My friend Macaulay would say “flirt with caution”. Because he knows he’s emotionally unavailable.
But you!
Yes, you reading this, will be playing with ladies’ / guys’ hearts upandan. Kicking and tossing them like they’re rolling balls forgetting that they can be wrecking balls too.
Even with your flings and games—calling yourself a player—you still act careless, a novice keeping exhibits laying around.
You don’t even know that exhibits like text messages, voice notes, and pictures might spoil your chances at the worst possible time.
I’ll tell you my story. I implore you not to shine your teeth or grin. My predicament is my cross. I don’t need you to add to the burden by laughing—rather learn from my mistakes.
You know a little about me but I’ll let you in on a whole lot. I’m dead gorgeous, like my smile—a warm, mysterious and joyous type of smile reveals a diastema and my perfectly arranged dentition.
You can die for my light stubble, Sharp cheekbones and short neatly trimmed hair. Forget it, I don’t have a perfect body but that which I lacked I’ve made up with my brain.
Blowing my trumpet right? Not really. I’m stating the obvious.
So as a young man facing mid-life crises. I’ve tried all sorts of things to stay afloat.
Even in that fix of life, ladies have come to my rescue more often than guys—of course, I know the same goes for ladies.
I’ve placed labels on many of them. I mean, some are besties, some are friends with benefits while others are just there. There were no girlfriends. None. In all these labels I never let them know the categories they fall in.
That’s keeping my game tight like 2baba would say but there was one of the ladies who felt entitled, who felt I owe her my love, affection and commitment. Her name was Victoria. I call her Vic. She tried but I shunned her. She left not without dropping a bomb that would shatter me later.
It all started one Thursday afternoon, after downing a bowl of fufu and Oha soup with obstacles inside. I sat across my table in my workplace fanning my sweaty body. I hadn’t gone a few minutes when my phone rang out. I took it and scrutinized the number. It was new and I have standing protocols of picking a new number on the second call.
Letting the first call die down, I waited for the second and it came. I picked up, heaved a sigh into the receiver and waited for the voice—it came, a feminine voice, sweet and soothing.
She introduced herself, Timi, her name. I didn’t bother to ask for the complete name. I listened as she revealed she was calling from the bank with red as its colour. She went on to ask if my name was Stephen.
“Yes!” I replied, keeping the voice at the equilibrium level.
She narrated the reason for her call. That, she had made available the card I had complained against earlier at the bank and wouldn’t mind bringing it down to my place. I smiled because I knew the kind of madness I displayed at the bank and asked if it was all. She affirmed and I gave her a go-ahead.
Fast forward to three hours later after a series of phone calls and directions. She was standing before me. I gave her my contagious smile and she blushed. It took my microscopic eyes ten seconds to see the tiredness on her masked face.
“Hi, Timi. Your day must have been one hell of a day.”
“Yes, errands and work fused. how did you know?”
“Me? I pay attention to details. Which branch are you from?”
“Oba Akran.” she enthused.
“hmm? You’re kidding me right?”
“No.. not really, though I lived close to ijaiye, I work there and
..”
She continued her rambling as I ushered her in. She sat, and fondled her purse before bringing out the card. She handed it over to me. Feeling the smooth texture on my palm. I dreamed of money—more money—billions of naira.
I offered her a drink but she declined. I didn’t stop. I don’t take no for an answer. Sensing her modesty I urged her to follow me to the restaurant opposite my shop to confirm and test-run the card. She bought the lie hook, line and sinker.
As we walked in, she was asking for the POS terminal while I pulled out a chair for her to sit on. One thing led to another, we ate and chatted like we’d known each other for aeons but time was always an enemy.
As she left that evening, she gave me two of her numbers and hoped for a call. The call did connect and there became subsequent dates. On those dates I made it clear that my culinary skills were in-built — I was a chef in my rank —and the restaurants had nothing on me.
We proposed a Sunday meeting at my place. Afternoon precisely. I was going to show her what I could do in the kitchen. There was a bet of her guessing the brand of the can of tomatoes I intend to use.
Sunday came and she was at my place at one in the afternoon. She smelled nice and her scent filled my belly to the brim. My mind travelled in wild imaginations; you know a kiss on the neck and all but I had it under control.
She settled in, complimented my sitting room and ate a few of the cookies I served her. She needed her belly empty to judge my skills, she said, roaring in laughter.
Luckily for me, the power holders smiled at us. And as the light came on, I plugged in my phone, connected the Bluetooth to my woofer and asked what kind of songs she listened to.
She blushed, she liked the ladies’ first treatment. “ I love good music” was her answer.
I clicked on my Google music app and clicked on shuffle. I never knew Shuffle would be my Waterloo, my undoing. I had in mind to ask her out after the meal because I was confident she’d say yes.
The first song came on, Ed Sheeran’s ‘Photograph’, she vibed and sang along. John Legend’s ‘Out there’ started playing and I felt her voice melting my soul from the kitchen. I continued my chopping, cutting and mixing regardless.
Alicia Keys’ ‘We are here” shot her vocals up-tempo. I knew I was scoring points. My phone was aiding my cause. she must and will be my babe. All I needed to do was ask.
I was already getting done with my meal when the fifth song came on. Was it even a song? I wondered where my Creator was at that time, whether he slept or slumbered. It started with a sob, then sobs. A false Alarm rang in my head.
“You’re right Steve! I’m careless and self-centered but you were wrong when you said I don’t love you, Steve. That’s not true and I hope you realize it soon….” the voice echoed in my woofer.
Abort mission! Abort mission!! Abort mission!!! I screamed in my head but my phone was far from where I was. It was just an electronic device that couldn’t read my mind.
Damn! I couldn’t miss that voice.
I scampered out of the kitchen, clambering and skulking to the sitting room. I spared her no glance and rushed to my phone.
“Don’t touch it Steve!” she screamed.
The voice notes continued with the words fused with sobs.
“ You lead me on, Steve! I ignored the world for you, sacrificed for you hoping and believing that your confession of love was real. But I never thought you would ignore me for a better option…”
There was a burst of tears before the voice added.
“Thanks for playing with my emotions Steph. I hope karma visits you.”
As the voice note finished in less than two minutes. I was rooted to the spot, dazed by the stuffy atmosphere.
“Timi, it’s not what you think. I and Vic were never…”
Timi’s slap tore through my cheek, halting my attempt to pacify. She spurned and zoomed off the door.
Timi was supposed to be my wife-to-be. We were getting on fine until that voice note, that Jezebel of a lady chased out a Peng, resourceful, ambitious and classy lady out of my life.
Since that day, it has become a tradition as I never forget to delete voice notes on my phone.
Victoria! My God will visit you!
© Stephen Toochi
StephStories
