It’s been three years, four days, five hours, twenty minutes and thirty-six seconds since Sugar (that was what I called her) packed her things and walked out of my life (Hey! Hey! Don’t judge me). I just stood there and watched as tears streaked down my cheeks. It wasn’t like I didn’t make effort to stop her from leaving, I did. I begged and begged, but all of my pitiful pleas fell on deaf ears.
“Sugar, please don’t go. I swear if you stay things will get better. Can’t you see how your presence in my life has made me better?” I said to her. And with all the coldness she had in her she cut me so deep with these words;
“Well hello! Plot twist, I am actually leaving. Drown in your tears.”
And that was it, she left without even turning back, without emotion on her face, without that cliché “I am sorry I have to do this” . No, none of those. She just walked out of life, while I stood there looking like a refugee in the middle of nowhere. Since then I have been counting the days, trying to make life better , but honestly it got a lot worse; I lost confidence. I felt I had failed the test and maybe, just maybe, I was not boyfriend material.
It was my first ever relationship; the best four months of my life, man! It was so rosy when it all started (or is that how all relationships start?). I could go on and on and on to you about the good things that happened but I am sure I will bore you with all of that so let me tell you exactly why I called you to this bar at this odd time of the night. Yesterday, I took my lonely-ass self out (see how I am saying it like it was my first time doing that), hoping to catch a good time after a long day in class. It was 6:30pm in the evening, it was so breezy and the moon was out, kissing the sky with its light. Such a hoe, that moon. And as usual, everyone was wrapping up for the day, shops closing, kenkey sellers now setting up their stalls, mosquitoes unfurling their blood thieving- apparatus and the annoying rants of the trotro mates, “Madina Old Road” as usual filled the air. So typical. Well I was going to get myself pizza from Barcelos in Accra Mall (or to sound a little more deebee, A & C). I placed my order and sat, patiently waiting for my beef pizza special and chocolate milkshake as I randomly glanced around.
Then a moving figure caught my attention. “No, it can’t be,” I said to myself as I felt the butterflies coming back to life. I thought they were dead. I looked again to be sure, and that did my system even worse. My heart began beating hard like a lunatic at a drum; I could feel every hair on my body stand erect and a cold chill fluidly move down my spine. I froze out of what seemed to be a mixture of happiness, sadness, excitement crowned with nostalgia. I was torn between getting up, walking up to her, starting a conversation with her; and staying put. In my mind I was sinning already. Within seconds, my groin had the balls (no pun intended) to start thinking for me. I was actually thrown into a trance, where I found myself, getting up and walking up to her, giving her a laugh she hadn’t had in ages, take her home, set her body aflame with passion and romance; blow her mind, make her bless my bed with her glistening juices, make her scream my name, leave bite marks and finger-scraped landmarks all over my body, pin her to the wall and hit it so hard she’d feel her soul caressing my tip, (ei, see what I am my imagination is doing to me, it’s not like I can even do half of what I just described, but well *sips on my steaming lipton*). Then a heck of a lot more of banging than love making just to make her realize how much of hate has brewed in my heart for her, leaving me dejected for three years, three days, 21 hours, five minutes and seventeen seconds. I could feel my Kojo gradually unblocking its dam and letting blood fill its spongy vessels and chambers, which I was trying so hard to prevent.
“Sir, your order is ready,” I was snapped out of my trance by this tender voice. I almost jumped out of shock, and my hand hit the milkshake off the tray this pretty waiter was holding. This then spilled on my trousers (and of all places at the wrong time, urrrgh!)
She took out a napkin. “Ow, sorry sir,” she said as she began to wipe the milkshake off my trousers. I tried to stop her but it was too late, she already got to work and she saw the bulge in my trousers. She looked up to me and gave the smile girls give when they are up to no good.
“Is everything alright with you sir?” as she now switched from cleaning the spilled milkshake to actually making my milk shake with gentle circular motions . (Why are some females like this, eh? Hoh.)
I replied almost inaudibly, “Yes I am. You can stop doing that I will do it myself.”
She did stop, and cleaned my table. “I will refill this for you,” she said as she took the glass away. I turned around to see if Sugar was still there, but she wasn’t. “Dammit!” I cussed. I should have gone to say hi to her, it’d been ages I‘d seen or even heard from her. She never returned any of my calls nor replied my pathetic text messages. Guess she wants nothing to do with me, but all I wanted to know was why she left.
Well it was pizza time, and I was not about to let a bad mood (stares at my groin) and a boner spoil this precious moment. I began to attack my pizza when I realized how hungry I was. Three slices into the pizza, the waitress returned again with a milkshake-filled glass and placed it on the table. “Here you go, sir” she said.
“Call me Prince, sir makes me feel so old,” I replied. She smiled and had a “hips don’t lie” gait as she walked away. I was wondering what this young lady was up to, till I lifted my milkshake to take a gulp and saw a note beneath it, with a number and “call me, sir. Let me properly say sorry for spilling your milkshake”. I smiled and hurriedly put the note in my pocket, looked up to the counter and our eyes met. The rest that happened *runs out of ink*
And now you and I are here in this bar at this odd time of the night, not because I want to ask you for some tips on how to win sugar back or any lonely depression talk, but for you and I to discuss how dope Barcelos’ beef pizza special and chocolate milkshake is. So dope! Kweh!