When The Bully Falls in Love

She flagged down a motorcycle as she looked at her wristwatch. What had she been doing at home? She sighed. She was already late but that didn't stop her from tugging the rider on the shoulder when he started over-speeding. The driver didn't know what to say, befuddled.

She just told him a few minutes ago she needed to arrive in time for the interview and he should do anything possible to be there before time choked her. There was nothing you could do for people to be judged better, the rider might have thought.

When she arrived at the venue, many others had come for the job, and her eyes demonstrated the surprise. She never imagined the number. They were sitting in the anteroom waiting for the human resource manager. She went to join them. There was only one empty chair left and it just seemed the seat had been waiting to receive her.

A young man sat beside her. She could guess his age. He was the youngest among the job seekers. But his confidence and assertiveness threw her off balance. She had hardly breathed a few minutes after sitting down when he struck up a conversation.

He first told her how she looked pretty and why every man would like to meet her. He had started with a bland line, Emelda thought, as she had heard that a million times in many ways. She was ready to listen, anyway.

"But I am not a celebrity," she said after acknowledging his compliment. "I can say a good number of men long to meet celebrities whom they are crushing on"

"Not only celebrities are the centre of attraction, you know," he said.

"Oh, thank you," Emelda didn't blush and she hoped he knew that. She was calmer now as she noticed no one was concerned about their conversation. Each person seemed to be battling with some thought. And too busy to notice them.

"So tell me, how did you get here? I mean, you are still young," Emelda said.

'My mates are still in university, your thoughts?" his voice was thick and mean.

"It is obvious," she said it so surely that he wondered.

"Oh. Come on. I am not that young"

"Proper introduction, please," Emelda said.

He introduced himself as Obinna, and went on to tell her he had entered university to study Mass Communication when he was very young.

"Very young is relative" Emelda interrupted.

"When I was eighteen," he said and then smiled. He had caught himself very serious, almost frowning as those who didn't get the job they had applied for. Looking at Emelda, she was different. Smiling now and then, and unconsciously revealing her open teeth.

Not as nervous as others seemed. Sure of herself and hopeful of a favourable outcome. But he didn't like the way she asked too many questions, though. She had begun to dominate the conversation and he could sense some superiority in her manners.

"I was considered a genius in childhood as I did some crazy mathematical calculations that some adults couldn't dare," he said.

Emelda didn't see any sign of pride when he mentioned he was a genius but she was amazed how he 'transcended' from Mathematics to Mass Communication or from Science to Arts. "And my parents supported me till date so that I could express my genius. I am grateful"

"That is wonderful. You look like it" Emelda took a closer look at him but in such an awkward way. He was unusually large but with a baby face.

He had seen people like this before. They were brilliant. They always came first in class. But she didn't think they had this body figure. They were always slender and looked malnourished even if they were overfed, but Obinna's look contradicted her preconceived notion.

Emelda hoped to see him again after he left for the interview. If for nothing else but to learn his difference. She was tired of meeting people whose intention was to inflate their ego at any slightest conversation she gave in. But Obinna looked real, calm, but with some flecks of assertiveness.

She smiled as the interview came to an end. She performed excellently well in her judgment and from what she saw, the interviewer was interested in her. The way he was staring at her made her uncomfortable or was she merely imagining this?

Works had always flooded her desk. Today was no different. One reason she had convinced herself was that quitting the job would be a better option. But more than that, she wanted a pay increase.

Her bills had increased so she needed a bigger source of income which her boss had not been ready to look into. She had been hazy about what to do next until her boss called her to attention.

"Miss Emelda, is anything the matter?"

"Nothing, Sir"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, Sir"

"You look worried"

"I am okay, Sir"

"All right. You are meant to represent Josephine tomorrow morning. She travelled and will be back soon. Make sure you are on air tomorrow morning"

"But Sir, I have my regular programme tomorrow, too"

"Your programme?" He took a few steps backward to get her clearly.

"Yes. 'What Is Next Singles?"

"That should be at 3: P.m."

"But I need time to prepare, Sir"

"Emelda, you heard me. Tomorrow morning, get on air and do what I asked you to do?" He said and waltzed off.

She scratched her hair in utter dejection but tried to hide it. Just some days past, she had gone to an interview without anybody's awareness. She was determined to shock her boss with her resignation letter.

She could recall, however, that the questions that kept cracking her ear at the interview weren't pedestrian. Not at all. And sometimes she was doubtful if she would get the job.

The interviewer had asked her "Tell me about a time you surpassed people's expectations" when her memories groped for an answer. She didn't see that coming, but her mind immediately went to work. Until she finally found one:

When she was new at this job, there came one day she was asked to represent a colleague in his programme titled "Singles, What Next?" but she didn't know enough about relationships. She had been employed as a News Reporter on the Radio Station and didn't have sufficient knowledge about relationships to talk about it.

She admitted she had been grappling with difficulties in her relationship let alone talking or giving counsel to people struggling in theirs. Her boss challenged her to prepare something, anything. Her boss had always been difficult and never accepted No as an option or answer. She went home that day and slept over it.

She obliged, unsure of herself. She had been finding it difficult somehow to keep a man in her life. How then could she counsel people on how to live a peaceful life as a single and how to attract the right men/women into their life? How? When she had met some monster in the past whose motive was not to love but to take advantage of her body and be gone for the next person.

She felt she was deceiving herself to accept the project she was not fit for. If she was married with good marital records, she would accept it without a fuss, but she wasn't. And her boss had told her "The audience doesn't know your marital status, Emelda. Do your research and blend it with your personal experience. That is all"

That was it, she teased. It sounded easy to her boss; he had never admitted anything was difficult and beyond her energy.

She looked at the man that had been handling the programme. He was perfect at it. He was married with two kids, living a turbulent-free married life, or so she thought. He was the only one perfect for the job, his absence was irreplaceable; he was absolutely indispensable.

How could she come in and still maintain the excitement of his audience during the programme ravaged her mind. She thought about this day and night, reading some texts recommended by him. And gradually, she was able to defeat her fears.

Out of only God knew where she got inspiration and jumped on it. After a few minutes of starting, her mind was relaxed and, in the long run, she was able to make it conversational, and groovy.

"Good afternoon, Ladies and Gentlemen. Today on this programme, Singles, What Next? is Emelda Sweet, the princess of the Airwaves"

Her introduction amazed her listeners. They projected their ears, uncertain of this new person. For some minutes, she felt she was neither communicating humor nor authority but that didn't bother her, rather, she maintained her confidence.

The occasional humour sprinkled on the programme now made it more entertaining. And at last, when her audience began to call in, she was happy to answer their questions. Some of the listeners that called in, especially the men, were just crazy about her performance, and eloquence.

They praised her bird-sounding voice and said they knew she would be as beautiful as her voice. Calls trickled in. The line was busy, and buzzing; people were trying with relentless vigor to reach her with their difficult questions. And sometimes with their mundane questions.

She endured them all, taking a calm, dispassionate view. One called in and asked if she could accept a short man to be her husband. She asked her if she liked short people. She said no. She asked her if he had other qualities she desired in a man but only deficient in height, would she accept him? She murmured something she couldn't decipher and hung on.

Another called in and expressed her bare feelings of being unloved. The lady was almost in tears; she seemed emotionally triggered that she forgot she was on air. And Emelda was never as moved as she did. She was almost carried away when she caught herself emotionally and remembered she was there to proffer a solution not merely to sympathize with them.

The caller went on to say that men hardly stopped her on the road, and hardly talked to her about relationships, love, romance, and sex. And she wasn't getting younger. She asked a question;

"How old are you?"

"Thirty-two"

"I have a few tips," Emelda said and paused for a while. "This might not sound good in your ears but you must be eager to learn...did you get that?" she hesitated before continuing.

"The way you dress matters. Umm....do you know some people dress in such a way that no man can feel anything for them? They cover all of their body like a masquerade. And no matter how much we pretend, men are first attracted by what they see. And hey, I am not telling you to expose every part of your body; only make sure there is enough open to whet their appetite"

She allowed some moments of silence to communicate her language effectively. She was raw, direct, and realistic. And for the first time, she went public with such audacity as if she was tired of some folks who were injuring their life because of their rigidity of minds, never allowing contrary opinions settle in their soul.

"Second" she raised her voice on purpose. Her stage fright had long disappeared and every time she spoke her listeners felt a quiver of excitement run through them. "The way you carry yourself matters too, Miss. Walk like a queen because you are. Boost your self-esteem. Don't give people the impression that you are lonely. Be bold. Walk majestically. And let's see what your confidence will do for you.

Men are attracted to women who can also look them in the eyes and tell them, 'I love you" Emelda heard the caller giggle when she mentioned 'I love you" and thought maybe she got it wrong, that maybe she had meant the opposite as most women had hardly expressed their affection for the man and would never be the first to tell them 'I love you

She was spending a longer time than necessary on one caller and was rushing her points. Calls queued and she was trying to accommodate as many callers as possible.

"Next on the line, angel," she said but lost the caller. Nevertheless, she went on to make the point anyway, hoping she would still get it from her radio set. "By all means be attractive. I stand corrected by the phrase "by all means" but what you don't want to be is anything less than that. Okay?" she was rushing over the programme now that some of the listeners had lost the catch.

One called in and asked her what she thought of a lady preparing to marry a man who would leave her for a foreign land after the marriage. Who would only come back occasionally to visit and make love to her and after which he would go back to his business.

She got the question perfectly and felt sympathy for all the would-be wives considering accepting such kind of marriage. But just as she was about to take them deeper on the subject, she experienced a technical problem and the programme was truncated. She could remember everything. Most men had called to praise her and she wondered if they didn't have issues in their relationship or marriage.

She took the interviewer on this fascinating, long experience until he gave her a satisfactory nod. He was impressed and as far as she could recall that was the most challenging period of her career.

This early morning. Saturday morning. A day she had always dreamed of for herself. Some graceful breeze glided through the window and she could not help but feel its calmness. It enlivened her spirit as she lost herself in some introspection.

She was aware of every tiny detail now. She could hear from within and from without. Some insects and mosquitoes swooshed past a little above the upper floor. She knew how annoying those creatures could be and would have pitied those they had come to greet this morning.

She could hear some loud talks in the coal tar, a little down the street. It was bus conductors and their palaver, she guessed. They were always first to wake up and last to get home. And she wondered how they maintained their health considering their busy life; even some of them didn't eat well or wasn't as educated to know how to eat well, and yet they had invariably come out every single day with unbelievable determination and gusto.

She also was awed at their vibes, and energy considering they were underpaid, or so she thought. In her view, they worked like elephants but ate like ants. She never and would never endure such. It is why she would want to relieve herself from her present job. The salary, she had said to her friend, should be commensurate with the work.

But looking at the nature of their job, the bus conductors, she was forced to reconsider her stand. The majority of the uneducated that engaged in physical labour hardly thought beyond their stomach. So maybe, whatever paycheck they received as long as it could afford them their three square meals and other petty concerns, they were okay.

She needn't compare herself with these hardworking dudes who were only at the lowest rung on the social ladder-who were less motivated and less ambitious. And that could be exactly the opposite of herself. She noticed there was a deep cleavage between the poor and the elite in society and was determined to escape the common man's predicament through every possible means.

A little below the second floor, she could hear some noise. This Saturday morning. Oh. Mama Bisi and her daughter, she thought. The noise was becoming louder and louder so she decided to leave her quiet mode. She liked minding her business but this morning was different.

Some kind of force- she didn't know how to control- had descended on her, pushing her out of the bed. And she would be ready to face the stupidity of her neighbours-as she had experienced on several occasions, how they turned against her each time she came to settle some disputes between them.

She had had enough. At some point they dubbed her 'Miss Meddler' and that served as a deterrent to her - to stop wearing 'Peace Apparel', to stop making peace unnecessarily even when violence should suffice. But she couldn't endure the cry of this girl. It was Bisi. Yes. She knew her cry and it must be her mother on her again, spanking her like pounded yam. As always.

She yanked off her night gown and dressed in shorts with her brown top –it was a bit expository of her cleavages. She put her left foot in the footwear somewhere behind the couch and made to wear the second when her phone beeped. She saw the name of the caller. She expected it but it had come at a time she was hurrying out to save someone.

She grabbed Bisi and snatched her away from the grip of her Mum. The Mum was sweating, panting. She was not satisfied so she struggled to spank her more but Emelda had come to her rescue; she stood in between them, blocking her mother each time she raised her hands on her. She pulled her away from where she stood, seething with anger.

By now, they were both apart from each other at a reasonable distance. It was time to ask Bisi what the problem was since mother was too angry to tell her. Or was too annoyed with her intercession. Mama Bisi wished she had not come or had gone as quickly as she had come so that she could kill Bisi with her bare hands- after all, she gave birth to her and she could take back her life if she misbehaved.

Tears dripped down Bisi's cheek as she explained what she did. Her mother was watching from a brief distance and screaming that she was a liar and that she had added some flavour to the story to elicit Emelda's sympathy.

"I am not lying" the young girl would say each time her mother shouted that she was a liar. Emelda didn't know what or who to believe. Mum had refused to tell her own version of the story, but wouldn't be quiet to let her daughter do the telling even if she was lying.

Her eyes had grown red-rimmed from tears, hiding the attraction of her little eyes. She had some beautiful dots on her face, which Emelda wished secretly she had too. She wore her nicely-fit skirt whose edge was an inch above her knees that it didn't allow her to run when Mum was beating her.

Emelda looked at her hair, it was too expensive for her age. Who gave her the money? Mum could be right that she was lying. She was somewhere sixteen years, or thereabouts, even though her cry sounded like that of a baby.

"Say it clearly. Calm down. Answer me. Where did you go last night?" Emelda had asked her this three times. She had been evading the question or rather loitering around it.

"I said I went to a vigil," she said, still sobbing.

"Why didn't you tell your Mum?"

"She was not around before I left"

"And you couldn't leave a note for her?"

"It didn't cross my mind, Aunty. I would have" she said and looked in the direction of her Mum. She stood slanted with her left palm on her waist and each time she retorted, she did it with her right hand, pointing at her daughter in fury, and afterward would place it back on her waist.

"She went to her boyfriend's house," her Mum shouted. She was coming closer now, perhaps, to start pouncing on her again but Emelda was quick to notice it; and she quickly took her away.

"Nobody will save you. Unless you will stay there forever; unless you are not going to come back to this house. Shameless children everywhere," Mummy Bisi said.

Emelda had no time to spare with Bisi, so she decided to make it brief.

"I'll be attending a wedding this morning, when I come back, make sure you see me, Nne" Emelda said hurriedly. Bisi sat on her couch, sloped. She had wiped her tears or was it Emelda that did it for her? She looked around the living room and observed with admiration the interior designs of her apartment. Emelda studied her look and asked as cheerfully as she could "You haven't been here before?"

"Yes, Aunty"

"You are my friend. You should be coming to greet me. Okay?"

"I am your daughter, Aunty. My mother doesn't treat me like one. I choose you"

"Bisi, your Mum likes you. She wants you to grow in a way that your adulthood would be proud of. She wants the best for you. I could be a guardian, anyway. Just promise me you will be a good girl"

"I will," she said and glanced through the window. It was already daybreak.

"Okay. Make sure you see me. I must be on my way to the wedding" Emelda said but still not prepared; Bisi stood to leave.

"Aunty, go well" she smiled at her. It seemed to Emelda that the cheerful face she had put on was her way of appreciating her for saving her from Mum's overprotectiveness. "Please, make sure you talk to my Mum before you leave, otherwise, on your return, you would meet me dead," it sounded more like an order to Emelda except that she added 'please'

"I will meet her in a jiffy; I am at your back," Emelda chuckled but Bisi tightened her brow.

"Do they share cakes at the wedding, Aunty?" Bisi said, turning back. She was almost opening the door when the thought hit her.

"Of course" Emelda grinned and thought she behaved like a baby.

"Don't forget my share. Our share" Bisi said and closed the door behind her.

She sat down, confused. Next thing to do? Return the call and get herself together for the reception? She was supposed to be at her abode earlier. Probably a day before the ceremony. But her boss had always been a cog in the wheel of her progress; he had succeeded in frustrating her plans.

She had wanted to leave work earlier on Friday, yesterday, so that she could freshen up, have some time with herself before dusk, then take a bike to her house in preparation for the bachelor's night and afterwards pass a night in her house or lodge in a hotel ...but her boss...her strict, stringent boss had twisted the order.

And she couldn't do it according to her forethought. He had sent her to deliver a message to the Ministry of Communication which was supposed to last for an hour at most but the delay she encountered was appalling; the protocols she had to endure were insufferable.

She went back to the office without a tangible report; and from her haggard look, and subtle lines at the edge of her eyes, her colleagues could tell she was tired of working with them.

Strolling down the street, she saw the signs of the wedding ceremony; hundreds of balloons were released to mark out the event. Together with some balls, some of which children had begun to gather around, awaiting their fall, so that they could pick them for their usual recreation.

She was amused at the thought. She did it when they were small. She could remember this one, though blurred. She had sneaked a surreptitious glance at the audience and singlehandedly pulled the rope used to tie the balloons and all of them went down. She pretended she didn't cause it even when other children pointed at her to vindicate themselves.

This happened during a birthday celebration of some stranger in their street, in an open place, so many years ago; she smiled at this often and it always reminded her how cunning children could be and the extent they could go to achieve fun. She remembered rushing to get the balloons when she caused their fall and even how other children who accused her of the cause were the ones to rush the balloons first.

She was walking slower than she had walked from where the bus driver stopped her. The excitement she had picked had begun to dwindle and she couldn't just understand why. She knew it wasn't because she was not yet married or because she had attended many of her friends' weddings but yet to be married herself.

She just didn't know why her energy suddenly began to melt at approaching her friend's abode. She was a few strides away, and in order not to bring any suspicion upon herself, she forced a smile and entered.

"Hi, ladies," she said.

"Hi" they chorused.

Some elders were in front of the house, on the verandah, discussing some issues of life. She greeted them with a stoop and walked past to meet the bride. But she heard some fragments of their conversation. One of the elders said women of these days should be smarter because the world had evolved but they weren't.

One said his daughter had brought in a riff-raff for him to bless but he wouldn't do that. He refused blatantly. He said he wouldn't have blessed a marriage that was not properly planned because it showed in his appearance that he looked hungry and wouldn't feed himself sufficiently enough let alone add his daughter to the equation; moreover, he had come with one yellow-colored worn-out shirt, unfitting trousers and outdated shoes that were only in vogue in the past century.

The elders laughed and laughed but he didn't, saying he meant everything he said.

"I can't give my daughter to any kind of man. I sponsored her from the cradle to higher education. She took away my sweat, blood, and tears" he paused and raised his shoulders in obvious pride and said "So the man who will be her husband must have enough to pay back all of this investment"

"As if it is a business transaction," one of them teased.

"Gbam; it is" he raised his staff and put it down to affirm what he said.

Emelda could still hear faintly some of their words from inside but had decided to concentrate on her friend who was now blushing. The elders could be funny, Emelda observed; they chanted their title names with exhilaration each time they made a concrete point.

And more than twice, they had laughed in unison with nothing to laugh about. Emelda knew they were not just discussing and laughing because they had gathered, they were happy one of their daughters was being married off-their investment-as one of the elders put it.

Three ladies gathered around the bride in her living room while she sat in the middle. One rubbed some glittering oil on her long, creamy hairs, using a comb to straighten them, and some tiny threads fell off. She often wore her hair loose which Emelda didn't like and had one time criticized.

Another waited for her to be done with the hair before beginning to work on her lips. In a matter of minutes, she was wearing some bright red lipstick and her lips were never as attractive. And then the person who would take care of her ears had been there observing and making a suggestion on how better she would look if certain appliances were done this way or the other way.

Until it was her turn to work; Oh, she had dozed off. Emelda tugged on her shoulders and jolted her to consciousness. She wondered what she was thinking that she couldn't hear the bride call her twice to come on.

The room was too dull for Emelda's liking. No conversation was going on and it seemed they had come to offer her the service as some contractors did and moved on without any iota of intimacy. They were her friends and should be more teasing and hilarious, she thought. After all, today was her friend's happiest day and any pun would do to elevate her spirit.

"Those pieces of jewelry on you, Maria..." Emelda started.

"Yes, what about them?" the bride asked immediately as if she had been waiting for her to speak.

"They are just beautiful. I love them"

"Thank you," Maria said.

"Thank you, Eme," the lady fixing them said. She was more passionately appreciative of the compliment than the bride. And Emelda being somewhat fastidious, observed it. "Especially her earrings"

"How long would it take you to makeup, Maria" his father entered. "The mass would be starting by 10: a.m. Hurry up"

"We are almost done, Dad"

"Hurry up. Hurry up," the Dad said.

"Today's wedding shall be exceptional," the lady fixing her earrings said after her Dad left.

"Why do you think so?" Maria said, bringing up her head a bit. Her left ear was sloped so that the lady would undo some unfitting earrings.

"Your Dad can't wait"

He slouched to the refrigerator to see if there was anything to eat. But there wasn't. Any snack would have been enough to ease the hunger but what a day. She didn't even have any. He put a smile on his face and pretended he was fine; he went back to his seat with a cold bottle of water.

He crossed his leg and put it down as quickly as he had done. He moved his butt to the edge of the sofa with both hands on his lap as if he was observing something far and needed to get closer to see it clearly. Just for a moment, he reclined.

Now, he stood and changed his position. The other sofa was longer and he would relax more comfortably or even lay on it. He didn't want to sleep, anyway. Lying on the couch would make him doze off in a twinkle of an eye and it hadn't gotten to that.

He just needed some refreshment and all this discomfort would cease. He didn't need rest, he had not done so much today. He just needed to eat.

"You can put on the TV to distract yourself. I know you must be very hungry now" Emelda said. He could barely hear her but he heard something about television. What was she even doing in the kitchen? What type of food was she cooking that one would die of hunger before it would be ready? He couldn't wait for the delicacy.

"Your Majesty, I am too exhausted to engage my psychological energy" he murmured to himself. And Emelda, if she had heard him, would wonder what he meant. Was he saying that watching television needed some thinking and one could only think when one's brain was functioning effectively? Was he saying that he was too hungry to engage his mind?

"Ben," Emelda said, sweating. "You didn't put on the television?"

"How can I put my faculties to work when my stomach is empty? It is the nature of our mind to be restive until a mass of edibles rest underneath" Ben said, seating up. He guessed the kitchen must be very stuffy as she was sweating profusely.

"Ben, all this big big grammar is because you are hungry, abi?" Emelda smiled.

"And to make it worse, my Princess, the fridge is as empty as my stomach...and as friendless as mosquitoes" Ben laughed in spite of himself.

"Mosquitoes don't have friends?" Emelda chuckled.

"Do they?" he said amidst quick breath; he was still laughing, making Emelda see it funnier than it appeared.

"They are my friends," Emelda said.

"Oh. I know. Don't lock your windows at night, let's see how they would spare your thick, young blood" he looked at Emelda who was now laughing hysterically, and said "I know they are your friends," he added with a nod "Yes I do".

"You are kidding me," Emelda said, turning to get back to the kitchen.

"Allow your friends to visit you at night. They would take good care of you" Ben Said, "But your Majesty, not even a slice of bread or hamburger is there?"

"Stop calling me that," she grinned.

"You are. Give honour to whom honour is due"

"I ran out of cash. I'll restock. Very soon, Mr. Hamburger. You like better things"

"As if you don't. Who doesn't like better things?" he stood up to get the remote. "Let me not waste your time, Eme. Get back to your culinary exercise. I can't wait to eat this...ah. I can perceive the aroma. By the time you would have finished, I might no longer be famished"

Emelda turned to the kitchen. But she caught the rhyme. By the time you would have finished, I might no longer be famished" She had always been this way, paying attention to details. Ben would say she was pernickety, choosing a stranger word - as always.

When she got to the kitchen, she started muttering to herself. Having fun with herself regarding Ben's obvious mastery of words, or in some cases, his subtle art of playing with words, or rather obfuscating issues. Ben could be funny. He always preferred a bigger word. Why say famished when he would have used hungry? Why say engage his psychological energy when he would have used think?

Why say culinary exercise when he would have used cooking? All this was just funny to her. She had known Ben for a very long time. It was no longer just a game. It had become part of him so that he no longer did it deliberately but subconsciously.

"Too much reading of dictionary as if people won Nobel Prize speaking with bombast" Emelda snorted with laughter. "He is the only guy I know that intentionally reads his dictionary" Emelda shrugged. And imagined and talked to herself more. Ben could hear some sounds but would think she was on call.

She glanced at the standing mirror in her kitchen and preened herself a bit. She wondered why Ben had not found this beautiful body attractive or had never shown erotic interest in her since they became just friends for too long a time. She never thought it could be possible to maintain a male friend for so many years without turning it into romance.

Without the man first coming up with unusual advances as they normally did. Ben had become like a brother to her, giving her advice when asked, and offering to help her in moments of crisis. But he had never admired her physique sexually or maybe she had but rarely did; he had never been tempted to do something funny even when she provoked him with some touch.

She liked him that way anyway, being just a friend and learning from each other but of course, she had a problem with his frugality with compliments. He had hardly appreciated her beauty, her dress, her shape, her colour. He only knew how to joke a lot with other things... about education, science, and gymnastics. Hardly ever spoken about love, romance, or sex.

And she wondered if he didn't like the subject or if he was just being prudish. Or maybe he liked them but had never come up with such a discussion before her. Or had he? She couldn't remember. Henceforth, she would engage her directly to know his takes on some of these weightier matters of the heart.

She removed her apron when she was done with the meal, observing herself a little longer. She said to herself in front of the mirror that she needed to put in more effort in nutrition and diet and to shrug herself off meat pie and hamburger, Ben's favorite.

The number of junk and soda drinks she had been consuming lately was now contributing to her not-so-good shape, she thought. But on second thought, she said she needn't do all those exercises to get in better shape. She had seen some women suddenly get a better shape. Or rather got a bigger butt and boobs. But she didn't encourage such surgery as the risk was too expensive for her to foot.

Besides, she wasn't too vain, or unhopeful to consider it as the last resort. Those who did it, she didn't have any problem with them provided they didn't ask the public for money. Or didn't ask her or anybody for money. But it could be foolish to weigh the consequence and the risk of death and still go ahead to do it, she believed.

"If one wants something so badly one must find a way". She had heard it many times from some ladies who did plastic surgery. But she had always retorted: "A way that could cost lives is certainly not worth it"

She, however, after a few minutes in the kitchen as she danced with her musings had to rethink. She didn't even know what she was thinking. Everything in life was a risk, she said. If everyone thought doing surgery was good for them, whether it was to get a better shape, or bigger boobs or butts, hips, or whatever, it was up to them.

She had a little longer neck than usual, she could see it in the mirror. It was bold. It was like putting on a magnifying glass and seeing everything differently and more clearly. She could see her neck staring her in the face. It was long, truly long.

But this made her distinct and even more attractive as pointed out by her ex. Even her friends would, at times, throw a friendly joke at her, addressing her with zebra. She could see her wavy black hair, too. She squinted her eyes that they looked cute though not as some folks had admired.

Oh. She couldn't have forgotten. Somebody was waiting and dying to eat her food and she was wasting more time, unnecessarily preening herself. It was high time she removed the mirror from the kitchen, she thought.

Those in the bathroom and her closet should be more than enough. She couldn't even recall how she came about such a design. And such a strange attitude of hers. She had never seen a mirror in anybody's kitchen before or had she?

The fried rice had been served to Ben with some chicken around them but he didn't look at them with excitement. It suddenly seemed the well-prepared food didn't excite him any longer. His appetite now craved something sweeter, something tastier than just a meal.

He maintained very intense eye contact with her. He never found himself before in this mood with a woman of this kind, staring at her as if something beyond his powers had bewitched him...as if her beauty had suddenly beguiled him. He had lost control. And would lose it again and again if she kept on bending down, exposing her front boobs, and behaving as if she didn't do anything wrong.

Her looks wrought great havoc in his body and hardly had she noticed. His body language had changed; he sometimes spluttered; and unlike Emelda, she hadn't been observing. His eyes were full of joy and full of feelings way too heavy for words to describe.

She had put on everything set on the dining table and was whistling a song that Ben had never heard. A foreign song by the way. It sounded like Juice Newton's Angel of the Morning. She liked both local and foreign songs that Ben had asked her where she belonged.

Just as immediately as she sat beside him, very close to him that her shoulder touched his, so that they could start eating, he grabbed her hand and pulled his head closer, and started kissing her. It was unexpected and too sudden for Emelda to defend. It was when the kissing lingered that Emelda suddenly realized herself and pulled off her lips.

"What are you doing?" Emelda said, looking at him in disbelief.

"I am sorry, Eme. I lost... "

"Lost what? Do you realize what you just did?"

"Please, I didn't know what came over me"

"You better be sorry," she sighed.

"Eat your food, please" she pushed the tray forward.

"Not until you accept my apology"

"Ben, I am not angry with you. I just didn't expect that from you"

"We all get carried away"

"You had better control yourself"

"Because I am not your boyfriend"

"You are like a brother to me, Ben. We have been close for more than seven years and this has never occurred"

"I was carried away," Ben said and wanted to add but you provoked it.

"Can you eat your food now?" she attempted to smile but withdrew the look.

"You must show me through a sign"

"That..."

"That you have accepted my apology"

"I am not angry with you"

"Then give me back your alluring face" he raised his hand, demonstrating the picture of a beautiful face. "Can I see your face lit?"

He looked at Emelda more intently to elicit her response but she avoided eye contact.

"Now I can eat" he heaved a sigh of relief.

"Did you know what you looked like when you tightened your brow?"

"Don't tell me, eat your food" Emelda smiled at him.

"I am not your boyfriend; don't talk to me like that" he feigned seriousness.

Emelda understood his playing and tried to act along even though she didn't like that he kept on bringing up boyfriend palaver. Ben had changed or was beginning to change, she couldn't tell either. He could throw banters these days and talk less about science- a topic that bored her.

He was even moved by the provocative dress that he touched and kissed her. He had never done that. He had learned how to make a woman laugh; this was unlike him. But one thing had not changed, Emelda smiled at the thought, he had not stopped using big words in both his writing and speaking, and he still talked endlessly like a parrot.

'I am not your girlfriend. I can talk to you anyhow I like" Emelda wished he stopped talking and eat his food. It was her habit not to talk while eating but she didn't know how to politely tell him that talking while eating was a bad habit she despised like no other.

"My heart broke up in disarray seeing the expression on your face after the..."

"After you kissed me, isn't it?" she cut him mid-sentence "Let me pretend I didn't know what came over you"

"Hell was let loose on me," he said "I have never seen your face like that, Eme"

"Eat your food"

"I have had enough," he drank some water "You don't need my compliment. How can I be repeating the same thing each time I eat your food"?

"You have started again"

"Emelda, I envy your boyfriend. Or rather your future husband"

"Why?"

"He would bite his finger each time he eats your food. Ah, your mother did a great job; you are a masterpiece"

"I am blushing. Thank you" Emelda said "But are you sure you are okay?"

"Do you need a soothsayer to tell you that I am full? Look at my stomach. I wouldn't have eaten this much If it had been cooked by..."

"Your girlfriend," Emelda said quickly before he could arrive. She placed her hand at her jaw and looked at him in the way that says I am enjoying your company.

"But I don't have a girlfriend"

"Tell me you are joking"

"I am serious, Your Majesty"

"Who is Your Majesty?" Emelda said with vehemence but beneath her eyelashes, he saw her tenderness.

"And you are thirty-five or thereabout. Did you exit from a relationship recently or you had been alone for long now"?

"Come. I will tell you about that next time"

"That is you saying you want to leave now"

"I have a meeting with my staff tomorrow morning. I should be going."

"All of a sudden" Emelda said. "I am not happy"

"I am sorry Your Majesty," he put his palms together as some devotees did when praying and implored her.

He looked at his wristwatch and exclaimed "I didn't know I have spent some time here...more than I ever thought. If that isn't enough, anyway, I will come and live with you" he grinned as he opened the door while Emelda walked behind her thinking how much his logistics business had made him but he was still not well-off.