I stared at the ultrasound. Tried my best to process what my eyes were seeing. What the ultrasound operator lady was pointing out for me to see. Twins. We were going to have twins...shit. I felt Sharon's squeeze of the hand and managed to tear my eyes away from the screen. I looked down at her half sitting, half reclining on the examination table. You okay? I nodded. But I wasn't. Not that I was going to tell her that though. Because looking down at her it was obvious that she was more than just OK, she was ecstatic. Hell, she could barely hide her smile. Sharon had always wanted twins. Had talked about it on a number of occasions. A boy and a girl. Maybe Blake and Blair or Kanye and Kenya or-Would you guys like to know the sexes of the twins? The woman working the ultrasound asked. Sharon gave an almost imperceptible nod. Of course she did but she would let me decide. And that was the thing, did I? I thought about it for a moment. Well, it would make for easier planning. Easier planning my ass, a part of me grumbled. It's fucking twins man. Not one but two babies. Everything that you thought you were going to have to endure, you now have to endure times two. It's not too late to back out you know... Hey...hey. Sharon squeezed my hand again. Her expression was one of concern. I know its a lot. If you would rather not know-- I shook my head. No, no. I want to know,

41

Turned to the operator lady who was patiently waiting. Tell us, we want to know. Are you sure? We both nodded our ascent. OK then. Just give me a moment, the operator said while moving the ultrasound probe across the gelled surface of Sharon's stomach and watching the screen. Ah, there you go. she said and paused with her roving. She then pointed at the images on the screen. Looks like you've got yourself one of each. A boy and a girl. Congratulations. I looked down at Sharon. She was beaming. One of each. Just like she wanted.

***

A little more than two months had passed and I still hadn't told anybody. Nobody particularly close to me anyway. Certainly not family. I was still figuring out how to. Our family has produced more love children than I care to count and I wasn't sure I had the stones to drop the bomb of knowledge of yet another one. Plus Sharon had asked me not to. Not until she had garnered up the courage to tell her people first. Or the courage to see the pregnancy through to the end. Because although she said abortion was not an option, I know she had at least thought about it. Sharon had left the announcing until the last moment, when her baby bump had started to show. Then she had no choice. People were bound to notice, if they hadn't already. I had wanted to be there for that conversation but she had insisted that she could

42

handle it. We weren't together and so it would be kind of weird if I was there. Even if we're not, I'm still going to be a part of this baby's life. My presence there would go a long way to show that I'm a 100% dedicated to that. And for a moment Sharon had looked like she was considering it but then blinkblink breathe and her resolve had hardened again. No, Ive got this. Personally I think that she partly refused because though my presence would show my intentions to do the right thing it would also serve as a reminder of the car wreck that was our engagement. No, she would handle it herself. And so she had. Said that people at home were more disappointed than angry, with her anyway, but just plain angry at me. And why hadn't I turned up? I was claiming I was going to be there for Sharon and the baby and yet I didn't even have the balls to be there when Sharon was telling her family? I sure had a funny way of showing my dedication. I gave Sharon my best I told you so look but had said nothing. But I had tried to be as consistent as I could. Making doctor's appointments and showing up for check ups and the such like (thank God for insurance). And although it was highly unlikely that Sharon and I would ever get back together (undeniable sparks and all), we had managed to strike up an at least amiable friendship. And that was after a lot of pushing on my side. A lot of apologies as well. It had taken forever for Sharon to even accept the help that she not only needed but deserved. But like they say Persistence pays and after what seemed like ages it finally felt like we were on the same page.

***

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Sharon and I walked out of the hospital and into the chill. The clouds were promising rain and the wind nipped at my ears. Sharon reached for my hand. I let her take it. She was a hand holder, always had been. Even before we had started dating. She had said as much herself. So me letting her take it wasn't sending out mixed signals...was it? At least I didn't think it was. We walked across the parking lot towards the special hire taxis. Thanx for coming today. It means a lot. She squeezed my hand. I squeezed back. You don't have to thank me. Yes I do. You don't have to be doing this. A lot of guys wouldn't be. But I am. And that's not about to change. So you better get used to it 'cause I'm in this for the long haul. Sharon smiled. Was silent for a moment and then, Do you want to go grab a cup of coffee or something? Hang out for a bit? I thought you weren't supposed to drink coffee. 'Or something' then. I smiled. Apologetically. I cant. I have a meeting to get to. Rain check though? Sharon nodded. Slipped her hand out from mine. Yeah, sure. I was stupid to think-- How about dinner tonight? We'll go somewhere nice, talk. A faint smile kissed her lips. I would like that.

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I'll call you? Yeah. And with that I bargained for her a 'specio', gave the man the money, gave Sharon a hug, one more I'll call you and watched, hands in pocket, as the taxi drove away.

IX

I threw back the covers. Jumped out of bed. Stumbled, still half drunk on sleep across the room to my desk where my phone was charging. It was gargling its spacey sequence of bells and whistles and as I pulled out the charging pin, I pressed the 'answer' button and put the phone up to my ear. It was Sharon. Hello? Why aren't you answering your phone? But it wasn't Sharon. At least it didn't sound like her. I pulled the phone from my ear and checked the caller ID. It said Sharon all right. I furrowed my eye brows. Lifted the phone back up to my ear. Hello? Sharons in the hospital. She's been trying to call you-- we've been trying to call you for almost two hours. Why the hell aren't you answering your phone? The woman pregnant with your children tries to call you in the middle of the night and it doesn't occur

45

to you that there might be something wrong? And then click-- everything slid into placemade absolute sense...shit. Whats happened? Is she okay? Are the babies OK? Where are you? It was Sharon's sister Beverly on the phone. The one who had given me hell since day one. The one who had always, always suspected from the very beginning that I was up to no good. The one who had tried to come onto me that one time when I had run into her at some wigged out house party while Sharon had been tucked in safe and sound at home. Nothing had happened of course and so I hadn't seen any reason to mention the little incident to Sharon...Beverly had though and had put her own spin on it too. It took me forever and a day to convince Sharon that I didn't do anything. Needless to say, I didn't like the chick. We're at Hale, ward 3H. You better hurry. And I swear, I swear to God that if she loses those babies Ben, its going to be on you. Beverly, what happened? She woke up bleeding, tried to call you, couldn't get through to you and so she called me. Rachel and I picked her up and brought her here. Rachel was her live in girlfriend. Don't ask 'cause I don't know. I let what Beverly said sink in. I'll be there soon. I hung up and in a whirlwind pulled on a pair of jeans, threw on a shirt and grabbed a jacket. I was more than a hundred steps from the house before I realized that I was still in my slippers. Dashing back I slid my feet into a pair of African sandals. Dashed back out. Covering my ear with my phone I called my midnight boda guy, Joze.

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He picked up on the fourth ring. Wanji? Are you working? Yes boss. Where are you? At the stage. You come down towards home, I'm walking up. Okay boss, let me come. I heard the motorcycle engine roar to life in the back ground and then beep-beepbeep the connection was cut and he was gone. Stuffing my phone into my pocket, I quickened my pace.

***

Jumping off the boda, I walked across the parking lot, up the ramp leading up to the entrance, through the automatic doors and up to the reception desk. I hate hospitals. Try my best to avoid them as much as humanly possible. But then Ive never really met anyone who actually does like them. Not even doctors. Heck, most especially not doctors. How anybody can stand the antiseptic smell that clung relentlessly to your clothes and the stench of sickness and decay that the antiseptic was supposed to mask that mercilessly dug its way up your nose, slid down your throat, nauseating you and bubbling bile in your stomach I have no idea.

47

Yeah, I most definitely hated hospitals. I tapped on the counter, Excuse me, The receptionist looked up from her computer, registered my presence, her eyes widening in recognition. Ben. I forced a grim smile. Flavia. I had forgotten that she was working nights. What happened, Ben? You never called me back. Wait, lemme guess, you lost your phone and my number along with it, right? I sucked in some air; I didn't have time for this. I needed to get up to Sharon, to the babies. And they werent just the babies anymore. We had decided to name them Blake and Blair. Blake for the boy and Blair for the girl. What if they weren't okay? What if Sharon lost them? Up to that point I hadn't allowed myself to think about it. The possibilities scared me. But even more than the possibilities, the fact that I secretly hoped that she did lose the babies. That she would bleed them out and would be left hollow, void and empty. And me wishing for that horrified me. What kind of person hoped for something like that? Was I really that selfish and callous? And the sad thing was; deep, deep down I knew the answer was Yes.. Where's Ward 3H? Silence...and then,

48

You're seriously not going to talk to me? I let out an exasperated sigh. Tried to keep calm. I'm kind of in a hurry Flavia. Can we talk about this later? Flavia eyed me and I could tell that in that moment that if she had a gun she would have shot me dead. Executioner style. One in the back in the head, rolled me over and then two in the heart. Flavia let out a sigh of resignation. Take the elevator to the third floor. Once you're out, turn right and go all the way to the end of the hall. It's on your right. I turned to go. Is she your girlfriend? I stopped. Turned back to face her. What? The girl in 3H, Flavia said, is she your girlfriend? I stared at her. It's a small hospital Ben. I blinked. Blinked again. Swallowed. Set my jaw. Good night Flavia. I said and without another look, walked over to the bank of elevators.

***

Ding! The elevator doors slid back in on themselves and I stepped out of the

49

elevator, right foot first. As per Flavias directions I turned right and walked down the hall. The smell of bleach and antiseptic was unbearably strong up here. Probably because more people died up here, I mused morbidly. Clamping my hand over my nose and my mouth I sneezed once, twice, three times. Pulling out my hankie, I wiped my hand then my nose. The corridor was deserted. Florescent light tubes lined the ceiling making the corridor stark and white and ugly. As I continued to walk, sniffling every moment or so I read the plaques on the doors; D...E...F...G...H... I stopped in front of the door. Took a deep breath, sneezed, wiped my nose and shoved my hankie into my back pocket. The handle was one of those flat types that you pushed down on. And no, not one of those ornate ones that you see sometimes. It was plain and ugly. Much like the rest of the hospital. Sticking out a shaky hand, I gripped it. I took another deep breath and then pushing down on the handle, I opened the door. Five sets of eyes turned to look at me as I stood in the doorway holding open the door. Beverly, who looked none too happy to see me, Rachel whose expression mirrored her girlfriend's, Sharon's other sister Christine, some guy that I didn't know...and Patricia. Patricia who I hadn't seen in months. Patricia who had ended her friendship with Sharon the moment she found out that she and I were dating. Patricia who when she had found out that Sharon and I had split had invited me over to her new place in a text saying, Just moved in, super lonely, come over and let's get crazy. What the hell was she doing there? I had obviously walked in on a conversation but none of them said anything now. I looked around the room. It was a small one with three beds. Each one separated

50

by cheap looking, aqua colored curtains which at the moment were pulled back. Two of the three beds were patientless and the five visitors had made themselves at home on them. Spreading out themselves, their bags, jackets, shawls and other personal paraphernalia. I glanced over at the one occupied bed. Sharon appeared to be sleeping. She didn't look well. An sickly pallor coated her skin, her mouth was turned downwards and her eyebrows were furrowed. I nodded in her direction, How is she? I made sure to moderate my volume so as not to wake her. Everyone exchanged glances. Let me talk to you outside. Beverly said standing up. She brushed past me, Come on. I did a quick examination of the others to see if I could get a clue as to what was going on but all I got was a wall of poker faces. This is bad, I told myself. Very, very bad. I turned; let the door close behind me. Walked over to Beverly who was waiting a few paces down the hall. What's going on? I asked, folding my arms across my chest. For once, Beverly seemed to be at a loss for words. She swallowed, paced a little, stopped, rubbed her hands on the thighs of her jeans-Just spit it out Beverly. She stood up straight. Licked her lips.

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Fine. Her voice was stone. Sharon lost the babies. We got to her too late. Her voice cracked. She doesn't know. Involuntarily, my hands went up to my face and cupped my nose and mouth. I could hear my breath coming ragged. My legs felt like jelly. I leaned my back against the wall. If you had picked up your phone, maybe the babies would have had a chance. I was so far inside myself that I barely registered what she said. And Sharon doesn't know? Beverly gave me a small shove. Did you hear me Ben? Her voice was rising. This is your fault. She tried to call you for half an hour while trying to stop the bleeding herself. In which time she could have been here and those babies would still be alive and my sister would not be lying in that bed in there, Beverly pointed towards the room, Half bled to death. Still in shock, still trying to process, combined with the fact that it was almost 3 o'clock in the morning and I was tired as fuck, I was not in the mood to argue with her. So instead and with much effort I stood up straight and said, I need to see her. Beverly grabbed my arm. No you don't. And you wont.

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She gripped my arm even harder, moving closer to me. What you're going to do Ben, is turn around and leave and let me deal with this. Ive never wanted to hit a woman so much in my life. I swallowed. Unclenched my fists that had somehow clenched themselves without me noticing. I decided to try and be diplomatic. Beverly, come on. She's my-- Your what? Beverly interrupted. Your what Ben? Tell me, what is she to you exactly? A human incubator? An expired sex slave maybe? I felt my hands slowly begin to clench themselves again. Because that's exactly how you treated her. Beverly gave me a leery smile. You want to hit me don't you? You do, I can see it, She jutted out her chin. Go ahead, do it. I dare you. I glared at her. She glared back...I was the first to give. Wrenching my arm from her grip, I pushed past her, went down the hall, banged through the door leading to the stairs, took them all the way down to the reception and skulked out of the hospital.

***

And so you just left? I could tell that my mother didnt want to believe that.

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I shook my head. What else could I do? I wasnt about to get into a fist fight with her. The sky had cleared. It was still chilly but there was no sign of rain and so my mother and I had stayed in the hotel garden. I think you still should have tried. I took a sip of my third vodka and tonic. I was starting to feel the punch and hoped to God that I would be able to walk straight when it was time to go. Tipsy was one state I didnt want my mom to see me in. Maybe I should get some water, I pondered to myself. But instead of giving it any serious thought I said, I did try to call her though. Day and night for about three days. Finally I just decided to go over. I practically had to fight my way through the door, Beverly and Rachel were taking turns playing watch dog. And with good reason to. When I finally got to her I found out that Beverly had managed to convince Sharon that the night she had the miscarriage Beverly had finally managed to get through to me, I had said that I would come but then never did. And seeing as Sharon had already put partial blame on me for the miscarriage, it was not that far of a stretch for her to believe that I had not turned up at all. My mother poured the last of the tea into her cup from the small aluminum kettle, tore open a small sachet of sugar, poured it in and stirred. How did she look? She took a sip of her tea. Added another sachet of sugar. Not good. She looked like she had aged by about five years. And she was sad. Like unbelievably so.

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I can only imagine. Did she believe you when you told her that you had gone to the hospital? And that Beverly had blatantly refused you to see her? Even though she really had no such right. I shrugged. Right then? Maybe. I dont know. And even if she did, Sharon was in no condition to go at it with her sister. She did call me sometime after wards though, to apologize for her sisters behavior. So at some point I guess she did. Have you seen her since? I set my jaw. Lowered my gaze. Took a sip of my drink. The answer to that question was something I was kind of ashamed of. No. I said shaking my head. But I do try to call her from time to time. Find out how shes doing. My mother nodded. She got it. Got why I would not want to go out of my way to see Sharon. With everything that had gone on between us, it was bound to be hard. How is she? I took a moment to think about that. Coping. I said thoughtfully. As best she can I guess. I could feel my mothers eyes probing as she asked, And how about you? How are you doing? I took a sip of my drink. Me? Im fine. My mother pointed. That nice looking ring on your finger seems to think that youre lying.

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I looked down at my hand. So it was back to the ring then. Things had come full circle. I wear it as a reminder. I told her. Well youve told her everything else, I reasoned with myself, you might as well tell her this. And now you know what of. My mother nodded. Didnt say anything for a moment. It was a lot to digest, I know. She took a couple of small sips from her cup, and then setting the cup down on its saucer she pushed it away from her. She glanced at her watch. Its getting late Ben, how about you walk me to my room? My smile was faint. That was my cue. Yeah, sure. We got up from the table. Wait, what about the bill? My mother waved away my question. Theyll add it to my room bill. Now come on. Walking over to me my mother took me by the hand. It had been ages since she had done that. She gave my hand a squeeze. It was her way of saying that she got it, she was sorry and that everything would be okay. She knew that no amount of words could say it better than that. Giving her hand a squeeze of my own that said, Thank you, I love you and that youre the best Mom in the world. I walked her back to her room.

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The N Word (N-I-Double-Guh-Errrr)

People kept asking me whether I was ok. Patting me on the head, patting me on the shoulder, grabbing at my hand, smoothing down my shirt-- people just wouldnt stop touching me. A little annoying? You best believe it. Heck, try mucho annoying. Even more annoying though was the fact that I was ok. Sure, my elbows felt a little raw but it was a couple of skinned elbows. I wasnt about to cry over that. That would be wussy. And if theres one thing that an increasingly self-conscious twelve-year old boy cant stand, its being called a wussy. Or a wimp. Or, when no teachers are around, a bitch. Those kinds of things followed you. And with junior high just around the corner, the last thing I wanted to be known as was a bitch. What I didnt quite understand though, was why everyone was so concerned in the first place. It was just a word. I mean even Mr. Grimm, the assistant principle, came to make sure I was still in one piece. He even went as far as bringing the school councilor, Mr. Binder, along with him. I was fine. Really. After a while though, all of their prodding and walking on eggshell cautiousness got me thinking that maybe I shouldnt be feeling ok. That maybe there was supposed be something wrong with me. Sitting in Mr. Grimms office, the toupeed principal asked me to tell him what happened one last time. Knowing there was no getting out of it, I shrugged and did as I was told.

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***

It was recess and we were playing ball. Half court. Three on three. It was me, Chris Kickline and Shawn Rooney against Shawn Nagy, Nigel Balmat and David Budinas. Budinas had just made an easy lay up making the score 19-17, us. With only a few minutes left before the bell rang. For some reason the game had drawn a crowd and every time a basket was made, a shot blocked, a ball bricked or an ankle burnt there would be a shout, a cheer, a boo, an awww or a holla from the sidelines. I checked Budinas the ball. He bounced the ball once, twice then made a break for the basket. I Cut him off and made a swipe for the ball. Anticipating the cuff Budinas crossed and my hand hit nothing but air. Before I could recover he crossed again, turned his back to me and passed the ball to Shawn Nagy. As soon as the ball left his hands Budinas made a dash for the baseline. The ball reached him before I did. 19-up. It was Make it take It. and so I was graced with the task of checking Budinas the ball again. BRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIINNGGGGG! That was the warning bell. Two minutes. Just enough time for one more play. I was poised and ready for him. He wasnt going to get past me this time. Instead of running the play though, Budinas passed the ball to Nigel Balmat and zigzagged his way up the key toward the basket. I was on him like glue. Ball! Budinas shouted holding up one hand. Balmat lobbed it in his direction. I

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waited until Budinas went up for the lay up before I made my move. We left the ground at the same time. Raised our arms at the same time. Our bodies brushed and then SLAP! My palm made contact with the ball, sending it flying across the court. A roar ripped through the crowd. People went crazy. Before my feet could hit the ground though I felt a beefy hand grab a fistful of my shirt and tug, sending me sprawling onto the asphalt. There have been various versions as to what David Budinas actually said after he threw me to the ground but in every single one of them it is agreed that whatever he did say, it had ended with a loud and resounding, Niggerrrr! It was at this word that the entire court became silent. No body moved. No body said a word and then, BRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIINNGGGGG! Recess was over.

***

Can I go now? I shifted in my chair uncomfortably. In trouble or not, being in the Principles office made me a little anxious. Plus I was missing English. We were supposed to get our short

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stories back; I was dying to see what I got. I just need to make sure that youre okay Ben. That this little incident will stay exactly that, little. Im fine Principal Grimm. I held up my elbows, Ive got band aids. I just hope you understand that we do not, under any circumstances, condone the use of the N word here. It is deplorable and we will certainly have a word with Mr. Budinas parents. Honestly Mr. Grimm, I dont care about Budinas. Hes beefcake and a bully. And the N word? As my mom says, were African, not African American. Our Ancestors were not slaves and so that word has no power over us. Its not the first time Ive been called a nigger Mr. Grimm. And it wont be the last. You have nothing to worry about. Now can I go? Nodding, Mr. Grimm wrote me a note to explain my tardiness and sent me back to class. I found my story face down on my desk. Needless to say, I did pretty damn well.

No Pickles, Tomatoes or Mayonnaise

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He ordered a burger and fries. A large vanilla milkshake as well. Extra thick. And a water. The water for before the food came (it was a hot day out and he had done quite a bit of walking along Kampala road) and the shake for once the food did come. And yeah, the burger shouldnt have any tomatoes or pickles either. Or mayonnaise. Ben hated mayonnaise. So no mayonnaise. And oh, extra ketchup as well. You got all that? The waiter nodded. Yes sir. If its not too much trouble could you please repeat my order back to me. Ben didnt like looking like an asshole but he had experienced one too many wrong orders to be nice. He was just being thorough. Thats all. The waiter shifted his weight from one foot to the other. One burger and fries. No tomatoes, pickles or mayonnaise. One water which you want right now and an extra thick vanilla shake that I should only bring with the food. And oh, extra ketchup as well. Sir. Obviously more than a little annoyed with being treated like an idiot with an IQ of 2, the waiter flipped closed his small notebook and walked off. Ben smiled. He found it amusing that anyone would call him Sir. Why? Because he was only fifteen of course. And a thirteen looking fifteen at that. Rod thin, pimple faced with a voice that the boys at school constantly liked to tease him was still girly. Ben didnt really mind the teasing though. Girls still seemed to like him and at fifteen, thats all that really mattered. At least to this fifteen year old anyway. The waiter returned with Bens bottle of water. Cold and sweating. Setting the

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bottle down in front of Ben the waiter removed the plastic seal, unscrewed the top and poured half of the bottles contents into a glass. Thank you. Ben said after the waiter was done. Youre welcome sir. Uhso how long is the food going to take? About twenty minutes sir. Thats not too bad. Ok, thanx. Nodding, the waiter gave Ben a slight bow and moved on to another table. Ben took an absent-minded sip from the frosted glass in front of him. Swirled the cold water around his mouth before swallowing it. Twenty minutes. Ben thought. I wonder if hell be here by then. But then again he did say he would be here twenty minutes ago. Ben had been purposely late in the hopes that he would find him already there. It would put him in the power position. Something Ben had read in a management book he had found on his mothers bookshelf. He wanted so desperately to have a handle of this situation. He would be lying if he said that he didnt feel like he was way out of his depth. This was kind of a big deal. His Mom of course, had thought that it was a pretty ill conceived idea but hadnt tried to stop Ben from going. She had just told him to be careful, not to expect too much and for goodness sake, in fact for her sake, try not to seem so damn needy. But hes my dad, Mom. No hes notI am. Hes a sperm donor. And it would be good of you to remember that.

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Bens Mom said this while counting out two twenty thousand shilling notes. Where are you meeting him again? Dominoes. Theyre now opposite Nandos right? Uh-huh. I preferred the old place. It was a lot more comfy. She counted out two more twenty thousand shilling notes. And try not to spend it all at once, ok? Ok, Mom. And certainly dont give any to youre father. Mom! Im just saying. Bens Mom handed over the money. Ben took another sip of his water. Took off his navy blue NY fitted baseball cap and placed it on the tabletop next to a small white plastic bag. Bending over, Ben wiped his forehead and the sweat along his hairline with his shirttail. Did his Mom really think that his father would really try to bum some cash off of his fifteen-year-old son? The one that he hadnt seen in over ten years? Well, if she did then she certainly thought very little of him. Ben new his Mom was a pretty sensible woman. And if she thought so little of him then maybe there really wasnt very much to think of him. And if that was the case, then what the hell was Ben doing there? For a split second Ben thought of boltingbut only for a second. Get it together, he told himself. Hes youre father and he wants to see you. You

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owe him at the very least the chance to say whatever he has to say. So sit tight and find something to occupy your mind. Ben usually carried a book with him wherever he went but for some reason that day he didnt. And he was reading a pretty good one too. Something called The Golden Key. It was a thick epic of a book having to do with paintings and sorcerers and rituals to keep one young forever. It quite reminded him of The picture of Dorian Grey actually. But the thing was, he hadnt carried it and so was quite the useless distraction at that moment. I know, Ben said to himself and reached for the small white plastic bag that sat next to his baseball cap. It had the words Music Land in blue emboldened on it. Even though his mother had told him not to use all the money in one go, Ben couldnt stop himself from buying at least one CD. Jay-Zs Critically Acclaimed album The Blueprint. Whatever Critically Acclaimed meant anyway. Ben removed the CD from the plastic bag. Briefly looked at the picture on the front (a suited Shawn Carter sitting on the edge of a huge executive office desk with a cigar in his mouth) but quickly turned it over in favor of reading the track listing on the back. Thats what interested Ben the most. And thats what really mattered when it came to a CD cover, isnt it? That and the pull out booklet with all the lyrics and production credits and thank yous and stuff. Ben started going through the song titles. 1. 2. 3. 4. The Rulers Back Takeover Izzo (H.O.V.A) Girls, Girls, Girls--

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Benjamin? Ben looked up from the cover. May I sit down? For a moment Ben considered saying no. Considered getting up and walking away. Considered throwing the CD at the mans head. Ben, however, did none of these things. Instead he wordlessly nodded. Gesturing at the chair across from him. The man sat. It was like looking through a wrinkle in time. Like looking into some cosmic mirror that could show you the future. Sitting across from Ben was what he would look like in thirty years. Give or take a few years. Sitting across from him was his father.

***

Bens father was in no way a tall man. Five foot six maybe five foot seven. At fifteen Ben was already taller than him. An awkward and gawky five foot eleven. Especially as skinny as he was. Ben was glad he was already sitting when his father arrived. Bens father was neither fat nor was he even particularly over weight. He merely looked like he ate well. Like he had for a very long time and the food was finally beginning to make its way to his stomach, his cheeks and his thighs. He was dressed in khaki slacks and a white linen button down that was open at the neck revealing a thin silver chain and a peak of chest hair. Peter, that was his name and Ben was planning on calling him by it, took out a hankie and mopped his face.

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It really is hot out there, isnt it? It really is. Im not used to this weather where I live, you know. Right now its the dead of winter. And although the heat is somewhat of a relief its also somewhat of a bother. Peter stuffed his hankie back into his pocket. Have you ordered yet? Wheres a waiter? Peter raised his hand to get the attention of one of the waiters. Helloooo? Can we have some service over here? Then to Ben, Personally, I dont think Ill ever get used to how poor the service is here. And by here I mean Uganda of course. You would get fired and then shot in London if you were a waiter and acted the way they do here. Its appalling, really. I suppose youve gotten used to it since youre move back from America, ay? Nah, not really. Ben answered trying his best to discreetly sneak the Jay-Z CD back into its plastic bag. I actually have to make the waiters or waitresses repeat my order back to me just make sure that they actually get it right. Good man. I do the same thing, even in England. People, though, say that I tend to order in a peculiar way. No this and no that, more of this and more of that. But I say that, if its my bloody food, why not have it the way that I like, you know? God he must be nervous, Ben thought. Otherwise he wouldnt be talking so much. And if he does talk like that like all the time, then thank God he didnt pass that along to

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me. I would be annoying as hell. The same waiter who had taken Bens order before walked up to the table, scattering Bens thoughts. Good afternoon sir. How are you? Im very well, thank you. Now, Peter took a moment to read the waiters nametag, Now Peterho, how about that? My name is Peter as well. Nice to meet you. Anyway, is it possible for us to have a couple of menus Peter? Wait, Ben, did you say that you had ordered already? I didnt say, but I have. In that case then, Peter just get me whatever my son is having. That would be lovely. Ben felt his heart give a little leap at Peter calling him his son. Ben didnt want that, no, not one bit but what could he do? The man was his father. Whether what or what. And to drink sir? Water, like my son. Jeez, there it goes again. I really have to get a hold of this, Ben told himself. This was not good. At all. Anything else sir? No, that will be all. Ok sir. Peter the waiter began to move away. Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait.

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That was Ben. Yes sir? Hold my food and bring it together with his, okay? The waiter nodded, Yes sir. and moved off. So Ben, what did you order for exactly? Ben chuckled. Not worried are you? No, more curious than worried. Well, maybe a little worried. But just a little. I ordered a burger with fries and an extra thick vanilla milk shake. Oh no. What? No pickles or tomatoes or mayonnaise I hope. Or is that too much to hope for? Although saying it, I do realize it probably is. Oh dear, is there anyway to get the waiter back here? Ben smiled. More than smiled actually. He beamed. You can relax Dad. Wait, did he just say that? Did he just call Peter Dad? He did. He did. And although on some level Ben knew that it probably wasnt a good idea (or was that just his Mom talking) he couldnt help but feel good about it. I dont eat tomatoes or pickles or mayonnaise either. This time it was Peters turn to smile. More than smile actually, to beam. Reaching over, Peter patted Ben on the knee. Good man.

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And in those two words, as normal and mundane as they were; Peter, Bens father, Bens Dad, said volumes.

The Garden

The tubes were gone. From his nose, from his mouth and from his arm. The catheter was still there, but that was to be expected. At least he was eating on his own again. Even if his diet did consist of only water, 69

soup and porridge. As I walked into the room, nudging the door with the tips of my fingers, then Holding it open for my mom, I found Aunt Betty patting him down with a towel. She was stimulating his muscles. "Physio-therapy" is what they called it. With each light pat came from him what I can best describe as a cross between a slight moan and a loud gravelly sigh. Pat..."Aaaah." Pat..."Aaaah." Pat..."Aaaah." Each time was like a needle in the arm and the feeling you get when the nurse misses the vein and has to try and find it again, and again and again. Unsettling as it was, I forced myself to watch, my eyes traveling from his haggard, unshaven face with the sunken eyes to his swollen, bed sored feet. "So this is what he has become." I announced to myself. "A wraith of the man, of the pillar of strength that had been the one constant in my life besides my mother since the day I was born." It was hard to believe and I guess that is partly why I stayed away for so long. Because I didn't want to believe it. I had wanted to believe that he would be okay, that everything would be just fine and I was afraid that seeing him like that, shrunken and dilapidated as he was, would crush all my hopes of conjuring up the miracle in my mind that I knew he deserved. But no matter, I was there now and not only because I had to, but because I wanted to. Because deep down I knew that this was the end for him and I felt I needed to say

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goodbye. Coming back to myself, back to the room, I found my mom standing at my grandfather's bedside. She had a hand on his shoulder and was talking to him, her voice raised, her words pronounced clearly so that he could hear her. He answered her lucidly, telling her how uncomfortable he was. He was tired of lying flat on his back. He wanted to sit up. "With no support." he had insisted. They tried propping him up with a couple of pillows but he still complained that he was feeling uncomfortable. My uncle Charles walking into the room, greeted us and then jumped right into asking us what was going on. He was the eldest son and in the eventuality of my grandfather's death Would take over as head of the family. He therefore automatically took charge of the situation. Suggesting a wheelchair, Uncle Charles sent one of the orderlies to go and get one. He then Went ahead to order us to hold my grandfather up right until the wheel chair arrived. When it did arrive, it took four of us, my uncle inclusive to maneuver him into the wheel chair. After positioning him as best as she could, covering his legs with first a leso and then a blanket, propping his back with a pillow, my mom asked my grandfather how that was. "Better," he said and said again,

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"Much better." "Good." She breathed. Then turning to me, "It's a beautiful day out, why don't you take him for a little walk? I'm sure he would enjoy that." I turned to look at my uncle Charles, as if asking for permission. "I think it's a great idea." He allowed, nodding his head and pulling at his beard. "I'll go with you. Come on, let's go." With my uncle Charles at the helm and I beside him, we wheeled my grandfather out of the room, down the hall and into the sunlight.

***

The garden was beautiful. Flush with reds and blues and yellows; fragrant from an expanse of well kept and much loved flowerbeds. It was around midday and the sun was high in the sky and although it was neither too hot nor too bright my uncle and I thought it wise to station my grandfather as well as ourselves beneath the shade of a large tree that had obviously seen the better part of a century. Breathing in the fresh air I watched my grandfather. I Wondered to myself what kind of affect the change of environment was having on him. "Ask him how he is." My uncle suddenly blurted out as if reading my mind.

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Walking over to him, I knelt besides my grandfather so that our eyes were level and my face filled his vision. "How are you doing Grandpa?" "Ben..." He said in recognition, trying to point at me. His voice was akin to throwing gravel into a running garbage disposal; his breathing labored. "Yes, it's Ben, Grandpa." I tried again, "How are you doing?" "Nice...very nice- out here." The effort of talking obviously tired him. My Grandfather had always been an eloquent talker and it pained me to see him reduced to such few words "Yes, it is nice," Uncle Charles offered, "Very nice." Several members of the staff came over and said hello, asking us how my grandfather was doing. "He's much better, thank you." Uncle Charles answered almost automatically to anyone who asked. After engaging in a few minutes of polite small talk, the members of staff wished us well, wished "Mzze" a quick recovery and went about their business. "I want to go home, my grandfather announced abruptly. His voice was clear, some of its roughness momentarily lost. It was so full of despair that I literally felt a shiver run down my spine. I'm still convinced up to this day that he was talking to neither me nor my uncle but to someone neither of us could seeHe was ready to go. My uncle making light of it, however, threw a smile in my direction. I was unable

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to return it. "You're going to be home very soon Daddy." He said. "Any day now. You must be tired of this place." "Yes...yes- very tired." My grandfather agreed emphatically. Uncle Charles chuckled. "Yes, very tired indeed." He repeated The same orderly who had brought us the wheel chair now came walking towards us across the grounds, a small cup in hand, a small plastic spoon protruding from it. "Good," my uncle said as the orderly approached. "Very good. He must be thirsty. Give him something to drink." Uncle Charles pointed at my grandfather as he said this. Nodding, the orderly squatted at my grandfather's side. He then went ahead to spoon some water into my grandfather's mouth. Each spoon produced the same sound as each pat of the towel had done earlier. Slurp..."Aaaah." Slurp..."Aaaah." Slurp..."Aaaah." When my grandfather refused to drink anymore the orderly stood up and suggested that maybe we take Mzze back inside. Uncle Charles seeing no reason to refute medical advice even if it was really nothing more than common sense readily agreed. We wheeled Grandfather back inside. The anti-septic smell and white plaster cleanliness of the hospital seeming even

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more oppressive after the brightness, splendor and flourish of the garden. We took him back to his room and with the help of a couple of nurses placed him between the sheets of his freshly made bed. The room had been cleaned and wiped down while we had been outside. He was asleep within moments. I could tell the outing had been good for him, as short as it had been. The lines in his face seemed a little less defined, his body a little more relaxed, his breathing a little less labored. It brought a small smile to my lips. Even if a sad one. One of the nurses, telling me that my grandfather needed his rest, made a move to usher me out of the room. Everyone else was in the adjoining ward the hospital had let the family use as a visitor's room. Telling her to give me a moment, I went and stood at my grandfather's side. The nurse, although granting me my request, hovered somewhere behind me, making sure I didn't disturb her patient. But I really didn't mind. Placing a hand gingerly on my grandfather's arm I said a silent prayer. Then telling him I would see him soon, I walked out of the room; my head bowed, sneakers squeaking quietly against the linoleum, my hands in my pocket. ***

That was the last time I saw my Grandfather alive. He passed away the very next day. I think about him every day. What would he have to say about the man that Im becoming. Because ever since I can remember, he is the man Ive always wanted to

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become.

House Of Balloons

PART I PATRICIA

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Im not beautiful. Probably never will be. I know that. And anyone who ever tries to tell me otherwise is a liar. Either trying to be emotionally supportive or (which is more often the case) trying to fuck me. And so when Ben told me that he thought that I was beautiful I scoffed and told him that no, I wasnt and would he please stop trying to flatter me? It wasnt going to work. Instead of answering though, Ben raised his camera and took my picture. Click. He carried that thing around everywhere. Took pictures of absolutely everything. Believed that life was too precious not to try and capture every moment possible. But if youre so busy trying to capture every moment of life possible, wont you miss out on actually living it? I remember asking him once. Instead of answering my question though, Ben simply raised his camera and took another picture. Click. The camera was a Nikon D1500. His pride and joy. He always bragged about how it was the single most expensive thing he owned. And at 2.3 million shillings that seemed kind of sad. Why? Because that meant no car, no house, nowell, you get what Im getting at. He didnt have that much money. And although I wouldnt say that Im a gold digger per se, the fact is, I dont have the patience, the financial freedom or the goodwill to be messin around wit no broke nigga But boy was he good looking. Ben, I mean. And charming. And not in the, I want to turn you into my human pretzel kind of way either. As cheesy as this may sound, there was something different about him. About the way he looked at me. When he did, it didnt feel like all her saw was ass and tits. Unlike most guys when they saw me, I was not an

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object to him. An opportunity to stay up all night trying out all the things he had always wanted to do but no other girl would let him do. I was not the three drinks past drunk girl in the scuffed and muddy heels and slutty dress who was always looking for the next drink and/or the next fuck. To him I was special. To him I was one of a kind. To him I was what he referred to as A good person. And to be quite honest; I didnt get it. Click. Ben, stop it. He lowered the camera. Stop what? You know I dont like having my picture taken. Well thats just too bad, Ben said raising the camera again. Because Jimmy loves taking it. Click. Jimmy is what he calls his camera. Yes, he named his camera. And yes, I know- a total geek, right? Now, I know God may not have blessed me with Megan Good lips or Mila Kunis eyes but he did bless me with a lot of style, a whole lot of charm and one hell of a body. All curves, thick thighs and things poking out in all the right places. Marco had once put it; one hand on my ass while the other was busy trying to find its way up under my blouse. Marco is my ex-boyfriend by the way. He was Italian. Well, I guess he still is considering hes not pushing up daisies in some Italian cemetery somewhere but still alive and fucking.

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He dumped me the day he left for the airport. Said it was for the best. Said that such a relationship was just not sustainable. Well, it would be if you took me with you. I had argued. The expression that had flashed across his face as I made this suggestion made it pretty clear that the idea had not once crossed his mind. Asshole. Did I mention that he banged my best friend? Yes, my best friend. Although, to be fair, Claudia was not my best friend because we were particularly close but rather because she lived right next door. The night before he left too. Slipped out of bed with me and crawled into bed with that bitch. And was still back in time to get some of that good morning sex he was so fond of. How did I find out? Claudia. She rubbed my nose in it too. This, of course, was after she found out that she was preggers with Marcos baby. Now, although Roland was a lot of things including an ass fucker and a cheat he, oddly enough, was not one to abandon his seed. He flew Claudia out to Italy virtually days after he found out I hope you enjoy it while it lasts you back stabbing bitch. Click. It was getting late. The sun already halfway its descent towards a shimmering and pastel painted horizon. There was another click. And then another. Each one now accompanied by a bright flash. Ben, thank God, was not taking pictures of me but of the various canvases that hung on the walls around the gallery.

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We were at an art exhibition. From Fusion 2 Forever or some shit like that. It was mostly amateurish canvases and lame catch phrase t-shirts. A 3 out of 10 if you asked me. Yup, that bad. To be quite honest, I had only gone because the exhibiting artist was a friend of mine. Well, more of an acquaintance really. Dashiki Jones. Duh-Shee-Kee Jooones. Thats what he called himself anyway. Im not even sure he if knew what a dashiki was. In any case, his real name was Semanda Tony. And like me, Dashiki Jones had made a career out of exploiting who we liked to call the chicken skins. Dashiki did it with horrible oil canvases, sloppily done t-shirts and a mop of dirty dreadlocks while I did it with very high heels, an abundance of cocktail dresses and a passing knowledge of the German language. As far as teams go, we were second to none. We had been at it for years. Way before Marco. Even before Stefan. Stefan was Austrian. The reason I had gone out of my way to learn German in the first place. Lots to say there but not much I really want to. The exhibition had attracted quite a few of our friends of the Caucasian Persuasion. But then again, that was kind of the point. I even knew some of them. A few of them had even seen me naked. That, however, did not stop me from introducing Ben to each and every one of them as my boyfriend. Why? Well, why the hell not? I mean the guy is tall, brown and handsome. Browner than brown actually. I think his father is Icelandic or something like that. Yeah, random; I know. Theres nothing random about those blue eyes of his though. They literally give me the shivers. Plus he has an accent. Who says only men are entitled to having a little arm candy? As Ben took snapshots of the paintings (Im guessing more for documentations

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sake than for any real love of the pieces themselves) I poked through a pile of t-shirts looking for at least one that looked half way decent. It took me a while but I finally found one. It was a black tank top that had the phrase I Ride Boda-Boda stenciled across it with a rudimentary picture of a boda-boda rider next to it. Taking the tank top out of the pile I unfolded it and threw it over my head and on top of the tee I was already wearing. I walked over to Ben, tapped him on the shoulder and when he turned struck a pose. So what do you think? Click. A moment later Ben handed me the camera. I think you look great but dont take my word for it, take a look for yourself. I did. Shrugged. It actually didnt look that bad. Fit pretty well too. And coupled with the bra I was wearing, made my boobs look especially big. I wanted it. Fuck the fact that each shirt was going for at least 20k and that I had less than half of that jingling around the bottom of my purse. Making little clanging noises against my perpetually half empty bottle of Gilbeys. So? Ben asked, waiting for my verdict. I smiled up at him. I like it. I took his hand. Ran my thumb over his knuckles and then the back of his hand. Please get it for me? Queue eyelash bat. Ill pay you back, I promise. The look that Ben gave me told me that we both knew that was a lie but that he

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liked me enough to let the little fib slide. I grabbed his other hand and wrapped both of his arms around my waist. I moved closer to him until our fronts were touching. Please? I knew that if he opened his wallet for this, he would probably open it for something else. And chances are I wouldnt have to open my legs either. Even if I already really, really wanted to. You really want it dont you? I nodded. I really do. And in more ways than one. Ben held me at arms length. Well it does look really good on you. I did a little curtsey, Danke. and threw Ben a cheeky grin. Ben cupped the side of my face with one of his hands. Smiled down at me. Alright. I studied his face. You mean I can get it? Ben nodded. His smile seemed a little forced and his eyes, those beautiful eyes, a little sad but still he said, You can get it. As I jumped into his arms and thanked him with a peck on the cheek, I couldnt stop from thinking that thiswas going to be fun.

PART II 82

SHARON

Patricia just wouldnt stop going on about him. It was always Ben this and Ben that. Ben said this and Ben did that. And oh yeah, did I tell you how when I met him he had dreadlocks? He looks good now but you should have seen him then. Sure, I was with Stefan at the time and so I couldnt do anything but nowwho knows? She gushed about him so much that when I finally did meet him I was more than a little disappointed. I mean he was cool and all but he wasnt all that. And sure I could see why she might want to bed him, empty pockets and all, but still, like really? I met them outside of the entrance of Karma. You know, that bar in Kisementi that for some reason or another is one of the prime spots in the city for those people who have more of a taste for how should I put itwhite meat. Present company excluded of course. I like my meat dark and Golola Moses tough. So why do I go there then? Well, the music for one but mostly because its so close to home. Shrug. Thats what I tell people anyway. Patricia and Ben had just come from Dashikis art exhibition. Well not just; according to Patricia they had gone out for Ethiopian after the less than stellar exhibition. God knows she sure as hell wasnt wasting any time in milking the guy for all the thousands of shillings he didnt have. Initially I had wanted to go with them, for the exhibition that is, not the Ethiopian (yuck!) but unlike some people (I wont mention any names), I actually have to work for a

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living. And so Patricia and I agreed to link up afterwards. Have a night out. Invite a couple of boys along for company as well. But knowing Patricia, the boy she started the night with (i.e. Ben) would not be the same boy she ended it with (random white guy). I looked Ben over. He was obviously into her. When he looked at her, he had that look in his eyes. You know, the look guys get when they think that maybe, just maybe this was a girl that they could fall in love with. Boy was he in for a surprise. And to be quite honest, I kind of felt a little sorry for him. He had no idea what he was in for. Seeing as Patricia had meant for this to be a double date kind of thingy I invited Joey to keep me company. God knows how much I hate to be on third wheel status. And although Joey was great to innocently while away a night with, to be quite honest, company wasnt the only reason why I called him. But Ill get to that. Joey is an old friend. And unlike Patricia, when I say An old friend I mean exactly that. No lips or tongues or fingers in private places. Joey and I had gone to Uni together. Had been course mates. He was one of the first friends I made after I moved back to Uganda from Malawi. After school Joey had gone the bankers route while I had gone rogue and gone the self-employed private consulters route. Something, I have since been made to understand, most people dont do until they are well, well into their careers. But then, I was number 3 in my class while Joey had been some where between mediocre and Did he even really graduate? Thing is, I was already naturally ahead of the curve; I could afford to skip a few steps. And so Joey was still wearing the shirt and tie of the corporate slave when he came to meet me. Or us. Or whatever. Neither of them knew that I knew but Patricia and Joey had slept together not too

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long before. This little reunion was my own delicious little way of finding out how guilty they would act around me. If at all. Leave it up to them to pretend as if nothing had happened. Their His were punctuated with uncertain words and hesitant handshakes. I almost laughed. This was going to be one interesting night. Trying to cover up her, what I took to be, discomfort as much as possible, Patricia introduced me to Ben. I could feel her eyes on me as she watched for my reaction. She wanted me to be impressed. I, however, wasnt about to give her that satisfaction. I smiled, wanly, and held out my hand. Ben, taking it said something about it being really nice to meet me. No surprises there. Even after he let go of my hand I could still feel him giving me the twice over with his eyes. And even though those eyes unnerved me a little, I couldnt help but wonder whether he liked what he saw. I know his eyes must have lingered around my pierced navel, juss like every other guys did. Knowing myself, I stopped my line of thinking before it went too far Boy, was this going to be an interesting night.

***

Three drinks in and I was finally starting to warm up to him. His was the kind of cool that grew on you. That pulled you in slowly. Without you even realizing it. Patricia had done what she usually does when she drinks and had more or less bailed on us. Leaving me alone with Ben. Joey was around somewhere but he had his own

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issues. Some chick named Barbra who just wouldnt leave him alone. Which could have caused problems considering how her boyfriend was the DJ that night. Thank God it didnt. I guess he (the DJ boyfriend) knew how she could be and had resigned himself to just making sure she didnt leave with anyone. Sometimes, I wonder why people put up with such bullshit. I mean, shes obviously not that into you dude, why put yourself through all that aggravation? And by dude Im not only referring to the DJ boyfriend but also to Ben. Who, even though it was pretty clear that Patricia was up to her own shit, kept on following her around the bar trying to get her attention. She blew him off every single time. Which, personally, I found kind of messed up. Considering how much she had been going on about him and stuff. But then the thing is, shes like that. Fickle. Capricious. Especially when she had some liquor in her. Which from what I knew about her was pretty much like all the time. But then Ben had known her for a pretty long time, meaning he knew all of that already. Why he stuck around was beyond me. He could have gotten almost any girl he wanted, why Patricia? I watched as Ben, shoulders slumped; glass in hand, walked back towards me. Before he could say anything, however, I took the empty glass from his hand, put it on the table we had commandeered and then taking Bens hand in mine told him to come and dance with me. I dont remember what song was playing but I do remember that it was one that we could dance to. The floor was teeming with moving bodies. Some on beat but many were not. Mostly couples. The funniest to watch were the interracials. The black girl winding with the white guy looking like he was having a mild seizure, arms shaking, feet skittering all over the floor looking like they were about to shoot out from underneath him.

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It was Ben who pointed them out, though he made it a point not to point. I knew the girl. Her name was Chantal. Well, not really. Really it was Santa. But then you cant really have a name like Santa when youre trying to hook a white guyyou just wouldnt hear the end of it. And so she had gone with Chantal. I knew the guy too. His name was Devon. From Massachusetts. He was a med student specializing in tropical diseases. The way he was ploughing through them though, I wouldnt be surprised if he had caught a few himself. He had been with Patricia like the weekend before. We had fun. Ben and I. I dont know whether if it was the alcohol or whether he actually enjoyed my company but somehow I managed to get him to stop talking about Patricia. I cant be too sure but maybe stop thinking about her as well. And well, just dance. As for Patricia? She was dancing too. And drinking. Every time I got a glimpse of her she had a different bottle in her hand. And a different guy pulling her by the other. If it bothered Ben he sure as hell didnt let it show. He seemed to be completely focused on me. And to be honest, it didnt feel half bad. I was starting to get why Patricia claimed to be so enamored with him. After getting another round of drinks Ben and I found somewhere to sit. A cushioned sofa that had it been in the right corner would have been perfect for making out on but seeing as it wasnt (in the right corner that is) it was perfect for getting to know each other on. And so we talked. A lot. Me more about myself than he about him. It was actually kind of refreshing. Having a guy not trying to paw me up but who seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say. I told him about where I was from, where I had grown up, why I had grown up there, where I worked, how I knew Patriciahe let me talk until it seemed like my tongue dried up and rolled into the back of my head.

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Can I ask you something? That was me. I had told Ben so much and yet I still knew next to nothing about him. Not that my question was particularly illuminating. I was just a little curious. Well, maybe a lot curious. Ben told me to go ahead, Whats up? I took a sip of my drink. Smirnoff Red Ice. Black was way too strong for my blood. Especially in the heels I was wearing. I placed the bottle back down on the table in front of us. Whats up with you and Patricia? Ben gave me a look that said, did you really have to go there? We were having such a good time too. Instead of answering though, Ben pointed. Yes, actually pointed. I followed his hand. Patricia was winding on top of one of one of the big bass speakers. Where the paid go-go dancers often danced. I watched as some random guy climbed up on top of the speaker and started grinding her from the back. Ben looked from me to Patricia then back to me What do you think?

PART IIII BEN

My throat felt raw. My stomach hollow. My legs, like Jell-O. The room wasnt spinning but it did kind of feel as if it was at an angle.

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Tearing off a few squares of tissue paper, the cheap green kind that I had told Pete not to buy but which he had gone ahead and bought anyway, I wiped my chin and my nose. Threw the soiled paper into the toilet and flushed. I watched as the small green ball swirled around the toilet bowel with the yellowish brown chunky looking barf and disappeared. Placing my palm flat against the wall, I used it to steady myself. Took a second to regain my composure. Deep breaths, Ben. Deep breaths. It took a minute but the room finally stopped bobbing up and down like a swimming pool floater long enough for me to walk back to the bedroom. She was sitting up in bed when I got there. She was wearing one of my t-shirts. The black Im So UG one. She had already claimed it as a souvenir. Damned if I was going to let her take it though. Even if she did say that to get it back I would have to undress her myself. She was poking at my laptop. The Weeknd coming out of its most of the time adequate speakers. As much as it hurt my face to smile I still some how managed to. She liked The Weeknd. Well some one drank way too much last night. She said looking up from the laptop. Maybe just a little bit. I croaked holding up my thumb and index finger, about an inch of space between them. Awwww, does someone need a hug? I sat down on the edge of the bed. Aimed my gaze in her direction. Would you? She pointed at the door.

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Showers that way. Take one and maybe well talk about. Will you be joining me? She tossed my phone into my lap. Patricia tried calling you. Now that caught me off guard. Did you answer it? She scoffed. What am I, an idiot? No. I think you should call her back though; 6 missed calls. 6 missed calls? She must really have something to say. After last night though, Im not sure I wanted to hear what she did have to say. As angry as I was though, I had to call her. I just had to. I picked up the phone. Ben? I looked over at Sharon. Waited. Are you going to tell her? I opened up my Outgoing Calls. Patricias was the last number dialed. I shrugged. Theres nothing to tell. Pressing the call button I put the phone up to my ear.

***

A lot of people call me a shutterbug. On account of the fact that I take pictures of just about everything. It doesnt really matter of what or of who or of where; somehow I still manage to get the lens to scratch below the surface and unearth something that one

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might not normally see with the naked eye. Or so I've been told. A little pretentious sounding isnt it? Though to be quite honest, (and there is not a scrap of arrogance attached to this) the statement does have the ring of truth to it. To me, a picture is not just a picture but a story. And above all, above everything else, I love to tell stories. And since life is just a series of pictures strung together, thousands upon thousands of stories, who am I not to carry a camera around trying to capture as much of it as I can? And who are you Mr. Bouncer Sir to try and deny me of that? Huh? Can you answer me that? I didnt say any of this to the bouncer, of course. The six foot four, built like a wrestler, bald headed, badass looking, I eat shit like you for breakfast muthafucker of a bouncer. Instead I genially lifted the strap over my head and handed the bouncer my camera. After patting me down, finding my wallet and my two years past expiration date phone, the bouncer told me to come and pick my camera when I was leaving. Welcome to Karma. ***

What sound does a camera phone make when its taking a picture? Well, whatever it is, thats the sound that Sharons phone made as it took our picture. We had finally established (albeit with a whole lot of convincing on my part) that there was nothing going on between me and Patricia and had quickly moved to getting on with our night without her. I mean, if Patricia wasnt going to give me the time of day (or in this case night), why should I give her any? And the way I saw it, Patricia had already taken enough advantage of me for one night as it was. Granted, I had let her but that didnt diminish from the fact

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that she had. We were still sitted at our spot by the door. Sharon halfway in my lap. Six empty shot glasses on the table in front of us. Our lips centimeters apart. Our conversation playful, even a little flirtatious. Sharon had that look in her eyes. Like she wanted me to kiss her. And God knows I wanted to. But not here. Not now. Not when Patricia could see us. I had managed to convince Sharon that there was nothing going on between Patricia and I (even if just barely) but Im just not sure whether I had quite managed to convince myself of that. I sat back. Put some distance between Sharons lips and mine. If Sharon read into this any, she didnt let on but kept on talking. Im not even sure what she was talking about. Something about orangutans and Javas cheeseburgers. Dont ask me what the connection was because I have no friggin idea. Wanna get out of here? Huh? I said do you wanna get out of here? I gave Sharon a look. She laughed. Not like that. Its getting late and you seem to be the get-all-broody kind of drunk. Lets get you home. I smiled. Or at least tried to. She was probably right. I let her know as much. Wheres Patricia? Sharon shook her head. No idea. Though I did see her go outside a little while ago. Lets go out and Ill try calling her from there. Joey is over there. Lemme go get him.

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Getting up, Sharon walked over to where Joey was, still cornered by that Barbra chick, although never too far from her DJ boyfriends watchful eye. A minute later Sharon returned with Joey and we headed down stairs. The scene that met us was an explosive one if there ever was one. Patricia was outside all right. Surrounded by eight maybe nine boda boda riders tugging and pulling at her. Pointing fingers, faces contorted in anger, voices raisedthey were quickly developing into a mob. And she was pointing and cursing right back at them. Pushing my way through them and getting to Patricia; I hugged her against me and pushing away hands demanded to know what was going on. She owed them money. All of them? No, three of them. Then why were they all as if they were going to beat her? She was abusing them, denying that she owed them anything. Patricia pushed against my grip towards the pack of ravenous ruffians. Fucking ass holes! I paid you your money; I paid you your money! Why are you trying to cheat me? Ass holes! Fuck you! She spat. I struggled to keep a hold of her because I knew that if I let her go, that would be it. Boss, you see? These people just want their money and shes abusing them for no reason. I shook Patricia to get her attention. Patricia, shut...the fuckup! Youre only making things worse. She calmed down, if only somewhat. I turned to the boda boda rider who had positioned himself as their unofficial

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spokesman. How much are they demanding? Twenty K. Ten to him, five to him and five to him. He pointed to each of them. Ignoring Patricias protests I pulled out my wallet, took out a twenty thousand shilling note and handed it over. As soon as the money exchanged hands the crowd began to thin. And within a minute Patricia, Joey, Sharon and I were alone. I let out a relieved sigh, that was close. Patricia freed herself from my grip. You shouldnt have paid them. Theyre just a bunch of idiots trying to fucking cheat me out of a few shillings. And you let them. She sounded disgusted with me. He was trying to help. Sharon said, stepping in to defend me. And he did. You should be thanking him. Thanking him my ass. What he did was stupid. Shes drunk, I told myself. She doesnt know what shes saying. I rubbed the back of my neck with one hand. Lets just get out of here, okay? Its been a long night. I reached for Patricias hand. She snatched it away. Im not going anywhere except back inside for another drink. I reached for her hand again; this time got it. Patricialets go home. She looked down at my hand gripping hers and then up at me.

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Youre not my boyfriend Ben. Let go of me. I held her gaze And let go. What could I do? Smoothing down her dress and finger combing her hair while muttering under her breath, Patricia walked back into the bar. I watched her go, hoping that she would look back. If even just for a second. She didnt. Sharon placed a hand on my shoulder. Come on Ben, lets go. Like you said, Its been a long night.

PART IV BETRICIA

She picked up after the fourth ring. Hello? She sounded groggy, like the sound of the phone had woken her up. Hi, were you sleeping? Patricia muffled a yawn. No, just a little tired. Long night and all. You were there. Yeah, I was. Ben Agreed. For the most part anyway. Please come and open for me, Im at the door. There was a sharp intake of breath and then95

Ok, lemme come. She hung up. Ben stuffed his phone into his pocket. Crossed his arms. Tapped his foot. Uncrossed them again. Shoved his hands into his back pockets. Took them out again. Pulled out his phone. Checked the time. Pulled at his ear. Licked his lips. Cleared his throat. Scratched his head. Sniffed his fingers. Wiped them on his jeans- too much hair oil. He thought about leaving but it was too late. Patricia was already at the door. Ben heard the key in the lock. One turn, two turns and the door was open. Patricia stepped back to let him in. Ben gave her a hug. Not too long but long enough. Slipped off his shoes as she locked the door behind him. A quick look around the room though and Ben wished that he had left them on. The door opened up onto the sitting room but it didnt look like a lot of sitting had been done there. There were no chairs for starters. And there were bottles everywhere. Club, Nile, Pilsner, Smirnoff, Uganda Waragi, Johnny Walker, Bond 7if you could drink it, it was probably there. Standing up right, lying on their sides, broken and strewn across the floor there were empty take away boxes, oil stained paper plates with the scraps of yesterdays and the day befores and the day before thats suppers, lunches and breakfasts. Torn pages from note books and novels and textbooks and instruction manuals. Candy wrappers and electricity bills and dirty t-shirts and broken DVDsthe room looked like the inside of a dumpster. Patricia followed Bens gaze. I had a party. She said as a way of explanation. What? When was this? And how come you didnt invite me?

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About a week ago. Ben took another look around the room. And you havent cleaned up yet? Ben knew he sounded judgmental but he didnt really care. Maybe she needed somebody to get all judgmental on her. Maybe it would do her some good. Fuck off Ben. Ill clean up when Im good and ready. But thenmaybe not. Seeing Bens expression Patricia laughed. Holy shit, you are such a girl! Im kidding! You know how lazy I am. Ill get the lady who cleans to come sometime this week. Seeing how a week had already passed with no sign of this lady who cleans, Ben found the prospect of her turning up in the following week highly suspect. Not that he told Patricia that. You wanna drink? Yeah. Sure. Ben nodded. Water would be great. Coming right up. She had that secret smile of hers. He didnt know what she was up to but Ben hoped it didnt involve an itsy bitsy face towel and her dripping wet body like the last time. Ben watched as she walked towards the kitchen. Her hips sashaying. Make yourself at home. she threw over her shoulder. On ginger feet Ben tip-toed to the bedroom, careful not to step on any broken glass and trying his utmost to avoid as many beer sticky spots on the linoleum floor as possible. The bedroom wasnt any better than the sitting room. Clothes and rubbish and three

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day old food thrown anywhere and everywhere. Not to mention the smell. A nasty cocktail of sweat and booze and sex and latex. With just the right amount of rotting food to make your stomach flop around once or twice before settling. Ben sat down on the unmade bed and waited. Looked around for Patricias laptop but couldnt spot it. Patricia walked in a moment later, handing Ben a coffee mug, sitting down next to him and sipping from one of her own. The smell got him before the mug got to his lips. He looked over at her. What is this? You asked for a drink so I got you a drink. Ben shook his head. Noyou offered me one and I asked for water. Its like two oclock Patricia, how can you start drinking at this time? Easy, Patricia shrugged taking another sip from her mug, I never stopped. Ben sighed. Set his mug down on the ground next to a lavender pair of lace knickers. I dont like you when you drink, Patricia. Patricia smirked. You must be like the only one. I hear Im pretty easy when I drink. You should definitely take advantage, other guys do. Ben shook his head again. Are you even listening to yourself? Another sip from her mug. This one long. She then bent over to pick up Bens

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abandoned mug and up ended it into hers. I try my best not to. Plausible deniability and all of that. Blame it on the alcohol and all of that. Did you come home with anyone last night? That gave her a pause. Patricia looked down at her mug. Stared into it. Held it with both hands as she would if it had tea or coffee in it and it was a cold, cold night. You said you wanted to talk to me Patricia. Talk. Patricia didnt answer. Instead she swirled the drink in her hand, splashing a little onto her interlocked fingers but not really caring. Patricia, Patricia looked up. There were tears in her eyes. She opened her mouth but no words came out. She didnt have to say anything though; Ben knew the answer to his question. She had. She had come home with someone. Queue slight flutter of the heart. His name was Barry. Twin brother Larry. They were from Glasgow. Though Larry lived in Lisbon and Barry lived in Barstow. They worked with Invisible Children. Well Barry did at least and were down from Gulu for the weekend. Barry was blonde with the kind of eyes that you could get lost in, as the saying goes. Green with specks of gold and brown. He looked like a fucking movie star. And he fucked like one too. Not that Patricia told Ben any of this. There was no reason why she had to. Like she had bluntly pointed out the night before, Ben wasnt her boyfriend. Not even close. Nor

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was he her brother, her cousin or any other person she may be accountable to. But still, Ben persisted. You did, didnt you? Because even though Ben already knew the answer, he wanted to hear her say it. He needed to hear her say it. And he didnt even know why. Maybe hearing the actual words would make it real. More real in any case. Not merely something imagined. Sniffling, Patricia detached one hand from the waist of her mug, wiped her eyes with the heel of her free palm and stood up. You know what? This was a mistake. I think you should leave. Ben scoffed and stood up as well. Sure, kick me out as soon as things get a little too real for you. Patricia snapped. What the fuck do you want from me Ben? What do you want me to say? That I fucked some guy that I just met? Well guess what, I did. And he was rough too. But thats ok because someone like me would like it rough. Isnt it? Even if the condom did break and now Im scared shitless cos I think I might have caught something. Or given him something. Who the fuck knows with the kind of life I lead, right? Right? Are you happy now? Patricia stormed towards the kitchen. She needed another drink. Where did she leave that bottle? Ben followed her. Thats not what I meant. And you know what really pisses me off?

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Patricia banged cupboards and drawers and refrigerator and freezer doorsno dice. You trying to make me look like the fucked up one yet the truth is youre just as fucked up as I am. Where the fuck was that bottle? She was sure there had been some left. And she had left it right here. Right fucking here. Patricia, what are you talking about? I saw you Ben. I fucking saw you. You and that dick riding bitch Sharon. Did you really think I wouldnt notice? We danced and talked and drank Patricia. Thats it. I dont know what you think you saw but- You LEFT with her. Uhyeah, because Joey had a car and I didnt. He gave us a lift. So are you saying you didnt go home with her? Ben rubbed the back of his neck. Shit. Nothing happened Patricia. It was late and we didnt want to put Joey through too much trouble. It was easier for her to just sleep over and leave in the morning. Although failing to find what she had been looking for, Patricia did manage to find a close second. Two fingers of Gilbeys at the bottom of a dust coated half stashed behind the gas cooker. It looked like it had been there a while. Not that Patricia cared. Pulling it out, she unscrewed the cap and upended it into her mug. Do you really expect me to believe that? She took a sip. Ben eyed Patricia precariously.

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Do you really think you need to be drinking that? Fuck off Ben. Why do you have such a hard time trusting people Patricia? Another sip. Because people always give me reasons not to. Have I? Last night you did. Are you serious? Youre going to try and put last night on me? Youre the one who bailed on us Patricia. Youre the one who went and fucked some guy you just met. Not me. And your words by the way, not mine. And as much as you want to believe the worst of me yet Ive never given you any reason to, I did not sleep with Sharon. Wait. What? Patricia had been certain that Ben had but nowshe wasnt so sure. Why should I believe you Ben? We both know shes a whole lot hotter than me. Ben sighed. He was tired. He had a monstrous hangover and he wanted to go home. Because I like you Patricia. Do you really not know that? Though to be quite honest, right now, I kind of wish I didnt. Patricia didnt say anything. Ben started rubbing his neck again. I thought I could do this Patricia, I really did. But youre right, thiswas a mistake. I should leave. Ben turned to go. Benwait. Ben stopped. Setting down her mug Patricia walked up to him. Slipped her hands into his. She

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believed him. She did. And now that she did she knew that it would be a mistake to let him leave. Im sorry ok? I fucked up. Im fucked up. I know that. Cant we just forget about last night? Forget about thisand start over? Go grab a cup of coffee like a couple of normal people? No booze, no loud music, no late nightsjust us? Ben had that sad look in his eyes again. That mixture of resignation and regret. Leaning in he kissed her on the lips. She tasted of booze and morning breath. Of angst and agony. The kiss was light and sexless. Like he was kissing his sister. After a moment Ben broke it, pulling back. No Patricia, we cant. You made sure of that. She held his gaze and let go. What could she do? Ben leaned in again and kissed her on the forehead. Goodbye Slipping on his shoes he opened the door. Patricia watched him, hoping that he would look back. If even just for a second. He didnt. Patricia watched as Ben walked out the door, carefully closing it behind him. Crumpling to the floor, Patricia burst into tears.

***

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Patricia stayed there like that on the floor for sometime. That sticky, brownish-red once creamish-white dustbin of a floor. Bens words replaying in her head again and again. Her own as well. She was fucked up, wasnt she? Mucho fucked up. And who would want to be with some one like that? Ben sure as hell hadnt. Well, he had but she had somehow managed to screw that up. Just like she always did. That was her MO. Find something good and screw it up. But something had to give. Something had to change. Rightnow. No mucking about. Patricia had no idea how long she stayed there like that but it felt like hours. It felt like minutes. It felt like a fleeting memory. It felt like she had never known anything else But however long it had been (or however short) when she did manage to put her feet underneath her she felt the better for it. She felt lighter. She felt charged. She felt like she had just woken up from a dream that had lasted two life times and she had two life times worth of living to do. Patricia looked around. What she saw appalled her. It was like she was seeing the room for the very first time. She lived in a pigsty. The realization shocked her. No wonder Ben had been so quick to leave. Any false move and someone ran the risk of either slicing their face open or catching TB. Hell, probably both. And with that, Patricia made a decision. She started with the bottles. It took a while but after shuttling back and forth between what was supposed to be the sitting room and the kitchen, Patricia managed to fill two crates and one rather hefty Tuskys bag full of bottles. Then on came the slippers and out came the broom. Sliced open foot was not

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something she looked forward to hence the footwear. Between the shards of broken bottle, German scripted papers, useless DVDs, (she managed to save a few foot stamped UMEME bills) Soaked, dried and re-soaked text books and countless other scraps of trash, Patricia managed to fill two more Tusky bags. Next came the sticky sticky. Blue basin, White Nomi, red rag and a hard half hour of bending, scrubbing and chipped nail polish. Patricia couldnt remember the last time she had done so much work. And it oddly felt good. After doing a little filing, some piling and quite a bit of shelving (she hadnt realized she had quite so many books and DVDs), Patricia took a step back to examine her handy work. It looked like a different house. At least the living room did anyway. The room looked like it could actually be lived in. All it needed was some chairs. There were those wicker ones with the African print cushions that she had seen some time backshe would have to find out how much those were. Hopefully not too much. Patricia smiled to herself. There was hope for her yet. Grabbing her towel from the bedroom she headed for the bathroom. The bathroom would definitely have to be next. It was in a state she dared not think about. After returning from her shower (God bless the man who had invented it) Patricia found the legend 4 missed calls scrawled across the screen of her phone. Her heart skipped. Maybe it was Ben. Maybe he had a change of heart. If she could get him back here, back to the flat so he could see what she had done, she would be able to change his mind for sure. But it wasnt Ben. It was a number she didnt recognize. Patricia had become wary of those but thinking What the hell. She decided to call back. It was Larry. The twin. How had he gotten her number? She had given it to him.

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Didnt she remember? Uh, no, but that was ok. What was up? Barry was on his way back to Gulu but he, Larry, was still in town for a couple of days. He was going to grab a drink and needed some company. Was she doing anything? She shouldnt. She knew that. She should change into sweats, make herself a cup of coffee and open that Sookie Stackhouse novel she had been telling herself she was going to read for the past three months. That would be the wise thing to do. The sagacious thing to do But it was Larry. The twin. How could she pass up on that much beautiful? That would be bordering on the criminal. And what was the big deal anyway? A drink was just a drink, right? Right. Patricias eyes scanned her row of hangers. She was already thinking of what to wear. Back forth, back forth, back forth, back forth, got it. Patricia breathed into the phone. Give me half an hour.

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With Hearts of Steel (To All the Single Mother's in the House)

I ran into someone from my past the other day. A lost love, a former flame; the one who to this day I think of as the one who got away. In the last place I would have ever expected to find her; the baby isle of a department store. She was shopping for one of those baby travel bags, the one on her shoulder pretty much in tatters. Ben 10 I think. From what I could gather, it was a toss up between either Mickey Mouse or Winnie the pooh. Either way, it was another buck in old Walt's pocket. Truth be told, I had heard that she was a mommy now. A single one at that. The baby's father had made it pretty clear from day one that if she was going to keep it, she was on her own. Or so the rumor went. But you all know how rumors are. You can never really know what to believe and I never really had the heart to ask her myself. I mean how do you ask someone something like that without coming off as offensive? Damned if I know and so to avoid any awkwardness I kept our contact limited to the occasional hi on Facebook chat. A little cowardice of me? Probably. A bit insensitive? Most definitely. But ask anyone who knows me, and I mean someone who really knows me and they'll tell you that I can be a kind of a dick. Arrogant, self serving and at times quite callous. And so my actions were not necessarily off kilter of character. She had little Gabriel with her. He's a beautiful kid. Looks just like his mother. Has a little bit of his father in him too. The defiant look he had in his eyes as I walked up to him and his mother definitely belonged to his father. Hey little man. I said as I approached them. Gabby turned. A flurry of emotions 107

rippled across her face. A dash of surprise, a sprinkle of shame, a spoon of confusion, a sliver of fear, a shave of resentment...and not one ounce of Wow, it's really nice to see you. Not that I was expecting any. Pulling her face together as best as she could, Gabby put on a lipstick smile. Hi Ben. She looked tired. As if life had kicked the crap out of her. Like she had been given a barrel full of lemons but no matter how hard she squeezed, all she got was sticky hands and a face full of bitterness. But in spite of the tired lines, food stained clothes and carelessly combed hair, she was still beautiful. Still the girl I had once loved. Whether she was happy to see me or not. Shopping for little man, huh? The quick rise and dip of her eyebrows, coupled with the slight downward turn of her mouth made it pretty clear that she thought the question a little stupid. Isn't it obvious? her expression asked, overtly patronizing. I still hadn't gotten a knack for breaking the ice. Ducking for a quick come back, I pointed at the shelf. Winnie the Pooh if you asked me. You can never go wrong with the honey junkie. I said, managing to illicit the smallest of smiles. Of course if Sponge Bob was in the vicinity he would be the obvious choice but in the absence of Mr. Square Pants, Mr. Pooh is always a safe bet. The smile widened. Now that was more like it. But that's just me...how are you? Gabby swallowed, my hard won smile disappearing back into its five combination

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safe. Good...bad...tired... Her voice trailed off with a sigh. She shifted Gabriel from her left hip to her right. He's a hand full. Gabby admitted, nodding at her son. I love him more than life itself but sometimes I wish... another sigh. Closing her eyes briefly, Gabby rubbed her forehead with the heel of her palm. The moment passed. But enough about me, how are you? And what are you doing in the baby isle? Cruising for hot moms. I teased giving her a small and playful nudge with an elbow. Still no smile though. She had that thing under lock and key. Lemme hold him. I added a moment later, holding out my arms towards Gabriel. Gabby seemed a little reluctant at first but after a moment's thought she handed the boy over. Gabriel didnt put up the smallest wall of resistance. He was heavier than I expected but after a tiny adjustment I found for him the perfect crook in my arm. He began playing with my beard almost at once. He likes you. Gabby observed, obviously a little surprised. He rarely takes to anyone that fast. You should be letting him choose your men for you. I said jokingly. Play nibbling at his munchkin fingers as they wandered into my mouth. I just might. Gabby conceded, the smile creeping back. She was watching me and her son with a fond expression on her face. How about you get Mr. Pooh Bear over there and anything else you might need and let's get out of here before little Gabriel's eyes over here lock onto something we're not

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in a position to get him. I told her lightly. This time Gabby laughed and grabbed the bag off of the shelf. She held it up. Pooh Bear it is. She beamed over at me. And Ben, Hmmm? Thanx. ***

I took Gabby out for coffee- Lil' G, as I started calling him, for ice cream. We talked and talked and talked. About everything under the sun. Work, friends, high school...At times it was almost as if I had never broken her heart at all. Like she had never walked out on mine. It was the most natural thing in the world. Not an ounce of awkwardness. She needed to talk and I was more than willing to listen. And as she vented all her frustrations I couldn't help but notice just how much she reminded me of my mom; who had had me at about the same age. And who, just like Gabby, had no one but herself to rely on. It struck a cord. It threw everything into a new light. This girl was a soldier. Doing what she had to because if she didn't, who would? If she didn't feed her son, if she didn't dress him, if she didn't put a roof over his head; who would? It's amazing just how little people are actually willing to do. And for all the talk there is of family, it's appalling to see how unwilling people are to lend a helping hand. Sure, blood is thicker than water but it's every man for themselves and God for us all; I've got my own mouths to feed I can't be worrying about yours. It's even worse when you're in a foreign country and there's really no

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family to be accounted for. There it was more like, Here's twenty bucks, go get some Macdonald's for you and your son or something. I remember on more than one occasion when the sun had already dipped below the horizon, the shadows had already become longer, the air colder, the streets more dangerous and we had nowhere to sleep. It was a time when I could fit my entire life into a backpack. A couple of changes of clothes, a book, I always had a book to retreat into; a pen and a spiral bound notebook. One book to get lost in one world and the other to create my own. Anything to shield me from the harsh reality that the real one was shit. I remember one night in particular where we slept on a church's Sunday school room floor. A couple of sleeping bags as mattresses, vending machine potato chips and a single can of coco cola for dinner. It was the best the Reverend could rustle up on such short notice. We had literally come knocking on the church's huge double doors. We had nowhere else to go. Once he had settled us in as best as he could, the Rev promised to find us a better arrangement in the morning. And he had. Finding the most wonderful of families to take us in. It was tough times, those, but momma had my back. Just like God had hers. I can't imagine what would have happened if my mom had woken up one day and just decided that enough was enough, she just wasn't going to do it any more. She could have easily dropped me off somewhere, anywhere, on a street corner or something and struck out on her own. Without her burden, her friggin' ball and chain and be free to do whatever she wanted. Ive heard of stories where mothers have done it. But not my mother. She has a heart of steel. And as much as Gabby looked and sounded like she was considering

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throwing in the towel, I saw that same strength in her. She would keep on soldiering no matter how she felt. Doing whatever it takes. But never, not ever, forsaking her principles. And in time, she would be rewarded. God keeps a record of these things. I've seen the proof of this in my Mother's life. God has blessed her. I tried to reassure Gabby as best I could. She accepted it but up to today I'm still not sure whether she believed it. Her life was too much in the air for her to find much reassurance in anything or anyone. Least of all an ex-boyfriend who had cheated on her, lied to her about it and who, once found out, actually relished in his betrayal. She had no reason to listen to a word I said. I tried my best to give her one. To show her that I wasn't that person any more. That child any longer. And by the bottom of our third cup of coffee, I think I had done a pretty good job of doing so. Gabby set her cup down on its saucer. Glanced over at Gabriel who sat on the love seat next to her. He had been quiet for a good while but was now starting to get restless. Ben...this has been great. Really. I needed this. Thank you. I nodded. Think nothing of it. Really. I probably needed this more than you did. Gabby chuckled. You've changed. Ive never known you to be modest. You should come to church on Sunday. Gabby picked up Gabriel and placed him on her lap in an attempt to still him. When she turned back to me her eyebrows were raised. And he prays too? Who are you? I smiled.

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A work in progress. Mavuno Church, Nakumatt Cineplex, Cinema 2. 10 AM. And bring Gabriel. Gabby eyed me, suspicious. What's the catch? I chuckled. No catch. So are you coming? After a couple moments deliberation, Gabby nodded. You've got yourself a deal. I clapped my hands together. Good. Now gimme your number so I can hold you to that. Gabby laughed. We both know that's not the only reason why you want my number but I'll bite. She held out her hand. Gimme your phone and I'll put it in. After she had and I had made sure that she wasn't duping me, it was pretty clear to both of us that it was time to go. Gabriel's patience was up. He wanted out. The man has spoken. I said as I took care of the bill, telling the waitress to keep the change. Let's go. I told her. We got up, Gabby handing me Lil' G to hold. I took him in one arm and held out the other to Gabby. Gabby looked at it for a moment, then making a decision, she slipped her hand into mine. Self-Absorbed. Incoherent. Inconceivable.

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I miss music. I miss the rhythm of it. The taste of it. The way it makes my skin feel when Ive had more than two drinks but less than five. I miss the way it bubbles my blood. Making my chest pump. Making my heart run. I miss the way it leads me by the hand, leading me out to the middle of nowhere lying down with me there; under the twinkling stars, under the velvet sky, under the cheese wheel moon Its quiet here. Lonely. Its like swimming in a sea of strange faces. Cold faces. Faces that make me miss you even more. That make me walk from bar to bar in search of you. For just a glimpse, for just a peep of you. A smile, an expressionanything. And then I find you. Well, not you because well, youre like 200 miles away but still, a pretty damn good substitute. She has the same eyes. The lips are the same too. Shes a little shorter and has a bit more flesh than you but that doesnt matter. Not much anyway. Not enough to make me stop anyway. She is standing by the pool table. Chalking her stick. Her back is to me. Leaning over the table, she readies herself to take the shot. I bite down on my lip. Close my eyes We are somewhere else. A place with no windows and no doors. With no ceiling and no floor. We are everywhere and we are nowhere. We are the first and we are the last. We are bound togethershe couldnt have gotten away even if she had wanted to. We are naked. I am inside her. Slow.Gentle. Then faster. And faster. And harder. And stronger. She is on top. Or I am. I dont know. Or maybe its both. Or maybe we take turns. I dont care. All I know is that just when I feel as if I cant take anymore, just as I tell her that Im about to come, I grab her by the hair and thenand then

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And then she takes the shot. I hear the cue hit the white, which in turn hits the four, sending it spelunking into the corner left pocket. I open my eyes. The coppery taste of blood on my tongue. She is looking at me. She knows Im watching her. She knows the game. She pots another one. Then another one. Shes on a roll. She makes the last one without looking. Calls it, even. The games over. She hands over the cue. She doesnt feel like playing any more. One drink. She says as she walks past me towards the bar. I glance over at the pool table. All the men are staring after her. And then back at me. A little awestruck maybe? A little jealous maybe? Maybe. I turn to face the bar. She is already waiting. One drink? I mutter to myself. One drink is all I need. I square my shoulders. Clear my throat. Head in her direction

***

The days are hotsweltering. The nights pretty much the same; Buzzing mosquitoes, sweat slicked sheets and the never ending creak, creak, creak of the bed next door Damn paper thin guest house walls. He gets a different one every night. No tastes, no preferences. Tonights is big breasted; pretty face. I got a quick look at her as he hustled her into his room. Would I screw her? In a heartbeat. Maybe even pay for it too. I dont know. Ive

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never had to pay for sex before. Shes a vocal one, Miss Thursday. Wont shut the hell up. She keeps giving him instructions. Faster. No, slower. No, now from behind. Wait, I want to be on top. Okay, now hit me The creaking stops. What? I said, hit me. Are you sure? GOD DAMMIT HIT ME!

Bleed Me and I Just Might Blow Your Mind (Bonus) 116

He broke her finger virginity with the index and middle of his left hand in the second to last row of Cinema 2 at Cineplex Garden City. While Edward Cullen and Bella Swan made googly eyes at one another declaring their undying love and Jacob Black stood shirtless in the background making scowly faces at anyone who cared to look. She (Rhena not Bella) had made sure to wear a super short, short skirt with no panties (thats how they did it in the movies, right?) so as to make it easier for him (Oscar not Edward). To be her finger first that is. She also draped a shawl over her legs so that any stray eyes that happened to alight on her thighs would not be privy to what was meant to be a very important and very private step in their relationship. And although it may not have been the most auspicious of opportunities or places (in a sardine can of a movie theater, during a drivel-riddled corpse of a film), it was, in effect probably the only one they were going to get. Both of them had parents and younger siblings with no sense of privacy and a strict no locked bedroom door policy; there would have been no way of doing it at home. And so they had settled for a group hang with a bunch of kids from school. There had been blood. Quite a bit of it. But they had both known to expect it; Rhena carrying an extra skirt, Oscar an extra hankie. Oscar still had to go and wash his hands afterwards, of course but the hankie had still helped with the clean up. Now the two of them were in the back of Kelas dads Prado (Kela was 17 and his diplomat father let him use the SUV with the government plates whenever he wanted) busy trying to steam up the windows like the couples did in the movies. They were doing a pretty good job of it as well.

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Everyone else was up at the bowling alley. Oscar and Rhena had been too but after fifteen minutes of fevered adolescent groping in some dark corner Rhena pressed Oscar to ask Kela for the keys to the Prado. Kela had readily handed them over knowing that his boy Oscar was about to get him some of that Rhena special order he had been pining for over the past two weeks. And so with the keys in hand Rhena and Oscar had strolled as casually as possible out the door of the bowling alley and down to the parking lot. Sit back. Rhena whisper murmured, breaking the kiss. Oscar did as he was told. Rhena, unbuckling Oscars belt, unbuttoned and unzipped his jeans and reached into his Sponge Bob print boxer shorts. One, two, three strokes and Rhena knew for certain that he was happy to see her. She then peeled back Oscars boxers and leaning over Oscars lap took him into her mouth. Oscar stared down at the top of Rhenas head as it bobbed up and down. He couldnt believe that this was actually happening. This kind of stuff didnt happen to guys like him. It happened to the Kelas of the school. Not particularly smart, not particularly interesting or particularly good looking but could drive, had a car that he was free to drive as well as a diplomat sons pocket allowance. But not to him. Never to him. And never with a girl so hot. But it was happening and to him and gaw, gaw, gawd did it feel good! Not quite sure what to do with his hands Oscar placed them on the crown of Rhenas head, her permed hair mattressing them quite well. He had seen some dude do something like that in some porno he had watched at Kelas house a couple days before. The guy in the clip had been moaning and saying stuff like Yeah baby, just like that. But

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Oscar wasnt about to do any of that. That would just be weird. Oscar did allow himself to get into it though, sitting back and closing his eyes. And then Ka-ka-ka. Rhena stopped. Wuh wuh wah? Oscar sat up. Huh? Rhena let Oscar out of her mouth. Licked her lips. I said, what was that? Oscar was incredulous. What was what? And the truth is, he hadnt heard anything. Not over the music anyway. Steamed windows, loud music and cans of Heineken; thank you Hollywood. Ka-ka-ka. There it was again. And this time Oscar did hear it. Ssebossebo. Ka-ka-ka. Knocking on the window closest to them with the head of a black, long metallic flashlight was what appeared to be one of the parking lot security guards. I guess the windows were not as steamed up as we thought they were, Oscar said to himself, Oscar Jr. promptly falling asleep. Ka-ka-ka.

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Ssebo, youre not allowed to do that here. The security guards voice was muffled through the window and almost inaudible over the music and so Oscar pretended not to hear him. Ignore him. Oscar told Rhena. Hell leave in a second. He put a hand on her head to guide her back down. Ka-ka-ka. Ssebo, Im talking to you. Such things are not allowed here. You first come out. Hes not going to leave, Oscar. Maybe we should just find out what he wants, give it to him and get him to leave us alone. You do realize that he just wants money, right? And that hes not even a real cop but a security guard? Ka-ka-ka. Yeah, I know Oscar. But hes not going to leave You people, dont make me take you to police. Rhena sighed. Come on, put on your pants and we deal with this. And Oscar, let me do the talking, ok? Crossing over to the other side of the car, Rhena grabbed her handbag, opened the door and got out. Closing it behind her so that Oscar could as she had suggested, put on his pants, which he promptly did. Boxers, jeans and belt buckle. Fully dressed, Oscar opened the door closest to him. Stepped out. Making it necessary for the security guard to step back so that Oscar could get out. Oscar almost burst out laughing when he finally came face to face with their

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flashlight wielding antagonizer. He was easily a full head and shoulders taller than the guy. Probably out weighed him by about 20 kilos as well. He was a scrawny dude, the security guard. And if it came to a scuffle Oscar could probably take him. In fact, Oscar was pretty certain that he could. If it ever came to that. But it wouldnt. Because the flash light wielding dunce also wielded himself a rickety looking Ak-47. And although the thing looked as if it could tell a story or two, even dating back to Amins time, Oscar was not an idiot. He was not going to piss this guy off. Boss, whats the problem? What you people are doing is not good. We dont allow it here. But boss, which things are those? Were just here listening to music. Whats wrong with that? You stop pretending. I saw you. Rhena, now standing next to Oscar, pinched him in the side, hard, to get him to shut up. Message sent, delivery report- received, Oscar shut up. Okay sir, were sorry. You forgive us, we promise not to do it again. Uh-uh, you people wont learn. You will just go somewhere else and disturb people there. I need to take you to police and you learn properly. Boss but were sorry. We wont do it again. We promise. This was Oscar. Rhena pinched him again but he just kept on going. Isnt there some sort offine we can pay? To make it ok? Rhena sighed. Could he be any less discreet? The security guard sized up the two teenagers. Young, well dressed, Prado with government plates (probably the boys fathers)they would have money.

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The fine is 200. 200 what? Oscar asked disbelievingly. 200 sousan. Are you kiddin me? For what? Youre disturbing the peace. The fine is 200 sousanor I take you to police. Rhena and Oscar exchanged glances. Neither of them had that kind of money. And even if they did, it was ridiculous. They werent going to pay 200 thousand to this dunce. Oscar was not afraid to let the security guard know as much. Although he did manage to restrain himself from calling the man a dunceto his face anyway. Ok, how much do you have? We have five thousand. Five thousand had gotten Oscar out of many a stickier situation and he saw no reason why it wouldnt be enough now. Rhena glared at Oscar. The security guard laughed. You boy, you must be joking. Five sousan? Let me go get the police. Their pick up is parked just there outside the gate. The security guard made as if to move away. Wait, wait, wait. Rhena reached into her handbag and pulled out her pocket book. Snapped it open and rummaged inside it. Grabbing a bill Rhena crumpled it inside her fist so that Oscar wouldnt spy it. You have this.

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Rhena held out her closed fist. The guard held out a palm and Rhena dropped the crumpled note into it. Is it ok? The guard eyed the money, then Rhena, then Oscar, then the money again. In the dim light the guard could just make out the yellowish-gold hue of the note. Yes, it was definitely ok. Thank you Madame. The security guard said, his demeanor completely changing. Without saying another word, not even one of warning or reprimand, the guard walked away. They owned him now. They could probably have sex in the fountain with the big dinosaur sculptures and he wouldnt do anything now. How much did you give him? It doesnt matter. How much did you give him? Enough. Come on, lets lock up and head back up to Alleygators. Those guys are probably karaokeing by now. Knowing when not to push it, Oscar let the issue of the money go. Instead, he walked over to the drivers side of the car, turned off the music, removed the key from the ignition and locked up the car. Oscar turned to face Rhena. Held out his hand. Any requests? Rhena took it. mmmh-hmmm. Baby by Justin Bieber. Awww, come on. Thats just gay.

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Yup, and you have to do the dance to. And with that, they walked back up to the bowling alley.

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Email: l_alutara@yahoo.com Facebook: www.facebook/llutara Twitter: l_alutara Blog: http://adoseofwordstothehead.blogspot.com

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