Trial and Error

Hey people,
So if you're on Twitter and if you've heard of a man called Harold Camping or that's what I think his name is sha... you would have heard that the world is ending tommorrow the 21st of May 2011. SO I was going to do a long post about the world ending and my thoughts on it... as a friend of mine engaged me in a convo about things I would like to do before the world ends. Ofcourse "Contrary Ronke" did not care a hoot whether the world is ending or not. I promise I'll still do an end of the world post tonight... I mean.. you guys should read it before the world ends tommorow no be so?? LOL

It's been a while since I was here. I know I said I would repent and al but I've been lazy. Actually I haven't. I have been trying my hands on fiction writing and it's been fun. My brain stretches when I have this idea and sometimes I find mytself acting out my life as whatever character I am trying to build. It's been fun really. I have this "writing instructor" who tells me stuff to write and gives me a deadline and I like it cause it gives me a sense of purpose. I don't know if this writing thing is for me (OK I Lie... i know it is what I want to do, I just don't know if I'm good enough and also not sure how the people who fuel their cars from writing go about it!!) You see my instructor is a bit of a meanie... ( actually I love him so so much.. still a meanie though!! :p) and what I wanna share with you guys was rejected by him in fact he gave me a "thumbs down" :( **sad sad sad face**

I hope you guys are not as harsh as he is sha. Enjoy

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Temi met Michael at V Bar in Lekki. It was one of those days you learned that the traffic on Ozumba Mbadiwe Avenue had gone on for hours and your best bet was to steer clear of it. Her colleague had suggested that bar, it was a sports bar and pretty decent, they could wait out the traffic and gist at the same time. Life was hectic enough as it was without having to add the stress of Lagos traffic to the madness of work all in one day. He was a gorgeous looking man and he knew it. He spoke to her slowly and quietly as if his voice was a treasure which he gave out in tiny doses. Offering to buy her another drink, he slid into the chair beside her. “Nice bag” he said as he put her bag on the table “Channel? Last season? It tickled her to no end that he knew about bags, you could tell that he was slowly charming her up. They chatted for over an hour and she giggled like a teenager every second of the way. He interjected every line with a word in pidgin and teased her mindlessly about being a light head when she said she didn’t want another drink. She gave him her card and asked him to call her, it was the boldest she had ever been, but this was a new Temi, she was happy she was not being so shy and introverted any more.
He called her later that night, and the day after that, and even after that. He was like a drug her system could not get enough of. It was like being on a roller coaster and she was not ready to get off. When he touched her she burned on the inside, like a teenager experiencing her first surge of hormones. Every time they got together, it was like a merging of two lost souls, her body craved his and his desired to mould her. She felt alive, he ignited her in a way no one else had. It was as if she had been locked up all her life and the night she met Michael was her liberation day. Her body told her head that she wanted this forever, nothing else mattered. The fact that he borrowed her car ever so often did not matter, she was cooped up in the office all day long anyway. What did it matter that he was owing her almost half a million naira now, monies he collected in little portions, all in the name of running his business. There was always a new idea he came up with, the last one was a travel club. He was going to get a bunch of people to take much needed holidays to the far east. What did it matter that she knew the ideas were the product of a child who never grew up living somewhere in the body of an adult. However, that body did wonderful things to her and so when she thought about it she let go of her inhibitions. After all, she accused Akin of being too serious. She broke up with him because he had every detail of his life AND her planned to the minutest detail. He didn't want to live a little. Everything was serious, and calculated with him. He was good, and kind and sweet but he never wanted to try something new. Temi was glad she allowed herself to live a little, enjoy the little thrills of life.
She was going to be thirty, she'd gone through the phases of people wondering when she was going to get married. "Always the bridesmaid; never the bride". Her life with Akin had been great; he was a good man, stable. Almost too stable infact, but she wanted more.
"I want to live a little, you never want to go anywhere, do anything new. I'm sick and tired of living like this." She was 25; it appeared life was stagnant so she threw in the towel. He tried to talk to her, to get her to listen... She wanted change. They had been together for almost 4 years; they were like an old married couple, only she wasn't happy. He tried to talk her out of it "tell me what you want me to do? Tell me how I can make it better. I want to be with you, because you complete me, you are mine". When a woman is done and filled with discontent, anything you do would only breed resentment and anger, and so he let her be.
She enjoyed being single, she had no restraints, no inhibitions. She travelled every year to a new city, tried out new things. Sky diving in Dubai, she volunteered at the winter olympics in Vancouver, saw the Massai of Kenya. She lived and she wanted to continue living, with the perfect man beside her, who wanted the same things she wanted.
You could tell that Michael lived, and Temi wanted this. That night he was wearing a Ralph Lauren Tee tucked into his jeans so the "H" of his Hermes belt was unmistakable. Michael exuded raw sexuality, his muscles strained against the shirt she just wanted to touch him, feel him. The only thing that kept Temi glued to her sit was a niggling thought which she'd been unable to shake off "how does he afford a new Hermes belt and Gucci slippers and his business isn't taking root???" He cared about her; he was always there to listen to her troubles about work. She shared with him her achievements. It didn't matter that the week after she told him she'd got a mid-year performance bonus, he told her about a brilliant idea he just had of how they could help people ship cars in from America and make an interest, if only he had a little start-up support. She pushed those thoughts aside because when it came to it, it was the little things that count. She had been talking about wanting to try out Indian food and so that evening they sat outside the Indian restaurant on Isaac John road in Ikeja and just there out of the blues, he knelt down with a gleaming ring in his hands he asked her to marry him.
**
Michael and his buddies were in the living room when she walked in carrying a plastic bag of groceries. They said distracted Hellos to her and continued watching the game. The air reeked with the smell of tobacco and a quick dart of her eyes to the table confirmed that it had been accompanied by Hennessey. Four grown men, sitting around idly all day drinking and smoking without a care in the world, you could tell that it was the bringer of the bacon who just walked in. This was the case literally as Temi untied the plastic bags that contained the bacon and ham she just bought, and arranged them neatly in the freezer. Shutting the door with a purpose you could sense the unusual vibe of anger and discontent resonating through her. It was the tobacco; she had asked that smoking be done outside her living room, on the balcony, downstairs, on the road, anywhere but her house.
Who marries a man with no source of income, no desire to provide for himself? Who marries a man who makes her body sing to the highest heaven at night but is content with sponging off his wife by day? His friends were losers, all hoping to "score". That was "loserspeak" for getting a financially comfortable, upwardly mobile professional woman. She didn't have to be too pretty as long as she looked like she was thirsty for something, or waiting to be found.
Temilola Irukevwe wanted to live and here she was indeed living yet dying slowly on the inside. You could see the misery in her eyes, the exhaustion as she cleared the dirty dishes in the sink. Ever so often her mind wandered to how life would have been different if she didn’t have to worry about paying the bills, buying fuel for the generator, paying the laundry man and the security guard. No point in crying over spilt milk. She peeled the potatoes and she hummed to DJ Klem and Efa “Try Again” the words “Everybody’s searching or waiting to be found” resonated in her head, in her search and her quest for something she found Michael. “I don’t care how many times I tried, I’ll try again, I’ll try again” The tears flowed and she sang, tears for herself because she realised she was waiting to be found. She grabbed a newspaper with which she would toss the potatoes peels and she spread it out on the kitchen worktop. The picture on the obituary jumped out at her and she let out a loud guttural scream. The words “Akin Kuteyi” “beloved son and brother” “motorcycle accident” “37 years old” floated before her eyes.
She wanted to live a little, and now she was dead inside. She had asked him to live a little, and now he was dead inside and outside.