The Love of My Heart

I open the door and there she is, lying on the couch, looking bushed like those mermaids of Disney world. I know she has heard me get in but decides to ignore, she is still, her head buried under the pillows and her hand firmly holding onto it. I understand she doesn’t want to see my face. Step by step I saunter towards her, a long mile trek towards where she lays akin to the lost and found Kenyan Black Panther.

My mind runs and juggles, brainstorming with the lies I must tell. I know it is late, the odd hours of the day that should not find me away from her, and Football matches are addictive. I wonder what would happen to me if I missed the stupid match that my team lost anyway. Not that I am trying to weigh her against a football match, it’s because missing the match could have done some disastrous harm to me- I love football matches. In fact, I could have avoided all these fears in my heart. I feel dragged down. I am down.

I reach for the waist and hold her, try to wake her up from her phony sleep. She wiggles a bit. The impatient I shakes her hard. This time she moves lifts the pillow off her face and turns her body over the other side. She lifts the pillow and covers her head again. Wow, she must be mad. What does she think? Does she imagine I have been out late with another woman? But that’s not true. I try to read her mind but I can’t. She is a woman, her thoughts totally dynamic and unpredictable. The other day something happened, we talk and joked then I had a bad joke about her. The next minute she was up, with rage like a wounded tiger, nearly breaking the flower vase I bought her. She locked herself in the bedroom leaving me alone, spending some lonely hours sleeping on the same couch she is on. She later came back to piteous. The third time I won (pretending to be a victim when wrong could actually save your day in a relationship).

For a few seconds, my head gets full of excuses. I think of telling her of my drunk friend who I had to escort home. This would throw me in an absolute trap. Rule number one states that nobody should drink. No drinking. I then think of my sick relative in the hospital, it doesn’t feel satisfactory. I think of telling her about my work targets that I have to hit before the end of the month, but is it not the beginning of the month? People worry about work targets towards the end of the month. Furthermore, financial accountants have no targets to hit. She won’t believe this one.

She breathes heavily and lifts the pillow off her head and sits upright on the couch. She looks at me. I look at her. I can read the rage on her face and sadness of her heart. I can tell she has been crying although she is never on makeup she is an African beauty, a dark berry with sweet juice. Her hair is loose like that of a werewolf. I like her that way.

I can see that her face needs answers and not lies, but I have lies not answers. I thank the heavens for this brains of mine. Brains that can cook brilliant believable lies. She stares at me, her with eyes wide open ,revealing how cute she is. I jam and shake my head , pleased . She taunts me with her eyes but then the looks get stern like that of a familiar cat .she wants answers. The time to gamble with a like has come. I tell her of the heavy traffic I got caught in on the outer ring road. I lie in a lie, I realize I was supposed to say Waiyaki way! The road that leads to our suburb. This was a dumb like because Tuesdays are car-free days in Nairobi.

I look at her, and I can say she is angry. She hasn’t said a word for the ten minutes I have been in the room. This time I decide to tell the truth that shall set me free. The problem is that we men never go straight to the point. I start telling her how sorry I am and sorry for breaking the rules, the word sorry in my words are outstanding though. I tell her how I love her and give the one thousandth time promise that I will never break her heart. I tell her I was in a … she jumps and places her finger on my lying lips, cutting off my speech.

She speaks for the first time, telling me what she knows. She knows I was in a football match with friends sharing the usual dirty jokes that kept her away for once slowly she holds my chin, squeezes her fingers through my beards and the tip of my chin. I am silent. Slowly she pulls me to the seat forcing my head on her chest – a perfect pillow where I lay and shed tears since I met her .she then whispers words of forgiveness into my ears like that, forgiveness comes my way. She kisses my forehead and tightly holds on to me wrapping her hands over me. We probably could spend the rest of the night here. She is just a girl on fire, so bright that she can burn your eyes. I sleep.