“Sorry, can’t say it over the phone,” her voice a mere wisp like a reed in the wind.
She was disgusted enough already. Everything was boring – and stale as she often called such moments.
She let the phone fall among the clutter on her bed, anger and bliss so evident on her face. The mixture of feelings which in the past few hours had been a recipe for hot sad tears – and long sessions of painful sobs.
Unlike before, she did not dive for the pillow but let them flow. There was no need for tissues now. Neither did she care about the note being soaked in her hands. It was as if her world was drowning, and she was sinking head-fast into the pool; her world crumbling after. She worried less of what was happening around her; much less for the dreadful piece of paper upon which her heart was broken.
It was before the crying that I had entered Angela’s room. I had her spare keys [bet we were close]. While on the phone I had meant to ask her to join me at the skating tracks. She couldn’t come, and I didn’t know why. She had cut me off before I mentioned I was coming over. We were already thirty minutes late. I just hoped this stopover wouldn’t take much of our time.
She was quite a mess. Crumpled in a pool of makeup, clothes and all girlish stuff, Angela looked like some… didn’t find the words to describe here then, just the same as now.
I was still standing by the door when Angela handed me her note amidst sobs.
“Hello cute nail, good bye. I loved you so much but you are broken now… bye bye…,”
“Just that,” I gasped, “You can’t be serious… Kwani hauna makucha zingine, (don’t you have other finger nails,)” I was on my rudest shock.
“Don’t you have anything else to cry about?”
“Si ni kucha yangu, ilivunjika leo asubuhi nikifua,” sobs. “Umejua nilikuwa naifuga,” sobs, covers her head with sheets.
“It got broken this morning while I was doing laundry,” sobs. “You know I was ……….” (Just help me here at the comment section).
Unable to move, and confused of what to do, I watch her heave out moan after moan… I resisted sitting or lying on a bed despite being offered countless times.
“So why keep them up to now, and why the note – and you are crying?”
“Just a proper send off, can’t you see?” more sobs.
“No I don’t.”
Such are the moments you’ll be grateful to walk away just like I did. Had I not, Angela would have spoilt my day. You can be sure as dead that was a stupid excuse for getting fumed up.
Hata kama ni kulia, jameni?
Had I come all the way just to baby sit her?
Some folks (of course ladies), would claim that this is where we men fall out; as I was about to be a victimized. I bet some crying never help. And it serves to be simply put that way. Tell me, how can you comfort a lady crying over a broken finger nail? How could a man imagine starting such a conversation? Couldn’t you demand of us something else? At least something that is more humanly?
Next time guys, before you rush into that lady’s room, wait for a confirmation… You do not want to run into issues you cannot solve… am telling you this for free; take it or leave it. Unless you want to see her hair messed up, until she resembles an old female gorilla.
But a thought strikes me that a rare breed of you probably would. Those who know ladies like Angela who still looks as beautiful even in tears.