It was a beautiful night, pleasant for a drive. Sitting alone in the back sit of my neighbour’s Toyota, pining away and chatting on my phone.
Then he asked me of my story. I smiled and looked out the window as I asked myself, “What is really your story?”
Deep in thought am still trying to figure it out. The drive from Kubwa to Dawaki took longer than usual as a result of the traffic on Zuba express way. The music and air conditioner in the car made it easier to bear. Paul and his wife happily gisting in the front seat with little Ryan. I stifled their voices as my mind was somewhere else.
Chatting on my phone made it hard to concentrate on what they were saying. I smiled with pleasure each time my phone beeped.
As I neared home sadness began to creep into my heart, another neighbour left his key with me and is angrily waiting for me by his door, I still don’t know how to face him.
Bitter words were exchanged on phone, and none of it my fault. In my defence, I opted not to go with the key in the first instance, but his girl insisted I did, in heat of the moment, excited about her lunch date. Unthinking, gave me the key even when I cautioned her not to.
A piece by Vera Bonny