There's No "I" in Threesome: One

Airports & Slippery Tongues 

“Emirates Flight 573; Nairobi to Entebbe now boarding...Emirates Flight 573; Nairobi to Entebbe now boarding...” came the announcement through the airport PA system.

Robert glanced up at the small, box-shaped speaker perched in the corner of the bathroom as the announcement was made again. He shook his head. finally! It was about friggin' time!

Robert's attention quickly returned to his reflection, continuing with the task at hand. Taking the small battery operated beard clipper he held in his right hand to his face, Robert speedily removed what was left of the three day old scruff that had sprouted on his face. There was no friggin' way he was going to miss his flight again. Robert had no desire to spend another night in the airport. One night had been torturous enough. Do you have any idea how uncomfortable those waiting lounge chairs are?

Robert has a thing, you see. Well, more like a thing against. He does not like the city of Nairobi. Thinks it a bane on the map of Africa. Swore to himself that he would never, no not ever, under any circumstance, spend a night there. No matter what the situation. Not even if he missed his flight home and had twenty four hours to kill before the next one. And so with this in mind, Robert had reasoned that since one does not really arrive at a destination until they have left the airport, bus park or whatever, all he had to do to keep his vow was to not leave the airport. And so that's exactly what he did.

Finished shaving, Robert tossed the clipper into his toilet bag and zipped it up. Next came his shirt. He was in such a rush that he buttoned it up, not realizing until much later that he had buttoned it up wrong. Jacket and tie were next in line. Once those were on, Robert had a look at himself in the bathroom mirror. Crap. He looked like he had just spent the night in an airport lounge. Which of course he had but that didn't mean he had to look like it. Adjusting his tie, re tucking in his shirt and playing with the lapel of his jacket, Robert tried his best to amend his appearance. Another mirror inspection told him however, that there was not much of a difference but seeing as he really didn't have the time, the only thing left was getting his stuff together and hustling his butt to catch that plane.

Dumping his toilet bag into his carry on, Robert zipped up the carry on, slung it over his shoulder and dashing from the bathroom, hustled his butt towards his terminal.

He needn't have worried, he made it with plenty of time to spare; finding quite the queue waiting to board. As he waited, Robert got out his ticket and passport. Had a glance at them. Shaking his head at his passport photo. Like most people he thought it was terrible.

Seven and a half minutes later and Robert was in his seat, albeit on the isle, much to his chagrin, wondering if he would be able to convince his neighbor, whoever that may turn out to be, to switch with him. He had a thing you see. Or rather a thing against. He abhorred the isle seat. It gave him the willies. He just...didn't...like it. His only hope was that he could convince his neighbor of that.

Five minutes later he got his chance.

“Excuse me.” she asked leaning over so Robert would be able to get her clearly.

“I think I'm sitted next to you.”

Robert looked up at her. His purpose nothing more than to size her up. To see how much of a push over she would be.

She must have been at least six foot tall. Caramel complexion. Captivating eyes. Sensuous mouth. Slender but with just the right amount of “curve”. Dressed like she had money as well as fashion sense. Something about her told him that she was used to getting what she wanted. He was going to have to ask nicely.

“Sure. I just have a small favor to ask of you.”

Raised eyebrows; she seemed interested.

“Cool. Shoot.”

“Um, would you mind if we exchanged seats? If I had the window and you had the isle? I would really appreciate it.”

She didn't even think about it.

“Sure. I was actually about to ask you myself.”

Robert threw her a disbelieving look.

“Seriously,” the girl said defending herself, “I have this ridiculous fear that if I'm sitting at the window, it just may crack and if that happened it could break and if that happened I would get sucked out of the plane. Stupid I know but,” she managed a small shrug, “Everyone's afraid of something, right?”

Robert had to smile. Now that was original.

“Well that saves me from having to use the slippery tongue on you.” Robert said, getting up out of his seat just enough to settle into the one next to him.

Shaking her head, the girl sat down in the freshly vacated seat.

“Did you just say 'the slippery tongue'? Like really?”

Robert glanced over at her.

“What? It's a little term I like to use.”

The girl smirked.

“Maybe it's time for you to find another little term to use.”

She shrugged.

“I'm just saying.”

“And what would you suggest?” Robert asked, angling his body so that now he was facing her.

“'Powers of Persuasion' has always been a popular one. A whole lot more palatable than ' the slippery tongue' anyway.”

“I'm Robert.” Robert said, making sure to offer his right hand. He didn't want her getting a whiff of the wedding band just yet. He was starting to get a good feeling about this girl.

“So does that mean that you'll think about dropping that whole slippery tongue thing?” the girl asked, not taking Robert's proffered hand.

“It means my name is Robert.” Robert alliterated.

The girl smiled. Nice teeth.

“Samantha. Nice to meet you.” the girl answered, finally taking Robert's hand.

“Now,” Samantha said, removing her hand from Robert's grip, “Why don't you tell me more about these fabled Powers of Persuasion of yours...”  

With Hearts of Steel (To all the Single Mother's in the House)

I ran into someone from my past the other day. A lost love, a former flame; the one who to this day I think of as the one who got away. In the last place I would have ever expected to find her. In the baby isle of a department store. She was shopping for one of those baby travel bags. The one on her shoulder pretty much in tatters. Ben 10 I think. From what I could gather, it was a toss up between either Mickey Mouse or Winnie the pooh. Either way, it was another buck in old Walt's pocket.

Truth is, I had heard that she was a mommy now. A single one at that. The baby's father had made it pretty clear to her from day one that if she was going to keep it, she was on her own. Or so the rumor went. But you all know how rumors are. You can never really know what to believe and fact: I never had the heart to ask her myself. I mean how do you ask someone something like that without coming off as offensive? Damned if I know and so to avoid any awkwardness I kept our contact limited to the occasional “hi” on Facebook chat. A little cowardice of me? Probably. A bit insensitive? Most definitely. But ask anyone who knows me, I mean really knows me and they'll tell you I can be a bit of a Charles Dickens. An old English, epically egocentric dick. Therefore, my actions not necessarily off kilter of character.

She had little Gabriel with her. *Smile* He's a beautiful kid. Looks just like his mother. Has a little bit of his father in him too. The defiant look he had in his eyes as I walked up to him and his mother definitely belonged to his father.

“Hey little man.” I said as I approached them. Gabby turned. A flurry of emotions rippling across Gabby's face. A dash of surprise, a sprinkle of shame, a spoon of confusion, a sliver of fear, a shave of resentment...and not one ounce of “Wow, it's really nice to see you.” Not that I was expecting any.

Pulling her face together as best as she could, Gabby put on a lipstick smile.

“Hi Lloyd.”

She looked tired. Like life had kicked the shit out of her. Like she had been given a barrel full of lemons but no matter how hard she squeezed, all she got was sticky hands and a face full of bitterness.

But in spite of the tired lines, food stained clothes and carelessly combed hair, she was still beautiful. Strikingly so. Still the girl I had once loved. Whether she was happy to see me or not.

“Shopping for little man, huh?”

The quick rise and dip of her eyebrows, coupled with the slight downward turn of her mouth made it pretty clear that she thought the question a little stupid.

“Isn't it obvious?” her expression asked, overtly patronizing. I still hadn't gotten a knack for breaking the ice.

Ducking for a quick come back, I pointed at the shelf.

“Winnie the Pooh if you asked me. You can never go wrong with the honey junkie.” I said, managing to illicit just the smallest of smiles.

“Of course if Sponge Bob was in the vicinity he would be the obvious choice but in the absence of Mr. Square Pants, Mr. Pooh is always a safe bet.”

The smile widened. Now that was more like it.

“But that's just me...how are you?”

Gabby swallowed, my hard won smile disappearing back into its five combination safe.

“Good...bad...tired...”

Her voice trailed off with a sigh. She shifted Gabriel from her left hip to her right.

“He's a hand full.” Gabby admitted, nodding at her son.

“I love him more than life itself but sometimes I wish...” another sigh. Closing her eyes briefly, Gabby rubbed her forehead with the heel of her palm.

The moment passed.

“But enough about me, how are you? And what the heck are you doing in the baby isle?”

“Cruising for hot moms.” I teased giving her a small and playful nudge with an elbow.

“Lemme hold him.” I added, holding out my arms towards Gabriel.

Gabby seemed a little reluctant at first but after a moment's thought she handed the boy over, Gabriel not putting up the smallest wall of resistance. He was heavier than I expected but found the perfect crook in my arm. He started playing with my beard almost immediately.

“He likes you.” Gabby observed, obviously a little surprised. “He rarely takes to anyone that fast.”

“You should be letting him choose your men for you.” I said jokingly. Play nibbling at his munchkin small fingers as they wandered into my mouth.

“I just might.” Gabby conceded, wrapping her arms around herself. The smile was back. She was watching me and her son with a fond expression on her face.

“Don't look at me like that.” I ordered, mock offended. “Get Mr. Pooh Bear over there and anything else you might need and let's get out of here before little Gabriel's eyes over here lock onto something we're not in a position to get him.”

This time Gabby laughed and grabbed the bag off of the shelf. She held it up.

“Pooh Bear it is.”

She beamed over at me.

“Now let's get out of here. And Lloyd,”

“Hmm?”

“Thanx.”

***

I took Gabby out for coffee; Lil' G, as I started calling him, for ice cream. We talked and talked and talked. About everything under the sun. About work, old friends, high school; how easy it was versus how hard being a “grown up” is. At times it was almost as if I had never broken her heart at all. Like she had never walked out on mine. It was the most natural thing in the world. Not an ounce of awkwardness. She needed to talk and I was more than willing to listen. And as she vented all her frustrations I couldn't help but take note of just how much she reminded me of my own mom; who had had me at our age. And who, just like Gabby, had no one but herself to rely on. It struck a cord with me. It threw everything into a new light. This girl was a soldier. Doing what she had to because if she didn't, who would? If she didn't feed her son, if she didn't dress him, if she didn't put a roof over his head; who would? It's amazing how little people are actually willing to do. And for all the talk of family we have in this country, it's appalling to see how unwilling people are to lend a helping hand. Sure, blood is thicker than water but it's every man for themselves and God for us all; I've got my own mouths to feed I can't be worrying about yours. It's even worse when you're in a foreign country and there's really no family to be accounted for. There it was more like,

“Here's twenty bucks, go get some Macdonald's for you and your son or something.”

I remember on more than one occasion when the sun had already dipped below the horizon, the shadows were becoming longer by the minute, the air colder, the streets more dangerous and we had no where to sleep. A time when I could fit my entire life into a back pack. A couple of changes of clothes, a book, I always had a book with me; something to retreat into, a pen and a spiral bound note book. One book to get lost in one world and the other to create my own. Anything to shield me from the harsh reality that the real one was shit.

I remember one night in particular where we slept on some random church's Sunday school room floor. A couple of sleeping bags as mattresses, vending machine potato chips and a single can of coco cola for dinner. It was the best the Reverend could do on such short notice. We had literally come knocking on the church's huge double doors. We had no where else to go. Once he had settled us in as best as he could, the Rev promised to find us a better arrangement in the morning. And he did. Finding the most wonderful of families to take us in.

It was tough times, those, but momma had my back. Just like God had hers. I can't imagine what would have happened if my mom had woken up one day and just decided that enough was enough, she just wasn't going to do it any more. She could have just as easily dropped me off some where, anywhere, on a street corner something and struck out on her own. Without her anchor, her burden, her friggin' ball and chain and have the freedom to do whatever she wanted. Ive heard of stories where mothers have done it. But not my mother. She has a heart of steel. And as much as Gabby looked and sounded like she was considering throwing in the towel, I saw that same strength in her. She would keep on soldiering no matter how she felt. Doing whatever it takes. But never, not ever, forsaking her principles. And in time, she would be rewarded. God keeps a record of these things. I've seen the proof of this in my Mom's life. God has blessed her.

I tried to reassure Gabby as best I could. She accepted it but I'm still not sure whether she believed it. Her life was too much in the air right now for her to find much reassurance in anything or anyone. Least of all an ex-boyfriend who had cheated on her, lied to her about it and once found out didn't even bother to apologize but instead actually relished in his betrayal. She had no reason to listen to a word I said. I tried to give her one. To show her that I wasn't that kid any more. And by the bottom of our third cup of coffee, I think I had done a pretty good job of doing so.

Gabby set her cup down on its saucer. Glanced over at Gabriel who sat on the love seat next to her. He had been quiet for quite some time but was now starting to get restless.

“Lloyd...this has been great. Really. I really needed this. Thank you.”

I nodded.

“Think nothing of it. Really. I probably needed this more than you.”

Gabby chuckled.

“You've changed. Ive never known you to be modest.”

“You should come to church on Sunday.”

Gabby picked up Gabriel and placed him on her lap in an attempt to still him. When she turned back to me her eyebrows were raised.

“And he prays too? Who are you?”

I smiled.

“A work in progress. Mavuno Church, Lugogo Cricket Oval just opposite the MTN Arena. 10 AM. And bring Gabriel.”

Gabby eyed me with a little suspicion.

“What's the catch?”

I chuckled.

“No catch. So are you coming?”

After a couple moment's deliberation, Gabby finally nodded.

“You've got yourself a deal.”

I clapped my hands together.

“Good. Now gimme your number so I can hold you to that.'

Gabby laughed.

“We both know that's not the only reason why you want my number but I'll bite.”

She held out her hand.

“Gimme your phone and I put it in.”

After she had and after I had made sure that she wasn't duping me, it was pretty clear to both of us that it was time to go. Gabriel's patience was up. He wanted out.

“The man has spoken.” I said as I took care of the bill, telling the waitress to keep the change.

“Let's go.” I told her.

We got up, Gabby handing me Lil' G to hold. I took him in one arm and held out the other to Gabby. Gabby looked at it for a moment, then making a decision, she slipped her hand into mine.

There's No "I" in Threesome: Prologue

Her hands shook. Her mind raced. Her heart ached. Her stomach, felt like someone had slit it open, grabbed a fist full of intestines and tugged at them, disemboweling her out onto the coffee shop floor. She was hurt. She was in pain. She was an absolute mess. But looking at her, you wouldn't have guessed. Every hair was in place, every nail filed, every nail polished, every article of clothing wrinkle free, every accessory chosen and placed to picture perfection.

A sigh. Long and deep. Border line depressed, border line detest, full blown hopelessness. Samantha took a sip of her mocha. Her mocha that had just a nip of whiskey in it. Just enough to give the coffee a little bite.

Ever since she had found out, Samantha had been carrying around a quarter of the stuff everywhere. It helped dull the sharp pain in her brain she got every time she let herself think about it. The alcohol made it all just a little bit more bearable.

Another sip, another sigh...where the hell was he? She had called Robert four times already. Each time he had given her some bull about being stuck in traffic. She was tempted to call again but resisted the itch. After all, what would be the point? He would probably just tell her that he was still stuck in traffic anyway. Just as Samantha was thinking this though, the coffee shop door opened and in walked Robert. He took a moment to look around, spotted Samantha and headed in her direction.

“Sorry I'm so late,” he said as he sat down, “the traffic is CRAZY. How are you? You sounded a little scary on the phone.”

Robert reached for Samantha's hand that rested on the table, tapping the table cloth near her cup of coffee. Samantha withdrew it, however, and raised it to get the attention of a waiter.

“Why don't you order something? The coffee's really good here.”

Robert peered at Samantha over the top of his glasses.

“I know Samantha, I'm the one who first brought you here. Did I do something wrong?”

Samantha didn't answer him but instead gave her attention to the waiter who was already standing by the table.

“Hi,” Samantha said to the waiter, “my friend would like to order something.”

The waiter turned to Robert.

“I would.” Robert directed at the waiter, “but could you give me a minute to look through the menu? I'll call you over when I'm ready.”

The waiter nodded. “No problem sir.”

“Thank you.” Robert said and the waiter was gone.

“Now would you like to tell me what's going on?” Robert directed at Samantha. The bewilderment he felt more than a little obvious in his voice.

Samantha pointed at the wedding band on Robert's left hand, “How's Patricia?”

Robert looked down at the band then back up at Samantha.

“She's fine. She wanted to come but I told her I thought it was best that I came alone. She's worried about you, just like I am. What's going on?”

Samantha took a sip of her coffee.

“Do you know that Ive been drinking? And not just that social crap either. But like drinking solo every night in my flat until I pass out kind of drinking. I'm actually pretty drunk right now. This coffee is probably like half whiskey by now. Wanna sip?” Samantha held out her mug.

Robert took the mug and sniffed at it, his face screwing involuntarily into one of disgust. He set it down in front of him, out of Samantha's reach.

“Jesus Samantha! It's 4:30 in the afternoon. Are you-”

“We agreed.” Samantha cut in. her voice was suddenly harrowed. Her countenance suddenly near tears. “We agreed Robert- no babies. Not yet. Not until I wanted them.”

And it was at these words that Robert saw Samantha for the first time. For the first time since he walked in. She was a wreck. Her body slouched. Her eyes sad and rimmed with red. Her make up haphazardly done. Her normally clear skin scattered with spots. And she stunk. My gosh did she stink. The smell of alcohol came off of her in waves.

Robert sat back in his seat. His next words almost a whisper.

“Oh my God. What are you saying? That you're pregnant?”

Samantha swallowed. Wet her lips. Tried to maintain her composure. Looked Robert in the eye but the words just couldn't come out. They got stuck on the way out, lodged in her throat. And so directing her gaze to the safety of table cloth directly in front of her, Samantha managed a nod. She was pregnant.

Robert felt his heart do a back flip. Because even though Samantha had made it clear that she was not yet ready to be a mother, this was something Robert had wanted for a long time. Something that both he AND his wife had wanted for a long time. Little Shanice would finally have someone to play with. The truth is, Robert was elated. And he was more than sure that he could win over Samantha. All he needed was time.

Robert leaned forwards. Cleared his throat. “Listen, Sam, I know we didn't plan this and I'm fully aware that you feel you're not yet ready but maybe God allowed this to happen for a reason.”

Samantha looked up from the table cloth, there was something different in her eye, a resolve in her voice that wasn't there before. Samantha met Robert's gaze.

“I didn't call you to try and convince me Robert. I called you to tell you that I need the money to get rid of it. I have an appointment for tomorrow morning. Now, are you going to give me the money or not?”

Midnight Sessions: Lifnei/ Axarei (As the Dam Breaks)

Time: A few minutes after Seven in the morning.

Place: A small hotel room.

Lloyd is sitted at a cluttered, uneven legged table-clothed desk. He is scribbling in a blue, hard backed exercise book. He is wiping at his nose, he is mumbling to himself, he is almost near tears. Tears? Yes, tears. But why on earth tears? Because he is picking at old wounds that he had long since forgotten. Long since thought had been adequately been dealt with by...well, by being quite adequately ignored into non-existence. Little did he know that God was just waiting for the right time. How often we forget that God forgets nothing. Nothing but forgiven sins. But what is he writing? What is he scribbling so furiously? Hmmm, Let's find out, shall we? It's not hard. All you have to do is lean over his shoulder and have yourself a little peek...

“...I Trusted you to protect me. I trusted you to keep me from harm. I took you at your word when you said that you would never give me more than I could handle. I was fourteen. I didn't know what the hell I was doing. I couldn't tell what was real and what was not. I wasn't ready. I know that you know best, but you should have known better. Because ten years down the line and I'm still afraid. Still afraid to take the plunge, still afraid to experience you in a way that Ive never experienced anything else before. Still afraid of getting lost, truly lost in the expanse that is your majesty...the landscape that is your glory. Still afraid that getting lost in you would mean losing myself...maybe even losing my mind...and never finding it again. Because the last time I trusted you. Truly trusted you with everything and every square inch of my being, I felt betrayed, I felt lied to. I felt you threw into question my very sanity and for a very long time I resented you for it. And the fact is, I still do...”

***

They say that there is power in pain. That you can not be molded and hardened unless you've passed through fire. Well who ever they were, where ever they are, when ever they said it; they were right. This weekend has been exhausting. It's been amazing. It's been uncomfortable. It's been heart breaking. It's been tumultuous. It's been an experience I will never forget.

And as I write this, it is not the end of the retreat but the beginning. The beginning of something...breath taking. Breath taking being the only word I can think of because that is exactly how I feel; breath taken. Taken in such a way that I never want to be given back. He can have it. He can have it all. Because as drained as I feel, I feel at peace. As right as rain. As if God himself walked right up to me and said, “Son, today I make you the luckiest man alive.” And you know what the most amazing thing is? That's exactly what's happened. Only that luck has nothing to do with it. And so if keeping this feeling means losing everything else, then you can count me in. Hell, you can count me twice. Because the way I see it, losing everything, or what we as “us” perceive to be “Everything”, mind inclusive...would only mean that from there on in, I would have no other option but to gain. But to be given. And if there's one thing Ive learned this weekend, it's that God never gives anyone anything store bought. or processed. or diluted. He doesn't know how to. He gives you a hundred percent of exactly what you need. And do you know why? Because he's a hundred percent pure. He can never do anything less than 100%. He can never do anything less than perfect. A comforting thought considering the imperfect world we live in. But before I veer too much off tangent, I think I should end here. Especially since it's Two Forty-Six in the AM. But as head throbbingly tired as I am though, it feels pretty darn good to be up at such an ungodly hour writing about well, God. Hell, just to be writing at all. Ive missed this. Thank you for breaking the damn big guy...I owe ya.

Nitey.

Mike-O: The Future of Ugandan R&B

I wont say much cos theres really not that much to say. i'll let the video speak for itself....

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fmvrPh-x5G4

Too Fat to Fit into My Lucky Jeans (Gay, Straight or Otherwise)

Note: The following should in no way scare away my female friends…unless of course you feel you “qualify”…but even then…

I’ve come to realize something. And not suddenly; like when a small child is startled and they lose control of their teeny-tiny bladders. But something a bit more gradual. Like when you’re putting on weight and you’re kind of aware of it but kind of not, until one morning you wake up and can’t fit into your lucky pair of jeans that on average you wear about two to five times a year depending on how good of a year you’re having. Yeah, sort of like that.

The truth is…I’m lonely. It’s something that, to be quite honest, I’ve been aware of for quite some time now but have never really fully acknowledged.

So Lloyd, why don’t you tell us what was the turning point? What was your metaphorical waking up one morning with the inability to fit into your lucky pair of jeans?

Well, most of my friends are married, you see. And if not happily then at least they seem to be able to at least tolerate each other. As for the rest, they are either in a couple (gay, straight or otherwise- and don’t ask me what the “otherwise” is) or are so distracted by a parade of boobs, butts, dreads and bulging muscles that they don’t have time to feel lonely. Which essentially, leaves me in a pretty precarious position.

The marrieds and couples are always doing married and coupley stuff together like married and couples retreats, married and couples luncheons, married and couples anniversary parties…I could probably go on but I trust that you get the point. As for the happy singles (or at least the singles who are trying to convince themselves that they’re happy) I just don’t have that much in common with them anymore. I guess I just can’t do the whole “fast life-date life” thing like I used to.

Hmmm, no longer a happy single but not yet in a couple…what’s a guy to do? Because as camp as it may sound, I’m at the point where when I see Married Couple X strolling through the mall holding hands I think, “Damn, I want that. Why can’t I have that?”

And the thing is…why CAN’T I have that?

Pause; think about that question really hard Lloyd…now ask that question again; I dare you.

Play; fine, there are some fundamental setbacks that are hindering the whole “for better or worse” process but that not to say that I’m not even allowed to ask.

Granted, but now let me ask YOU Lloyd; why CAN’T you have that?

Hmmm, for the sake of full disclosure I would have to say that my biggest setback is that I’m way too picky.

Not that I’m looking for the “perfect girl” mind you. Because I’ll be the first one to tell you, there’s no such thing. I’m just looking for someone who’s perfect…for me…oil burns, stretch marks, weird laughs and all. And all in all, that’s a pretty tall order.

What…? Say that again…? You want me to what…? Give you a list of requirements…? But why do you have to phrase it like that…? “List of requirements” makes me sound so shallow. Okay, so maybe I am a little shallow but that doesn’t mean…okay, okay, okay; you win.

I like tall girls. Tall and pretty girls. With legs for miles. Essentially I’m a butt man but really, all I really need is something to hold on to. And oh yeah, hands and feet. I like pretty hands and happy feet. But enough about the physical because I’m quite flexible when it comes to that; it’s the character that I’m a stickler for.

The girl has to be God fearing, yo. And not just the “Yeah, sure, I believe in God” type either but the all out, demon hunting, tongue speaking, burning for Christ kind of girl. That’s what I’m looking for. And the thing is, that major trait is an umbrella for a lot of the others that I value. Ambitious, caring, virtuous, hardworking, accommodating, supportive; just to name a few.

Outside of that though, the girl has to have a sense of humor as well as able to make me laugh. She has to have a sense of fun and adventure and willing to try new things. And we definitely gotta have some stuff in common otherwise what are we gonna talk about? I need someone who’s strong. Someone who can handle me because I’m not exactly the easiest person to handle. Like I said, a pretty tall order. And hey, don’t look at me like that with your rolling eyes and arms crossed over your chest. You asked and so I told you.

What was that…? I’m looking for super woman? You don’t think that I can find her do you? Well, I have my reservations as well but that doesn’t mean I’m going to stop looking or otherwise compromise. I’ve come pretty close on quite  a few occasions but there’s always like one or two things that I just can’t compromise on. A shame really, because to everyone else every single one of those girls seemed pretty damn perfect. Well to everyone except to those whose opinions I truly do value, anyway. It’s those people who actually pointed out the things that made seemingly Miss Perfect, not so perfect after all.

*Small Chuckle* did it ever occur to you that maybe these people are just screwing things up for you, Lloyd? Did THAT ever cross your mind? Not really. And even considering it now, it seems pretty less than likely. More often than not, they’ve actually saved me from making some decisions that I’m pretty sure I would have come to regret.

So where does that leave you Lloyd…? That leaves me on the hunt. And pretty much open to suggestions, interventions, and applications…anyone interested?

Rising Star: Mike-O

Its a rare thing, to witness a star in the making. It's as rare as a blue moon, or if that's too generic for you, then as rare as a bloody steak on a Saturday afternoon.

I was sitted in the front row, just like always. And just like always, I was completely blown away. Michael Onen had a gift. A gift so big, so obvious that there was no denying it. Of course there was the additive that he had been doing this for quite some time now. Twelve years if you were to ask him. But if you were to ask me, I would say that it it's been a whole lot longer than that. He penned his first song when he was eight and form his own group at the very same age.

Twenty-two years later and he's still at it. Everyone is put on this earth to do something. For Michael Onen (or Mike-O to you), it is to sing. You can see it in his conviction when he's on stage. The way he hold the mic, the way he controls the crowd, the way he hits his notes.

The house is packed. And although they are not necessarily there to see him, its Power Fm's Movie Night (I swear Muji you should pay me for that plug) they might as well be. As I look back at the crowd, he has them transfixed. Eating out of the palm of his hand.

I hear one person ask whether he's Ugandan. Another, a girl, commenting on how he has the voice of an angel, too bad he's married.

I smile to myself, they haven't seen, or in this case, heard nothing yet. Get ready world, Mike-O is about to take Uganda by storm.

To listen to his latest single “Napenzi (the wedding song)” click on the link below:

http://www41.zippyshare.com/v/21563673/file.html

Russian Roulette

She had him eating out of the palm of her hand. He was like her little lap dog. He would have done just about anything for her. Gone to the ends of the earth for her. Taken the gun, counted to three and pulled the trigger for her. All for the promise of one night. The promise of one night of heat and sweat and naked abandon. All for the promise of a fantasy that she could never, not even on her best day, live up to. But that didn't matter. What did matter was that this promise, although a lie, heck probably because it was a lie, was her power. And she was going to milk it for all it was worth.

Thomas asked her if she wanted another drink. Checking the time, Nicki decided against it. It was almost three. It was getting to be that time. She shook her head. Placed a hand on Thomas' chest.

“I'm good. How about we get out of her?”

Nicki could have sworn she felt Thomas' heart do a somersault in his chest. It was time to cash in on that cheque. And about time too. He was beginning to wonder.

“Yeah, sure. I was actually thinking the same thing.” he replied as nonchalantly as possible. “Do you want to check out another joint or just head home?”

best to sound as if you're not rushing to get her home, Thomas had learned from past experience. Best to let her think that you're doing what she wants to do. Things go a whole lot smoother that way.

Nicki allowed herself a smile, Thomas was so transparent it was actually kind of funny. Let him think that he's in control, letting me think that I'm in control, Nicki said to herself.

“No, let's go home.” She said to Thomas who was already on his feet. Nicki held out an arm so Thomas could help her up. Once up, she leaned up against him, giving him a feel of her body. If he noticed the stares he was getting, Thomas didn't let on. And the fact is, he did notice the stares. He took them, however, for stares of envy and jealousy and not for what they really were; stares of forbearance and from some, pity.

He had been after this for quite sometime, of course he was going to see what he wanted to see. Almost two years now. Well, one year really. She had dropped off of the radar for a while. Some people had said that she had been pregnant. had been shipped off to the village so that she could have the kid away from prying eyes and wagging tongues. And even if it was true, Thomas couldn't have cared less, the girl looked good. And to him that's all that mattered. Of course there had been whispers of something else but Thomas hadn't entertained those at all. Hearsay was hearsay and that was all it was. Until he heard it from a reliable source, Thomas had decided he wasn't going to listen to all of the chatter. The thing was, could he really afford to not to? He was running quite the risk; what if they were right? Yeah, but then what if they were wrong? But then every night, every girl was a risk, how was this any different?

Taking Nicki's hand, Thomas led her past the curious looks and the ill disguised stares. Through the entrance slash exit and into the night. The night air was a huge relief after the heat of the club.

“how close is your car?” Nicki asked, snuggling up against Thomas. Sure the night air was a relief but it also was kind of chilly.

“Right over there.” Thomas replied, pointing at a green corona not fifty meters away.

They reached the car, Thomas opened his side first, leaned in and then opened the passenger side for Nicki. She slid in next to Thomas who had already started up the car, closed the door behind her and they were off.

As they sped through the mostly empty streets, Thomas turned on the stereo, Usher's “DJ got us falling in love again” blasting through the speakers.

“Whoooo!” Nicki exclaimed, bouncing her seat. “I love this song!”

Ten minutes and three songs later and Thomas was pulling up in front of his gate. Climbing out of the car, Thomas opened the gate, jumped back into the car and drove into the compound, parking a few feet away from the waiting veranda.

Tossing Nicki the keys, Thomas told her to open up while he went and locked up the gate.

He found her in the bedroom admiring the paintings on the wall.

“Did you do these?” she asked, gesturing at them.

“Yup.” Thomas nodded, “You like?”

“I love.” Nicki replied, throwing Thomas a smile.

Thomas walked up to her.

“Just how much do you love them? Enough to offer the artist a little something for all of his hard work?”

He wrapped his arms around Nicki's waist and pulled her until her front was pressed up against his.

Nicki raised an eyebrow, a mischievous smile dancing around her lips.

“I think I can rustle up something...”

The first time he used protection. The second time too. The third time though...Nicki coaxed him into forgetting about it.

“We're just going to end up doing it again anyway. A waste of time and latex, I say. Unless of course you don't trust me...”

and just like that, Nicki got Thomas to get rid of what was left of his sense of caution.

Three months later and Thomas found out the hard way that all the whispers, all the chatter, all the indications that he had tried so hard to ignore had all been true...and Nicki? He never heard from her again. One night is what he had wanted and one night is what he had gotten. That and something from her that he would take to his grave. A grave that, as he sat in that doctor's office holding his head wandering just what the fuck he was going to do, loomed a whole lot bigger and a whole lot closer than it did moments before.

BANG!

So What I Lied (12 Rounds)

Ive hurt her more times than I care to remember. Broken her heart, waited for her to piece it back together only to break it again. And now here I am, about to do it again. Left with no choice but to do it again.

She loves me. She's always loved me and what pains me is that I am unable to say the same. What pains me even more is that I will never be able to say it. There's no spark, no flicker, no chemistry, no attraction, nothing but physical gratification. Something I had been longing for, for a very long time. Something that had been a splinter in my mind, tainting everything I see, everything I touch, everything I drink, everything I taste. I needed a release and writing just wasn't doing it for me. I hadn't written anything in weeks.

She was reluctantly willing. Willing because she believed that she loved me. Reluctant because it went against everything else that she believed in. That we believed in. I regretted it even before I was inside her. But I couldn't stop myself. I could have but I didn't want to. I wanted to, to stop that is, but I was an engine on full throttle; I was ready to go. And even though I was the one behind the wheel, I wasn't the one driving...

Ive caught myself in the most crushing of lies. And not caught as in found out but caught, as in stuck. Between the devil and the deep blue sea, between a rock and a hard place, between...well you get the picture. And as I sit here, I wonder, how did I ever get myself into this mess in the first place...?

Whispers....whispers faint but clear, far and near. Whispers that only I can hear.

“You already know the answer to that one dear boy...”

I lied because I thought that it would be much easier to pretend to love her than to come right out and break her heart...again. She had already forgiven me more times than I deserved too be forgiven. Had white washed her wall of hate and had still found it in her heart to paint it red and love me. I thought that it would be easier to try and learn to love her than to live with the guilt of crushing her after everything I had already put her through. I guess I was wrong. Hell, I know I was wrong. Living this lie is beginning to take its tole. I feel like my soul is bleeding. Bleeding right into the Devil's golden chalice, my old demons lapping it up, gulping it down like the devils they are. My already limping faith is now on all fours, crawling, begging, crying for help. But help will not come when I'm still like this. Of that much I am sure.

The question now is; will I be able to man up enough to deal with it? To break her heart, to set myself free but to do it as softly, as gently, as humanely even if it means as slyly as possible? With as little blood as possible? With as little cursing and swearing and gnashing of teeth as possible?

Well, I sure hope so, because that time has come. So tie up your boxing shoes kid, cos' we're about to go twelve rounds.

Fade Into The Background

They say that a woman is never as beautiful as she is on her wedding day. It doesn't matter how old she is, whether she's fifteen or fifty, there's just something about that day that is truly magical.

And so as I sat there in the last pew, trying to go as unnoticed as possible, it hit me. Not only was she not the exception to the rule, Samantha was the rule. She had never looked so beautiful.

Her gown was simple. Elegant. Not overwrought with beads or bows or ruffles or those sparkley thingies that rub off on you if you're lucky enough to have a dance with the bride.

It was uncomplicated in every way. Much like she was. Or rather, much like she was before I complicated things. She never did deal well with complications. Complications confused her. And more than anything, Samantha hated the feeling of being confused. And so as a result, standing where I should have been standing was some other man. Or to be exact, the other man. The man who had stolen all of this from me. And on his face was a smile. He had won in the end, the lucky bastard. I was just too flawed and he was just too good at hiding his for me to have ever had a chance. To her he was Mr. Safe, he was Mr. Predictable, he was Mr. I'll-Never-Let-You-Down-When-It-Really-Matters. I, on the other hand, as she never lost an opportunity to remind me, was Mr. None-Of-Those-Things. It was a pretty simple choice. Hell, if I had been presented with the same choice, I probably would have picked him too. But that doesn't mean that it didn't hurt though. It hurt more than you could possibly imagine. Like having your heart ripped from your chest and stomped on again and again until there's nothing left but a pulpy stain, a bloody mess.

And yet as much as it crushed me, I still sat there. Watching as the one thing, the only thing I had ever truly wanted to call my own, stood there and declared before everyone and before God that not only did she not belong to me but that she belonged to him. And that she would always belong to him. Till death did one of them in. I was punishing myself and I had no idea why. Although I cant entirely say that I didn't deserve it. I had messed up and there was no getting around it.

Marcus slipped the ring onto her finger. Samantha said , “I do.”

“and now, with the power invested in me,” the minister proclaimed, speaking into the microphone in his left hand, “I now pronounce you man and wife. Marcus, my son, you may now kiss the bride.”

People clapped, people cheered, the organ played, cameras flashed. Everyone was on their feet; but as for me? For some reason I just couldn't get mine under me. I was glued to my seat. I just couldn't believe that this was really happening. Hell, that it had already happened. Samantha was finally getting her happily ever after. I knew that she always would. She had never deserved anything less. I just never thought that it would be without me.

The ceremony was over. The deed was done. I had somehow managed to stick it out. And I could have left it at that. Left with some of my sanity still intact but no. No, no, no, no, no; I decided to stay. For the speeches, for the food, for the champagne, for the cake.

All were ways tho inflict pain on myself, all of which paved the road to my own personal hell.

Call me masochistic but deep down I was actually enjoying it. The pain giving me some sort of sick pleasure. I held up my glass with all the rest of them, wishing the newly weds the best of luck with all the rest of them. Drinking to their health, their wealth and lots and lots of babies with all the rest of them. But unlike all the rest of them, by the time the speeches were done and it was time to cut the cake I was rather if not pretty hammered. Not blubbering on and on about absolute nonsense and likely to piss myself and pass out hammered but speech slightly slurred and likely to step on her feet if I ever got a chance to dance with her hammered.

The new Mister & Misses cut the cake amidst more cheers and more flashes. After one, two, three slices the bridesmaids then took over, piling Styrofoam plates high with small slices of cake and icing and made the rounds in and around the sea of tables.

Now would probably be the best time for you to leave, I told myself. And it was. But just as I positioned myself to stand up with as little wavering as possible, there was a shimmer of white and there she was standing in front of me. Samantha squatted until her gaze was more or less level with mine.

“Hi you.” Her voice was as a breeze on a warm summer's eve. Inviting. Deceivingly intimate, transporting me to another time.

“Hi yourself.” I managed to get out. If just barely.

“I didn't think you were going to make it.”

“You look beautiful.”

Samantha smiled, which only made her look more radiant.

“Thank you.”

“And I guess a congratulations are in order as well.”

Samantha tilted her head slightly to the side, the smile lessening some what.

“Only if you mean it Lloyd.”

“Well, in that case then...”

Samantha pulled a face, I touched her arm.

“I'm joking. Congratulations Samantha. You've written your own happy ending. One befitting a sequel. One I'll be looking out for. I'm proud of you.”

Samantha shook her head,

“You with your writing metaphors.”

“I thought that was one of the things you used to love about me.”

“B.T.W, I read the book.” Samantha said, quickly changing the subject.

“Wow,” I said play mocking her, “listen to you with the texting abbreviations. So what did you think?”

Samantha took a moment to phrase her words.

“It wasn't exactly how I remember things happening but still close enough to the truth so that I cant complain.”

“You know what, Sam? Just give me some cake.”

Samantha laughed. Striking some sort of chord in me.

“I miss making you laugh.” I said suddenly nostalgic. “I remember when thats all I ever wanted to do. Just make you laugh. And it was more than enough.”

“Lloyd,” Samantha warned, “Don't.”

I closed my eyes.

“Right.” I said coming back to myself. Opened them again. I grabbed some cake off the plate she was holding.

Samantha stood up. Then leaning over she kissed me on the forehead.

“Try not to get too drunk Lloyd. And leave the bridesmaids alone.”

Samantha gave me one last half bemused look then walked away.

I watched her for a moment then grabbing my glass of champagne, I downed it in one gulp. Now, where was that bridesmaid with the Erika Badu head wrap and the killer cleavage?

Epilogue...

The sun rose over the horizon. I hadn't slept a wink. She lay there, her hair a halo, naked, dreaming, the trace of a smile on her lips.

My head hurt, my heart ached but my body...was oddly satisfied.

I looked over at her. They say that a woman is never as beautiful as she is on her wedding day but right there, right then, stripped bare of all her defenses, no layers of amour to protect her, vulnerable, she was now, the exception to the rule, she looked even more beautiful.

I touched the side of her face. Ran the tip of my thumb over her bottom lip. She stirred, her eyes fluttering open. “Hmmm, that feels good,” she mumbled. “what time is it?” her voice was a near whisper.

“Early.” was my reply.

She studied me. Placed her left hand on my face. She still wore her wedding ring. The symbol of the commitment that she was now breaking.

“Are you okay?”

“I don't know,” I told Samantha, “I just don't know.”

Memento (You Think You're Nickel Slick But I Got Your Penny Change)

I came across them almost by accident. Two Vcd's of music videos with her handwriting all over them. The last two thing I possess that connect me to her. That connect me to the past that I have with her. If I get rid of these, all I'll have left are memories. Memories, mind you, that are already starting to fade. Like her face whenever I try to picture it. The face of one year of my life, just slipping away. But in all honesty, most of me is relishing it. What Ive been asking for, for what seems like forever, is finally happening. But then on the flip side, theres this other part of me, the smaller part of me, that is still grasping at vapors, wanting to hold onto something. A kiss, a fight, a fuck...anything. But vapor is vapor and will soon become vapor no more. And the sooner you realize that (and by you, I mean I and by I, I mean that smaller part of me that just wont take a hint) the better. Soon the memories will be gone. Leaving room for you to store up some more memories. And leaving alone that other, smaller part of me, I'm actually kind of giddy about it. Its like when you've had a cold for so long that you forget what its like to not have a cold and then when you finally get over said cold its like “hey, what have I been missing?” yet all it is, is a restoration to how things are supposed to be. A heart light, a heart free, ready to cast my line with plenty of fish in the sea.
And so what of the Vcd's Lloyd? What will happen to them? Because remember, unlike memories, Cd's don't fade.
Well, I'll get rid of them of course. Thats the only reasonable course of action don't you think? I mean, holding onto them really wouldn't do me much good, would it?
I guess not.
Well then its settled.
I separate the two Vcd's from the rest of the stack. Allow myself a little smile. One is labeled “Baby L's videos” with a small smiley face with its smiley face flipped upside down turning it into a frowny face with tears streaming down it while the other was simply labeled as hers with a small “yippee” scrawled next to her name.
I try to use them to conjure up a memory or two. One final salute. But its useless. I come up with nothing. With nothing but vapors. Useless vapors.
“I guess this really is the end.” I mumble to myself. Then gripping both Vcd's I bend, bend, beeeeeeend them until finally they...(crack!) break.

Be nice now, because in spite of what you've heard, i'm quite the tender soul.

theres something that i would like to share with all of you. its not quite a novel and nor is it a memoir. its just a collection of thoughts, experiences and a small glimpse into the world i used to live in. its a testament to where Ive been and i would love to share that with all of you. its a bit lengthy and for some it might make you a little squirmy but please download it anyway and please try read it and please let me know what you think...

Find the link to this nifty little site i found where you can download it from below.

http://www.scribd.com/doc/34477733/The-Difference-Between-Openness-and-Honesty

A Lost Page From My Diary (I Wonder)

I wonder about a lot of things. About how different things would have turned out if certain things had been different. I wonder what kind of man I would have become if I had known my father. If he had been more than just a huge hole in my heart that over the years I have forced myself to ignore. Would I have grown up to walk like him, or talk like him, pr sit on my ass and dream like only a dreamer can, like him. But you, this here is where the strange part is, because I already do all of those things, like him. And if that is the case, I wonder, does that mean that I'm destined to fail like him?

A bitter pill to swallow but something Ive realized I have to face.

In the one candid conversation I ever had with my mom about my father she told me that he was weak. That staying with him would have meant an existence full of fighting and raised voices, strife and tears she had no desire to cry.

“That was no environment to raise a child in.” she told me.

“And so I left. I left because I love you...more than you could ever know. I left because I did not want you to turn out like him.”

well guess what mom, Twenty-two years down the line and I have...turned out just like him. They say that I look just like him when he was my age. Only that I'm a little taller and I wear my beard a little different.

The few times that I have met him, I guess I can see why people might say that. He is most definitely my father and I am most definitely his son. But I can also see what my mom saw. And just like her, I don't want to turn out like that. I don't. I wont. I do not. I will not. I will fight it with every breath I take. And every time it threatens to wash over me, when complacency becomes easier than action, and day dreams more preferable to reality; I will kick, I will scream, I will punch, I will bite and with much gnashing of teeth I will fight...

Light up (Freestyle) Unthinkable

We live in scary times. In times of death and of blood. Of shattered bones and bodies being carried in sacks because they are too torn to be carried on stretchers. We live in times where it is the innocent who die. While the evil, their souls tarred with their crimes, walk free. Breathing our air, the air they have stolen from the ghosts they have made of the souls who used to walk these streets. We live in times where we lose loved ones and friends and loved ones of friends. All have lost someone or have lost someone through someone. And because we are of one blood, because we are all kin; there is no one who has been left unaffected. But even though this may be the case, I will not let this deter me. I will hold onto hope. I will live as I have always lived. Knowing that after the sun has set on this life, I have eternity waiting for me...

...And it is for this reason that...

...I will not be scared into love. No, not by bombs nor by threats of bombs. I will not leap into love nor by an illusion there of, simply because my mortality has been flashed before my eyes and there's now a real chance of me dying alone. No, I will not succumb. I refuse to be bullied into love. Or a wraith of what we call love. I will love when and how I want to. With a heart as big as the sun. and just as fiery. I refuse to love simply because to not to would be a liability. Instead, I will hold out for something better, for something stronger, for something hotter, for something brighter...

I will dare to hope, I will dare to live. I will raise my flag high. I will not be afraid to give. I will stand in courage, I will stand in love. It's black, yellow and red forever homie...yeah, now that's what's up.

Something I Find A Little Distressing

A Little Note:

This here is the influence of that Def Poetry (yeah I know, where have I been) and I loved it so much that I wrote this at four o'clock in the morning standing in front of a full length mirror because it suddenly hit me and I just couldn't believe that...

I Still...Daydream...About...Her...

And no you don't have to say it

its pathetic, I know

I daydream of bowling into her

and I'm dating somebody famous

or if not that then at least somebody who looks like they're famous

and if failing that then someone who looks like they're related to someone who's famous

and why would I day dream about that? You say

You scratch your head in wonder

Don't be a dummy, dummy

it would mean that I would be winning the break up, of course

because sure you've moved on but then I have too

but guess what honey, my rebound is much better than yours

Or than you.

Ridiculous right?

A little juvenile right?

But listen,

this is not your day dream is it...?

It's mine.

Other times I daydream that she calls me up for coffee

and once there she proceeds to declare how much she still cares for me

and that she has tried everything known to man

including another man

but simply put

she just...can...not...shake me.

and she hates herself for it

God, she hates me

because she knows,

because she heard it from somewhere that I'm already taken

I'm engaged and to her dismay we've already set a date

but even though,

she's hoping there's something she can say that will make me reconsider...

Ridiculous right?

A little juvenile right?

But listen,

this is not your day dream is it...?

It's mine

But don't get me wrong

Ive got girls, girls, girls galore

Ive got them coming out of the wood work

one, two, three, four...and more.

Ive got them falling out of the sky

and washing up on the shore

but you see the thing is

what Ive still failed to understand is

I still...Daydream...About...Her...

and I just cant shake it.

Crushcrushcrush

M is a singer. And not only that but she's a pretty damn good one too. She has the kind of voice that you wish you could trademark. The kind of voice you wish you could rob God of the patent for. She has the voice of an angel. Or as Mike would say, “That girl really knows how to hold it down.” who's Mike? You might ask. Don't worry, we'll get to that.

Its one of the things I like most about her. That and that she sings all the time. It doesn't matter where she is or who she's with or what time it is, more often than not if you don't find her singing then she's at least humming some sort of tune.

Funny thing though, she has it in her head that it gets to me. And the thing is, it does. Just not in the way she thinks. She thinks it irritates me yet all it does is excite me. Which Ive told her on more than one occasion but for some reason she thinks I say that just to appease her. If only she knew.

I almost didn't recognize her today. She looked stunning. Believe it or not, it as my first time to see her in jeans. Up until today I had only seen her in skirts. Ive always known that the girl's got curves but the jeans and the form fitting blouse she was wearing accentuated them to a point where I almost had to bite down on my knuckles to keep myself from saying something...”unbecoming”. Her hair was pinned up and the make up she wore, although, not a lot, was more than flattering.

She had sung in choir today. Though she hadn't expected to. I think the sudden call to arms, because as we are constantly reminded- this is a battle, I think it left her a little...not shaken but something close to it. As we talked she seemed distracted. I asked her about it but she insisted that she was all there, that I had her full attention and she nestled up against me as if to prove her point.

She wanted to go wash her hair and so that meant not that much time f or us to hang out.

“Do you really have to do it today?” I asked her, my tone almost pleading.

“Not really, I could do it tomorrow but-”

“But you really want to do it today.” I finished for her.

“You!” she exclaimed, grabbing my arm, “you make it sound like I care more for my hair than I do for you.”

“But of course,” I told M, giving her a cheeky grin, “I'm trying to guilt trip you over here.”

“Well, juss so you know, its not going to work.” she shot back giving me a pinch, “now come on and walk me down to my taxi.”

Of course I had no choice but to obey like a little lap dog, not that I really minded.

BT-Dub, do you have any idea how hard it is to walk through Kampala while holding someone's hand? Its no walk in the park, that's for sure. Unless of course, its the taxi park we're talking about, which quite simply put is pure, unadulterated chaos. But we managed...somehow.

Walking up to the taxi, hand in hand like the couple of love birds that we now almost are, it was almost time to say goodnight. We continued to chat as the taxi filled up until there were only two seats left, at which point we hugged (each time we hug it seems to become more intimate) and with a promise that I would call her later she jumped into the taxi. I waited until it had rolled away from me before I started moving again.

Listening to: Crushcrushcrush by Paramore

Finis: 32500 AM (goodnight)

I lie about a lot of things. To others and to myself. About big things and about things that I really have no reason to lie about. My tongue's gotten me into a lot of trouble over the years. But you know what the ironic thing is? I get in more trouble when I tell the truth than when I lie. Probably because when I do decide to tell the truth, I'm a little too truthful. But that being said, there are some things that I am incapable of lying about. Things that if I tried to, I would be, without a doubt, found out as soon as the words left my mouth. For example? Well, for example, I wouldn't be able to lie about the fact that I'll always feel something for (IN CAPITALS, bold, font 18 and even in italics- take a deep breath before you say it) HER. And no, I'm not talking about “M”, she's still “fresh meat”...that is to say that we are still in the first few minutes of the first half of the match, we still have a long way to go yet. I'm talking about “E”. yes, the once dreaded, now not so dreaded ex. That six foot tall, long legged beauty that whittled her way into my heart without a second thought.

She had a such impact on my life that it would be kind of ridiculous if I could lie about that...convincingly. She taught me how to love again...and how to hate. She gave me a reason to be passionate when I was at a time in my life when it was hard for me to be passionate about anything. Up until her, all my life had been was a cycle of parties, sexual conquests and torturous hangovers. I have a lot to thank her for. So thank you. And even though I'll always have a soft spot for her, as I sit here typing this, with each passing day she crosses my mind less and less. Her name no longer elicits that tug of the heart that it used to. She's no longer a common topic of conversation. I no longer have to restrain myself from calling her or sending her a message. Now its even a task to call her even when I have to. I guess thats kind of a good thing though. I mean it would be kind of unhealthy if I was still hung up on her after all this time, wouldn't it? In any case, that's enough about her. I'm supposed to be looking forwards, not back.

“M” called me about an hour ago. Or more accurately, she beeped and I called back. To her mother's phone. God forbid I make the mistake of trying to call her during the day. “M” doesn't have a phone you see. It was stolen a lil over a week ago. Which, quite obviously, has slowed this whole...whatever you want to call it to little more than a crawl. Not that I'm in a rush to go anywhere. I'm happy with the speed at which we're moving at actually. It evokes all the innocence of high school. When I was in high school. Hand holding, laughing at unfunny jokes, covert glances across the table that suggest well, something suggestive; a touch here, a touch there...nothing overtly sexual, kind of sweet. After all Ive seen, its kind of refreshing, this...slow burn of things.

I'm seeing her tomorrow. Well, technically, it's today seeing as its about five minutes to three in the morning but who's dwelling on technicalities here? I sure aint. And although it's not all that surprising, I'm like really excited that I'm going to see her. Not too much, but I think, just enough. So keep your fingers crossed because this just might be what I'm looking for...

I'm off to bed...

Nitey.

I Scream, You Scream, We all Scream for...(No Not Ice Cream but) a Kiss Goodnight

She's pretty when she smiles. The kind of pretty that makes you want to give her one of those half kisses. You know, just on the corner of her mouth, not a full kiss but enough of one to let her know exactly what you're all about just in case the laced hand holding hasn't gotten the point across already.

She was smiling then. Playing with her ice cream while I told her some story about who knows what, full with hand motions and sound effects. I was getting quite a good number of stares but I couldn't have cared less, I was in my element doing one of the things I do best; being ridiculously charming.

And it must have been working because just then she burst out laughing, planting a conspicuous hand on my knee.

Oh yeah, now I remember, I was telling her about the time I cut off my hair. The hair that had been 3 years in the making. “M”, as Ive decided to call her, had seen a picture of me when I still had my dreaded dreadlocks somewhere and with her hand showing no signs of vacating itself from my knee, she then proceeded to ask me the one question I have since become sick of answering: “So why did you cut off your hair?”

I slurped at what was left of my ice cream. It was watery as shit. That was the last time I was getting ice cream from Santos, I told myself.

“It was just time.” I told her.

I could tell that although my answer didn't necessarily impress her, it did make an impression. She didn't like guys with long hair. She was glad she had met me when the hair was already gone. Although she had taken note of the fact that the only hair on my head that I cut was the hair on my face and so this led her to ask me whether I was planning on growing my hair out again.

I shrugged, “Maybe, I don't know.”

“Please don't.” she pleaded, “I like the way you look now.”

She was now gripping one of my hands with both of hers, her tone and expression beseeching.

“Um, okay.”

There was that smile again. Gosh, if she didn't stop doing that she might catch herself quite a surprise...

“By the way,” she asked, oblivious to the affect she was having on me, “what time is it? Is it nine yet?”

Detaching my hand from hers, I pulled out my phone. Stole a look.

“Its quarter to. Wanna get moving?”

she nodded.

“Yeah, sure.”

we got up, walked down stairs and headed out the entrance.

As soon as we hit the street her hand found its way into mine and we proceeded to walk, hand in hand like the couple love birds we were not, towards the Old Taxi Park.

We talked about Cece Winans, One Tree Hill, dirty dancing and wearing glasses. Nothing about our conversation or the fact that when M ran into an old friend of hers and was asked whether we were dating and we were both reluctant to say that we weren't, to me, seemed in the least bit unusual.

“Well, this is me.” she said as we reached her taxi. It was filling up fast and so I didn't want to keep her. I gave her a hug.

“So when do I see you?” she asked. “Saturday?”

She was holding my hand, I gave hers a little squeeze.

“Definitely. Beep me when you get home so I can call.”

She nodded. Gave me a squeeze of her own.

“Definitely.”

There was that smile again.

Holding her gaze for a second, I let go and walked towards Cooper Complex, Bukasa taxis and home, all the while wondering “why didn't I friggin kiss her?”.

With This Weary Heart of Mine

kiss me,

beneath these flashing lights.

Play me,

make me quiver.

open me,

read me like a book.

Touch me...i said touch me,

reach in and clutch my heart in your hands.

cannibal,

taste me.

Sweat, fear, lust, tears.

Savor me, swallow;

seat me in the pit of your stomach.

And when you're done,

when you're through,

when my flavor becomes sour on your tongue,

vomit me, retch.

Me, with this tired heart of mine.

The Dark: Chapter 11

You slowly get to your feet, using the edge of the bed as a prop to help steady yourself. As you try to stand up straight however, a sharp pain shoots up your left leg from your ankle, making you cry out. Putting your weight on your ankle more gingerly this time you realize that you must have twisted it somehow. You rack your brain for some sort of explanation but like an uninspired artist you draw a blank.

Turning around in a small circle you look around in an attempt to piece together what may have happened. The first thing you notice are the tracks of dirt on the floor. There are lots of them and they are everywhere. Back and forth and around the room like someone was pacing. Maybe you? Maybe not. You're no expert but it appears that there are two sets of tracks, belonging to two different people. But if there had been someone else there you would have known it, wouldn't have you? You're not so sure. In fact, you're not so sure of anything anymore.

Your eyes abandoning the tracks of dirt around you, they stray to your feet. Your brows furrow in bewilderment. Your shoes are filthy and caked with mud. At least you know that one set of tracks actually belong to you. But even though that answers one question, it only raises another: How did your feet get so dirty in the first place? and not only your feet you realize after a moment. But the rest of you as well. You're a complete mess. Your clothes soiled and grainy against your skin.

The sound of birds chattering filters through an open window drawing your attention to the fact that it is early morning. You glance at your watch which reads one minute to three o'clock. That cant be right. On closer inspection, however, you realize that the second hand is no longer moving. 2:59 is when your watch had stopped working. The battery couldn't have died, however, you replaced the battery not a month earlier. something must have happened to cause it to stop, but what?

Not having the energy to try and figure it out, you slowly limp to the door, every muscle in your body aching as if you have just competed in a triathlon.

Reaching for the door, you notice that your hand, both of them in fact, have been rubbed raw, the skin on the knuckles scraped away, an enormous amount of dirt stuck under the fingernails. Beyond being able to be surprised anymore, you simply take it in and open the door which swings in towards you with a deep and prolonged creak.

You walk out onto the cabin porch, careful not to put too much pressure on your twisted ankle.

"It just keeps on getting better and better." you mutter to yourself morosely.

Sitting in the clearing, as soiled and caked with dirt as you are is your car, a huge dent on the front fender.

Sighing, you go and lean on the porch railing, asking yourself just what the fuck happened last night.

The answer comes as a thought. Not yours however. It's like it is just placed there. Like someone planted it.

I orchestrated a little meeting. You were going to squeal, probably still are, I had to protect us. Make sure there's nothing incriminating against us.

Us?

Yes, us. What do you think this is, a one man circus? I'm the reason you're even still sane buddy boy. The only reason you've made it this far. And here you are busy trying to fuck up everything that Ive done. You better get your mind right homes because there's no way in Hell I'm going to let you land us in a prison cell. And don't try to fool yourself because if you do go to the police that's exactly where we'll end up. where you'll end up. And anyway, the job isn't done yet. there are still two more names to take care of.

You blink. The dream.

Yes, your dream. Ive been trying to clue you in for ages. trying to ease you into this but you're more of a pussy than I thought. The two left are Reggie and his bitch boyfriend Carl. They know that you're coming for them so its going to be considerably harder. I suggest you let me handle it.

Handle what? Killing them? Are you insane?

Actually, you are. But let's not dwell on technicalities. And anyway, insane or not, its what Kelly wants.

Something in your mind clicks and you realize something.

Wait, why do you sound just-

-like Kelly? Why don't you answer that yourself. and here's a hint; it's not merely a coincidence. But enough chit chat, I need you to get back to campus, clean yourself up. We have alot of work to do if we're going to get the powers that be off your case. you've been acting extremely suspicious like of late. I mean, that whole locking yourself in your room get-up, not cool man. Now unless you want me to do it for you, and believe me I'm more than willing to, I suggest that you pull out them keys, get in the car and gets the driving.

Setting yourself into motion, you slowly head for the porch steps, nursing your ankle as you go.

Reaching the bottom you turn to look back at the cabin. The door is still open.

Don't worry about that, it'll be taken care of. just get your ass out of here.

Doing as you are told, you turn away from the cabin and limp to the car. Getting behind the wheel, you stick the key in the ignition. You turn it but the engine refuses to turn with it. You try several more times until the car finally comes to life.

Your hands on the steering wheel, you look from side to side wondering how you're going to get out.

Just follow the tracks sweetheart and you'll be fine.

"Following the tracks" means turning around and so you throw the car into reverse. Turning in your seat so you can see out the rear windshield your eyes happen across a shovel sitting on the back seat. As expected, it is caked with fresh dirt.

Yeah, I moved the body chum. Couldn't have you bringing the police out here and finding it, could I? Now drive.

Obeying without question, you turn the car around and follow the tracks that were left by it the night before.

You soon find yourself on a main road and using a sign to determine where you are, you head in the direction of school.

The road you are on is a quiet one and only the occasional car passes you going in the opposite direction. As the minutes pass, however, the traffic becomes steadily heavier until you hit the first wave of morning rush hour traffic just outside of the town that nestles the university.

After what seems an enormously long time, youre finally on campus property; your car attracting a magnitude of stares and gawks from passing students and teachers alike. Ignoring them, you park your car in front of your dorm and jump out.

More stares and gawks as you climb the stairs to your floor.

Your floor, lucky enough, is almost empty except for a few guys rushing down the hallway and past you presumably heading for their lectures.

You pull out your keys as you approach your door but when you reach there, you find it already open.

You locked up before you left the night before, you're sure of it. It looks like someone jimmied the door. Pushing the door open, you step inside not knowing what to expect.

Everything seems to be in place, nothing tampered with. That is, until your eyes reach your desk. Someone has obviously given your books and papers a thorough perusing.

"Some interesting reading you've got there."

Startled you drop your keys. The jingling of the keys as they hit the hard wood floor unnerving you even further.

Spinning around, you face the direction from which the voice came from. Sitting on your couch, quite comfortably you might add, is none other than Detective Gervaldi. Homicide.