The air is cool, my bladder is full, I can see the ash rooms right ahead but am not in the mood. The scenery is nice, but a little cold, I can see the whole town from here, up on the balcony. The tables have linen on, the umbrellas are brown. The glass windows are tinted green, the perfect much.
Thinking I would be happy, cause am here, with the best coffee in town yet to be served, the nicest restaurant in town is normal. But life is not always what it seems.
I am here alone, with my iPad cause am running away from my friends.
They weren't I'll intended but they s
Am that guy, no she is not that girl, the depressed one, the one always sad. Am that guy, am that guy who is alone.
"hey what are you up to?"
"...am in town?"
"you busy?"
"am with my friends."
I hear laughter in the back ground.
"Can I pick you up?"
"no am dropping them home."
Her folks let her drive the Prado. Happy, girl, I no longer pick her up. She is no longer there when I call. She is busy, she's moved on.
"when will you be done?"
"5:30, hapo six."
"it's okay, lets make it another day."
I want her to tell me, hey, no, no come join us. I want her to tell me, hey, come, let's share a bed. I know that always makes you feel alright. I want her to keep me company cause otherwise this self destructive thoughts might kill me. Literally.
She is quiet.
"so will make it another day. Bye."
"bye."
Not a word more, not a word less. I scroll down and up.
"hey."
"I called like three, four times."
"sorry, was busy..."
"where you?"
"at home."
"what are you upto?"
"...just chilling."
"am driving there already."
"no... You can't come now."
"why?"
"cause I don't want to go to work, tomorrow is Monday."
I hang up without saying bye. I need to preserve some of my pride. The first to leave the conversation. I wear my seat belt as I drive, I don't talk on the phone while I drive. But am at a little over a hundred. The stereo is loud. And I text.
-okay let me turn back to town!
She texts back- I know you in the house.
I throw my phone on the passengers seat angry. I figure it will bounce back and break. I contemplate on whether to press the breaks, park by the road side, pick it up. See whther it is broken. Am shocked, I actually stop, put the hazard lights on and check it. It's alright!
Even when am as self distracting as driving fast while texting. I still care not to end my life in a crash.
I scroll up and down again.
Phone rings. Phone rings. Phone rings on her end. She doesn't pick up. We were to meet at four. It's five, thirty. She will be a no show.
"hello?"
"hello?"
I look at the screen. Oh, sorry, it didn't even go through. I look at the road. Change the gears from automatic, to manual. I press the accelerator, to the floor.
Do you know what happened?
Guess?
I felt nice. Overtaking cars. Hooting at tuk tuks, bullying them. Doing the same to matatus, it felt nice.
All of a sudden I decide to take a turn from the high way one way, the one close to the pretty Cfc Stanbic bank branch, the one next to KCB, and I take another left. I get to bank of Africa, the big building. I look up from the windscreen and that's when I see the umbrellas, and the glass. I've been here a couple of times, am happy. Coffee.
The only think I do is hope that's have my iPad. Cause she always keeps me company, she is reliable, not like people in my life. Sorry to say, am high on emotion, this is as good as drunk talk.
I want to get out of the car, but Drakes song is playing, Marvin's Room, which started to play right after ColdPlay, I used to rule the world... Viva La Vida. I can't not let that song play.
I look out of the window, I see some very beautiful girls in a crowd, with there friends. They seem to be having fun. I should go say wassup. But then I look at there shoes and they look awesome but a little too loud. Like they are trying. And I change my mind. I stay in the car.
One turns and she has a big a. She makes my p rise a little. I reach for my phone.
I scroll down my phone book.
"hey?"
"hiiiiiiiiii"
She is happy to hear my voice. But she is like two years older than me, but also two times hotter than every girl I know in this town.
"so what are you up to?"
"imagine jobo"
I really hate it when people say that. Jobo. Sh. But I say it too.
"what time are you leaving?"
"around six."
"see you then."
I hang up. I get out of the car. I got upstairs. The guard at the door runs that thing through me to search for a grenade I think. Yeah, it's my hair. I know. He seems my iPad. He stops searching, I take a step in, he calls me again. I freeze. He does his search again, it's my button. I stare at him.
"fuck you... Ntakulipua, sh."
Okay that's not what I told him. I walk in.
I take the stairs. I feel nice, now that am there, ready to blog. My release. I ony see white folks around. With their stupid Apple sh.
I seat outside, on the nice seats. I make another call.
"hey?"
"wassup?"
"what are you up to?"
"am just at home."
"am coming to get you in fifteen minutes."
"make that half an hour"
"ah, it's okay then, let I will see you next time."
I don't know what is wrong with me. I can't even have the patience to wait that long and probably I will send even more time picking her up.
"we do a b*** f*** I've missed those twins."
She doesn't say anything back.
But she send me a text half an hour later. Telling me she really hates my mood swings, she also texts me telling me she is already ready. She doesn't know why I was making a fuss. But am not in the mood anymore. But am I not?
So... These f***s haven't brought my coffee. Or even come to ask me what I want?
I get in the restaurant, out of the balcony.
"nimekuja hapa ndo mnione."
I don't know why I talked in swahili. Maybe cause the people there are...
"give me a cappuchino..."
"you take visa right?"
She keeps looking at my card, I figure it's my I.D she wants. I place my I.D on top of it.
"200 bob using Visa. The ATM is just down stairs"
"how much should I spend for you to run my card?"
...she is quiet. Smiling like a little girl. Am wearing a smile but inside I want to shout her hair off her head.
"give me two coffees then."
I go back to blogging, writing something on my tab. She still isn't picking my card. So I look at her, give her my audience f again.
"how much do you want me to spend?"
"1000 bob and more..."
Really? You can't me to order four f coffees and am seated alone. Really? I eat her often, I bring my date here often, but I'd forgotten am not in Mombasa or Nairobi, where it's all credit card everywhere.
"there is a Visa place down stairs..."
"those are like eight fleets of stairs down!"
I don't want your coffee that badly. B****! So I walk out, with no presence that am coming back. That's the first time I've been disappointed there. She tells me that they will be charged by the bank, I tell her they will not. I tell her then f hick your prices. I don't through bad words though, cause I bring my dates here. And I tip them well. I don't want to be in bad books for no good reason. But for a good reason, f it.
-I've left, those fucks don't take credit card.
I text the chic at work.
I get to the car, I think about editing this. And think too much work. Spelling mistakes, so what, grammar errors so what. Those red lines telling me to correct sh. They are just that sh. Misery loves company, and my iPad gives me the best. It's where I write on. So don't f touch it. Am emotionally attached to my words, to this device. It keeps me sane.
Misery loves company, and you are my company iPad. Oh yes yu are, oh yes you are. Bye!
