The Market. . .
I didn’t want this day to pass without my mind carving the story of how we met. So I went to the Mr Biggs eatery around the roundabout, I sat inside without talking to no one, ‘what am I going to talk about, will I go back to Abuja today?’ Questions kept its slide show running through my mind and I ignored like a mad man.
I picked my phone and went through my contacts, found a name and sent a message ‘I’m seated in Mr Biggs’, a nervous sweat broke the silence as my mind pictured a suicide bomber sending such a message to the detonator.
I turned to the window and saw a car parked outside and the backdoor was open, another car came to park and the driver kept honking so the driver of the open car would close the door, but no he didn’t, the car however squeezed its way to park and the driver who was a man dropped with his passenger a woman and from the window it looked like he was pouring curses, when suddenly the driver of the car that was parked open and dropped too, it was a woman.
I picked my phone and deliberately began going through my gallery and it didn’t interest me because the tension outside was as hot as the Shendam weather now, people screaming, a woman shouting at a man. I could see her saying ‘I will slap you now’ and people gathered around wondering how and what happened that a woman is trying to fight a man and a woman at the same time.
Someone quickly stepped in through the front door and said ‘Charles’ then she slumped before our eyes. The door quickly opened and someone suggested space be provided so air can flow around her, she layed there for about 7 minutes and I kept wondering if it was a movie or it was real.
The tension outside had begun fading, the woman on the floor began to move a little, then suddenly she walked through the front door. My heart skipped as my mind began to sketch her face, I could see a quill dipping its tip on the contours of her face, painting her teeth and trying to describe her smile as she said ‘Hello Rudolph’.
My heart skipped a beat.