(Author’s Note: This is a true story, and personal to the writer. For obvious reasons, names have been changed.)
That, with the accompanying tone that follows a
call unresponded to, showed that I would not be
getting to speak with Marie anytime soon. I had ignored the “two missed calls” rule, and as a matter of fact it was the sixth time I was dialling
her number that day, not to mention the turbulent
flow of text messages from me to her. It was clear that Marie didn’t want to communicate with me.
She was justified in her decision. I really didnt deserve to be heard, no, not after what I had done to her.
I had met Marie about four years earlier through Gabriella, one of the neighbours I had in my university days. Marie was a cousin to Gabriella,
and like her, she was a tad mischievous. Marie was equally of the same denomination as myself and whenever our paths crossed during church functions, she would always be on my case. I was never shy to fire back though. Our interactions were reminiscent of the classic Tom and Jerry.
There is usually a way such interactions go, and in time we became close friends, though in public we usually reverted to ‘reverse psychology.’ I would graduate first though (I was two classes ahead and in another faculty), and her troublesome nature
was sorely missed. Marie and I maintained contact, she making most of the communicative effort. We missed each other,
and with time we became less reluctant to admit. It was surpising when I set my eyes on her again just over a year after my graduation. The reunion was brief, but this time I felt a surge in my pulse rate. Feelings had crept in.
Communication became more frequent all of a sudden, and on one rainy Sunday night over the
phone, I realized I could no longer hold back. I told her what I felt, and while she was sceptical about
a transition from friendship to love, her response
The fire burned, and the long distance did nothing to douse the flames. I could tell she was in love,
and when I paid her a visit after many months, her eyes and shaky hands said it all. I was eager to
feel the depth of her skin and hear some passion-
induced high pitch notes, but she was hesitant.
“You’re good with words. How can I tell you’re sincere?” She said. (She loved reading my work.)
Desire has a way of placing the right words in your mouth, and when the one you want feels strongly
about you, it’s usually a case of ‘when’ rather than ‘if’. We made love at the fluctuating pace of our
beating hearts, our sheets forming the perfect
swimming pool, before we both fell asleep to the sound of raindrops.
I left Marie’s place after a joint bath. As i boarded a bus back home, I couldn’t help but feel that
something was missing. Where was the ‘love’ we happened to make? I couldn’t find it. I reasoned that I must have left it on the bed, her bed. I combed my heart (in vain) in
search for that missing item, and ultimately concluded that I probably did not love her as much as I thought I did. Communication dried up, and in a space of six
weeks, all she got from me were lousy Christmas and New Year text messages.
Over two months have passed since then.She must have definitely felt hurt, and now I want to apologise, to let her know that I still care though the candle is now dim, to tell her that she is not some cheap lay. For me, it just wasn’t about getting into those moist alleys; I loved Marie, I adored her person, but we lent expression to what we felt at the wrong time. There is something about fusing two wires together before the time is right: it could cause an explosion, it could fling you away, it could ruin the wires.
Taking me back is too much to ask but I cannot live with the fact that Marie has a bad impression of me, especially when it is I who convinced her to go back on certain rules she had abided by. What i did may have forever damaged her perception of men, and I want her to know that I wasn’t trying to pull an “up and leaving” on her. I have learnt from my mistakes, I’m a changed man now, and until she hears me out, all I can do from here is express remorse.