The Morning

I slipped out from between the sheets. Sat on the edge of the bed. Took a second to get my bearings. It was cold. It was also early. Around five in the morning was my guess. What time had we finally gone to sleep? I tried to think back, rack my brain but my mind was a blank. Empty except for one big fat question mark. What the fuck happened?

The early morning air kissed my bare skin, causing it to break out into a rash of goose pimples. A slight chill running down the length of my back, I looked around the still dark room for any article of clothing that might be mine. Shirt, socks…anything. All I could spot were my jeans. No boxers, no belt. I sighed,

“Well at least it’s better than nothing,” I mused to myself and got up to slip them on.

The room smelled of sex and alcohol…and was that reefer? I sniffed at my fingers. Yup, it was definitely reefer. That wasn’t the only thing my fingers smelled of, though. I turned to look back at the bed and there she lay, peaceful, a small smile on her lips. Like heaven itself had come down and kissed her on the forehead. And with that small smile, that little piece of perfection, came a tiny ray of light. It may have been no more than a flash but it was more than enough.

There had been a party…here. Her party. It had been her birthday. Twenty five. She had invited me even though I had thought that she wouldn’t. Even though I’m sure her friends had told her that she shouldn’t.

“And this,” I thought, taking a brief look around already beating myself up about it, “was probably the reason why.”

Fucking old habits man. Add some bottle popping; a little puff passing and the fact that it was her first birthday single in years and you had one hell of a recipe for trouble.

Fuck this was bad. What had I been thinking…? Oh yeah, that’s right, I hadn’t been. I let my guard down. We were friends. And it was her birthday. I should have just told her. Gotten it out of the way. If I had, none of this would have happened. Damn it.

Calm down Lloyd, it’s not a complete disaster. Maybe you can still salvage this. All you have to do is make it out of here before she wakes up. And maybe, just maybe, if she wakes up and you’re not here when she does, she won’t remember a thing.

That’s a big fucking maybe.

And it’s a pretty dick move. But what choice do I have?

Well, you could be a grown up about it. Wait for her to wake up so that you can talk to her about it. Let her know just how serious this is.

I shook my head. I would rather just find the rest of my clothes and take off while I still can. It was getting light out. The clock was ticking.

I turned around in circle. Now where the hell were my clothes?

As if in answer my phone began to ring. I had kept it in the breast pocket of my blazer and somehow, my blazer had wound up under the bed. How the hell it had gotten there beats me. But then, how it got there didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that 1) only one person would be calling me this early and 2) sleeping beauty was no longer sleeping.

Moaning, Samantha made a move to massage her temples with the heels of her palms.

“What is that?” she croaked, rolling onto my side of the bed, expecting to meet the hardness of my body. Finding that I wasn’t there however, Samantha sat up on one elbow and looked around. “And what are you doing over there?”

“I better get that.” I said hurriedly, avoiding both questions and then, probably looking quite strange to her, I got down on all fours so that I could fish my jacket out from under the bed.

Retrieving it, I freed the still ringing phone from its suede & polyester blend holding cell. It was exactly who I thought it would be. And as much as I didn’t want to answer it, I knew I had to. Pressing the ‘answer’ key, I put the phone up to my ear.

“Hello?”

“Where the hell are you Lloyd? It’s six o’clock in the morning and you’re still not home. We talked about this. You can’t be staying out like this. I don’t like it. And if it was me I’m sure you wouldn’t either. Now, where are you?”

Taking a deep breath, I sat on the edge of the bed and for the next 67 seconds proceeded to lie through my teeth. I had forgotten how good I was at it. She didn’t suspect a thing. By the time I hung up the phone things were as smooth as the half empty bottle of red wine still sitting on Samantha’s bed side table.

“So, who was that Lloyd? And don’t say something trite like your weed dealer because if you do, I will hit you.”

I sighed. One problem down, one more to go. Only this one wouldn’t be as easy. I couldn’t lie to Samantha. She would see right through me. And even if she couldn’t, I didn’t want to.

I turned to look at her. This wasn’t exactly the way I had wanted to tell her but what to do, right?

“Listen, I’ve got to tell you something. Something I probably should have told you last night but for some reason I just…couldn’t.”

“What is it Lloyd?” Samantha didn’t sound amused.

Moment of truth.

“I’m getting married Samantha…And the person on the phone? That was my fiancé.”

I waited for the explosion. For all hell to break loose. But nothing came. Instead, Samantha simply got up, carefully wrapped the rumpled sheet around her and walked out of the room.

And in my opinion, that was infinitely worse.



Coming next: “The Party & the After Party”



http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k3gVqfgVF3I

The Ultimatum (Strong, Black & Hot)...OVERRULED

I loved you. So much. But I can’t love you anymore. Not like this. Not when I feel like I don’t even know you anymore.
My heart’s been war ravaged. My faith in love and what it means to love, lost. And in its place, in its place a hole. A hole so deep and so dark and so beyond filling that I wonder, what is left of my humanity? Has this war left me a ghost among the living? An animal among the civilized? What is left that I can place my hope in?
A scrap book of memories. That is what I will carry along with me. Hard bound, hard pressed and hard won. Constantly clutched at but seldom opened. A reminder of what love can be, a marker with which I can pin point and not pass up a chance to have it again...

She offered me an ultimatum. I had to choose. She was not going to share me. She had done that once before, had thought that it could work but it didn’t. In the end, he still had to choose. He didn’t choose her. And so this time she was not going to put herself through something fierce when there was a way to avoid it.
We were having coffee. Me, having my customary iced mocha; her having her habitual strong, black and hot.
“I get it,” she said taking a sip from her steaming cup. “You loved her. And maybe a part of you still does. But the truth is Lloyd, it’s over. It has been for a long time. And although I’m not going to assume to tell you what to do, the fact is, you need to let her go. Move on. Because the only thing holding on to her is doing is blinding you from seeing what’s right in front of you.”
In spite of myself, I couldn’t help but smile, albeit a small one. I didn’t want her thinking that I was mocking her with the curve of my lips.
She meant her, of course. The thing that was right in front of me. The thing that I couldn’t see. Or maybe subconsciously, simply chose not to see. What she didn’t know, though, was that I did see her. I saw everything about her. And when I saw her, I saw my future. Stretched out before me like a glistening ocean, rolling over the edge of the earth, extending beyond the horizon. And boy, what a future. I mean, the possibilities were…the possibilities were limitless…
Then what’s the problem, Lloyd? Why are you still holding on? What good is it doing you?
Look at her Lloyd. And not just with your eyes; really look at her.
I did.
You have an amazing woman who loves you. Who wants to be with you. Why let a memory, a ghost, a wraith jeopardize all of that…?
I swallowed.
Why indeed? It didn’t really make any sense. But then again, when did matters of the heart ever?
Reaching across the table I placed my hand on top of one of hers. She was right. I was grasping onto something that wasn’t real. Maybe never really was. And because of that I was sabotaging every chance I had at happiness. But not anymore. I saw her. Really saw her.
I took her hand in mine. Squeezed it. Looked her dead her in the eye. I needed her to believe me when I said,
“And I choose you.”

Famous (?) Last Words

Tonight I lock lips with the Devil. Bid the world farewell. No tears for me mama, no…No tears for me. I’m ready to go. I’m ready to leave all of this behind. All of it…So let’s go.
I strangle a bottle of vodka with one hand and let Death take me by the other.
She said that it would be painless. That it would be as easy as taking off a t-shirt.
Pills…pills were definitely the way to go. Screw that noose around the neck nonsense. Why would someone want to go do something like that? Pills were easy. It would be like going to sleep. Like going to sleep and just never waking up.
It’s getting dark in here. A little chilly as well. Can someone please turn on a light? Get me a blanket maybe. I thought I wasn’t supposed to feel anything. Why do I feel so cold? Please. Please, somebody answer me.
Death turns to look at me. Her eyes are soulless white orbs, her mouth a cavern of crumbling tombstone like teeth. She moves her lips. Slowly. With purpose. She wants to make sure that I hear what she is about to say.
Her voice is like the final sound the soul makes as it gives up its earthly anchor. No more than a whisper. As soft as silk on skin.
“Why do you worry?” She asks me. “Why do you worry? I have you Lloyd. Just as you have me. This is merely a part of the journey.
“Squeeze my hand. Go on, squeeze it. Do you feel that? Do you feel how cold that is? I am the chill that you are feeling.
“Now gaze upon my face, go on, try…You can’t, can you? That is because I am the darkness that surrounds you.
“Don’t forget that you asked me for this, Lloyd. Not the other way around. I was more than happy to wait until your number was up. You had a good fifty years left in you. It’s quite a shame. You had so much going for you too…
“Well, no matter. Come on. We’re almost there. No point in trying to turn back now…”
What sound does a heart make when it breaks…?
I can barely keep my eyes open. I feel like someone poured sand down my throat. The sound of the TV is muffled. Like its coming from the next room. Yet it’s only five feet away. And my bones. My bones feel like stone. I can’t move. I’ve been trying to. I can’t even make a fist.
It’s happening, isn’t it? This is what dying feels like. Numbness. And not only of my body but of my brain too. Everything seems to be slowing down. Even forming thoughts is becoming difficult. Words, words that I used to know, that were as normal as breathing now escape me. Faces, faces are becoming harder to recall. Who’s face is this that I keep on seeing? It keeps on coming back, it must mean something to me. Come on, think…who is she?
I can’t breathe. Oxygen eludes me. I’ve forgotten how. How do you breathe? How do you live?
How do you…?
How…do…?
How...?

Daddy Issues (Censored)/ There Will Be Blood

I’m angry. ”Bitter” is what I think they call it. And even though I try my best not to think about him, to mentally block him out, to try and waste as little brain activity on him as possible, 100% eradication…not possible.
He still blames his not being around on my mother. Says that she kept me from him. Claims that he tried everything to be a part of my life. He wrote letters, bought presents, sent cards but not once were his efforts rewarded with anything but a granite like silence. And then once my mother and I left England for the States, that was it. He didn’t know where or even how to start looking for us.
Do I believe him?
Maybe.
Do I care…?
He’s around you know. Has been for more than six months. I haven’t seen him once. Haven’t even gotten as much as a fucking phone call. And you see, this time, there is no excuse. Not when he sits down and has coffee with my uncle. Not when I’m in touch with Peter, Paul, Patrick and Victoria. Not when I’m right here, so close that he could reach out and touch me. No, there aren’t any excuses. Not this time.
I guess I do.
And so what does it all boil down to? What do the signs say…?
I wrote a story about killing my father once. I stabbed him to death with a cleaver knife. Licked the blood off of the blade when I was done…pretty dark stuff, even for me.
Fucking allergies. They have me sniffling and sneezing and goin’ through clean hankies by the minute. White mucus means that your fine right?
He doesn’t want me. Couldn’t give a damn. Is more concerned with trying to get my Mom back than he is with cultivating a relationship with me. There are a lot of things that I could say to that, none of which are nice. I, however, have decided not to be such an exhibitionist on this. Although even as I write of my decision not to be such a drama queen, I at the same time realize that the whole purpose of this is to write out my issues. I’m always talking about how my writing is first and foremost, even before my responsibility to use it for the “betterment of society” (does that sound as pompous as I think it does?), a way for me to vent. A form of therapy. So why deny myself of that…?
Why indeed.
I’m gonna try this again. And this time, there will be blood.

Hangover Dookie

Well I made it through the night. Through the day too. *hankie wiping forehead, hankie cleaning glasses, hankie scrunched into a relatively small white ball and shoved into back pocket*
No fake messages, no heartfelt confessions and no hand wringing apologies made for things said or done under less than perfect circumstances. I should clap for myself. Trust me; you have no idea what kind of damage I could have caused in the state I was in last night. Drunk Lloyd is like a weapon of mass destruction, he could take out an entire city if given the chance. Ask Gulu, she knows. Ask Julie too, she could probably tell you a story or two. Probably call me an asshole as well. But forget that cuz I have no intention of talking about Julie (no matter how many times you bring her up Eva) not now, not ever cuz that, my dear, was a mistake. Pure and simple. And under the harsh glare of the Ugandan sun, a pretty big one. I mean the woman’s like forty! (Like no joke)
The girl in red however, was fun. A major tease. A master in the art of getting a man to catch and release. Which, believe it or not, was actually part of what made her so much fun. It kept things interesting. Kept things popping like a bag of microwave popcorn. Hell, I’m not even sure she told me her name. In fact, I’m pretty sure that she made it a point not to. And so all I really remember about her is the big hair (a weave I’m sure), the plunging neck line of that red blouse of hers (she had quite the bust) and her preferred drink; Gilbey’s w/ ice & a slice of lemon (the girl gulped them down like they were ice teas…) Not that I wasn’t doing any drinking of my own. UG & Tonic baby, you know how we do. That shit loosens me up. Gets my ass on the floor. It sure as hell got my ass on the floor with Miss Plunging Neck Line that night.
The song that comes to mind is that Rihanna & Drizzy joint. You know how it goes. Don’t make me make you sing along…
She was good with her hips. Knew how to move her feet. Knew how to wind fast and how to grind slow…
Fast forward though and I spent most of the following day with my head in someone’s toilet. Bongo’s and Sharon’s to be precise. Had a bit of the squirts as well. Nasty stuff. Especially the time when I didn’t quite make it in time. Alcohol scented dookie on the seat of your lucky boxers isn’t exactly a sexy look. Especially when runny like bird poo. I got some on my jeans as well. And on my t-shirt. Not my finest moment. And the worst part? Having to hand wash my shit stained clothes and then explain to Sharon that I had to borrow some of Bongo’s because mine were all wet. Humiliation unparalleled.
You would think that such an experience would have me vowing never to touch the Devil’s Drink again. *Sardonic smile* not quite…

Coffee. Wine. Tequila> Keyboard

1:50 am
Two Iced mochas, three swallows of wine and four shots of tequila and there’s only one person I can think about. Which really sux cuz I thought that I was over her. Like really. But I see her once. All dolled up and I’m back to wanting to text her a fake mistake message so that she thinks that I’m texting someone else yet I’m really texting her just to make her think ive got other prospects and my finger juss slipped and I sent the message to her instead. Pretty pathetic right? I’m getting a lil tipsy here. This shit is pretty strong. This shit is pr and and…One person who’s rolling around my mind like a lost marble at the bottom of my rainbow painted chest of toys.
1:58 am
I want more wine but I don’t wanna finish it cuz the powers that be may start to ask questions. The tequila’s done. Did I have that before or after the wine///? I’m not quite sure. But I like the way that this feels. What was I talking about again…? Oh yeah, love. Or the lack there of. Or the loss of love. Ii cant wait for entourage season 8 to start. Its gonna be the last season. Its had apretty good run. 8 seasons aint nothing to laugh at. I remember saying as much to both Nathan and fifi. I kind of have a crush on her btw.fifi I mean. Don’t ask me how…oh god if youre reading this fifi juss know I’m not sober. I do however, mean everything that I’m saying. For the most part anyway.
2:03 am
I still love her. God, how is that even possible? Ive got Adele singing in my ear that she will always love me…how appropriate. It’s a pretty good album. 21 that is. Miriam refered to it as “another one of adele’s breakup albums”. Suitable, considering. Changing the song now…now playing: “I’m gonna find another you”- John Mayer. I’m starting to get drowsy. Do you think posting while drunk is a bad idea???? It should be. Wait, I was thinking that I asked whether posting while drunk was illegal. My bad. Maybe I should find a more up beat song to write to…
2:11 am
Now playing: Lil Freak- usher
More wine. Need more wine...
REPEAT
Gulu’s known for all the freaks it has. And I’m not talking about…
Juss re-read what I juss wrote…think I’ll take things in another direction…
Pro lover- Usher
I was trying to figure out the number of girls ive slept with and I’m all up in the double digits. Not proud of it but it is what it is. I’m starting to slow down. The words are getting harder to come by…this shit is rea;;y starting to take affect. Almost dozxing at the computr. I swear this song would sound so awesome if it was played on a big sound system. Ithas that 90’s feel to it. Its about to end…time to look for another…
2:26 am
Well look at that, its my favorite number…226
Was starting to feel like I was gonna puke so had to get some water in my system. Didn’t take a lot but juss enough to take that queasy feelin away. Well not entirely but juss enough. I feel like texting her. Like right now. I guess its engrained in me. Me not mentioning her name in anything I right. Its an old habit that has been with me since she became a subject of my lil musings…shes actually the one who insisted on it. I asked whether she minded if I wrote about her and she said she didn’t mind as long as I didn’t use her name. well that’s one promise ive managed to keep. The rest…not so much. I’m kind of an unreliable douche bag. If you want something done, DON’T count on me. You’ll juss get disappointed. Huh, I knew getting buzzed got you honest but like this? Like really? I guess it aint that bad though. I’m rambling aren’t i? at least that means the water did what it was supposed to do. Get me from sluggish, I’m gonna false asleep at me desk Lloyd, to typing a mile a minute of absoulute nonsense Lloyd.
Next song
Love song- adele…yet again. I don’t have that much music on this computer. The other ones in the shop and the ipod is shot to shit. It crashes even when I try to play that ipod quiz. 120 gb and its totally useless.
2:34 am
“…I will always love you…”
Fuck. Bitch. Cunt. Straddle. I slept with a prostitute and I liked it and I cant wait to do it again…only that particular one though. She was hot, gave me the girlfriend experience and was cheap as shit. Juss re read the last sentence; contemplating on deleting it (I’m so gonna regret this in the morning) but fuck it…I don’t wanna curse but I feel like my fingers aren’t even my own any more . I’m juss writing…typing…smiling…climbing…fighting…”its really over, u made ur stand, you got me crying, as well as you planned, but when this loneliness is thrugh, I’m gonna find another you…” john mayer. Playlist so don’t ask why I’m listening to the song again. Upbeat, upbeat, upbeat…
I need to piss…
2:41 am
I was half hoping my piss would be the color of the wine ive been drinkn. Red. Now that would be cool…
Searching for another song…
“Light up” drake
I wrote a rhyme to this song once upon a time. It actually wasn’t that bad. Think ive got it some where…juss hold on a sec…
“Uh, I got caught up in entrapment/ don't even know what happened/ thought I had her figured out/ I guess I had her backwards/ pretty little doo-wop/ who was weighed down by the sadness/ couldn't see a pharisee/ even with these glasses/ five foot five/ with a body that could light a fuse/ swagged to the nines/ showed out in the fliest shoes/ Monday to Friday/ she rocked the finest business suits/ one of a kind/ cos' she always kept it humble too/ who knew/ she would be something I would rap about/ like suicidal thoughts/ that I've been forced to grapple out/ or a paralyzing poison/ sending my senses packing south/ or a story for the boys/ who loved the life of whiling out/
uh, I know for sure I didn't/ proverbs always told me to be cautious of these women/ cos' she's in the choir/ don't mean that purity's a given/ and you know this flesh of ours/ is susceptible to sinning/ what?/ you're tired of hearing about my dirty linen?/ just give me sixty seconds/ I'll be finished in a minute/ it didn't take long for the hugging and the kissing/ to become a routine and soon I started slipping/ dipping/ in waters that I knew I really shouldn't/ lines were getting blurred/ but to her/ it didn't make a difference/ until she had suspicions and a reason to believe that/ that I could have got her pregnant and I was going to have her kid/ and at that very moment/ my life flashed before my eyes/ I can tell you homie/ it doesn't only happen when you die/ and something else happened/ she left me to decide/ and as the air that I breathe/ I wish I had declined.”
…Found it.
STILL think it aint that bad. Though it aint that good…playing the song again…
2:50 am
Ok, this getting kinda long…think I’m gonna call this a rap. Have no idea how people are gonna receive this. Guess the fact that I’m even thinking about that means I’m starting to sober up…*pursing of the lips* not necessarily a bad thing btw. Still don’t wanna sleep, still wanna text someone, still wanna make out with someone…stellas the easiestchoice of course but I don’t even think she knows I’m around. Eunice I’m sorry I pulled that dick move on you at GC. I should have come and said hi and not juss given u a fuckin ‘sup nod. You deserved so much more than that. I guess I juss thought that it would be awkward because of who I had with me…and oh there was also the issue of that heavy ass box I was carrying, but fuck that’s juss an excuse, the box thing I mean. Maybe I don’t need to apologize, maybe you don’t even care…
2:57 am
Britney is bi polar. I wish I had some sort of mental disease. Then I could blame all my nonsense on that shit. Fuck, mosquitoes are starting to chew on my ass. I really don’t know if I’m gonna be able to wake up for church in the morning. Saw howie at nakumatt tonight. Was hanging wih angella and eva. Nathan was there too, had juss come from his birthday hang thing…didn’t sound like he had much fun but there u go. On the other hand though, angie’s play was awesome. I loved it. I’m glad I went. Thanx eva for goin with me. And maclynn I’m sorry for not callin like I said I would. I’m an ass. A lil too much name droppin u think?
Tighten up- the black keys….
3:02 am

Dozing…typing with one hand…face is oily, need to wash it but I really don’t think I’m gonna dot dot dot

Fuck.
“I cant go on this way”- Beenie Sigel
I’m done.

Separation Anxiety (Seduce me-Abuse me-Baby, I'm Yours)

Every day that passes, every sun that sets, every day my pillow welcomes my head home, is another day without you. Another day away from you. Another day where the picture I keep of you in the wallet of my heart becomes a little less recognizable, a little more faded…

I’ve been holding on to a ghost. Clutching at the wind. Holding onto the whisper of something long gone.

Holding onto:

Memories of you that I used to cherish that are becoming harder and harder to recall. Things about you that used to make my heart race that now…illicit nothing. Nothing at all. Jaded. Cold. I look at you and I see the memory of love but not love…no, that ship has sailed…

“You’ve been lost.”

She was leaning over me, a palm resting on each of my thighs. Each of her fingers slightly digging into my flesh. Her breath smelled of cigarettes and sherry. Her cleavage just centimeters away from my lips.

I angled my face away from the swell of her breasts.

“I’ve been away.” I told her. “Just got back today.”

“I’ve missed you.” She said with a slight pout in her voice. It was an act, I knew, but that didn’t matter. I probably would have thought the better of it had I been sober but I wasn’t and so I was easily susceptible to every play at seduction that she made.

She ran one hand along the length of my thigh, setting the flesh beneath the skin of my jeans aflame with excitement.

I wet my lips.

“I’ve missed you too.”

I felt my eyebrows furrow themselves into a slight frown.

Did I really just say that?

“Where are you staying?” she asked. She knew she had me. It was time to reel this baby in.

“The same place as before.” I told her without the slightest hesitation.

What was I doing?

She stood up. Held out a hand. It was time to collect.

“We go?”

I gulped down the three fingers of UG & tonic that remained in my glass. Set the glass down on the table next to me. Stood up. She was almost as tall as me. I slipped a hand around her waist. I could feel my anticipation growing. I could feel my breath quicken. I could feel her eyes on me as she waited for me to say the words…

“We go…”

The above 400 words were made possible by the following;

1. “Dreaming With a Broken Heart” by John Mayer
2. “Closer” by Kings of Leon &
3. “Light Up” by Drake Featuring Jay-Z

Self-Absorbed. Incoherent. Inconceivable.

I miss music. I miss the rhythm of it. The taste of it. The way it makes my skin feel when I’ve had more than two drinks but less than five. I miss the way it bubbles my blood. Making my chest pump. Making my heart run. I miss the way it leads me by the hand, leading me out to the middle of nowhere and lies down with me there; under the twinkling stars, under the velvet sky, under the cheese wheel moon…
It’s quiet here. Lonely. It’s like swimming in a sea of strange faces. Cold faces. Faces that make me miss you even more. That make me walk from bar to bar in search of you. For just a glimpse, for just a peep of you. A smile, an expression…anything.
And then I find you. Well, not you because well, you’re like 200 miles away but still, a pretty damn good substitute. She has the same eyes. The lips are the same too. She’s a little shorter and has a bit more flesh than you but that doesn’t matter. Not much anyway. Not enough to make me stop anyway.
She is standing by the pool table. Chalking her stick. Her back is to me. Leaning over the table, she readies herself to take the shot.
I bite down on my lip. Close my eyes…
We are somewhere else. A place with no windows and no doors. With no ceiling and no floor. We are everywhere and we are nowhere. We are the first and we are the last. We are bound together…she couldn’t have gotten away even if she had wanted to.
We are naked. I am inside her. Slow….Gentle. Then faster. And faster. And harder. And stronger. She is on top. Or I am. I don’t know. Or maybe it’s both. Or maybe we take turns. I don’t care. All I know is that just when I feel as if I can’t take anymore, just as I tell her that I’m about to come, I grab her by the hair and then…and then…
And then she takes the shot. I hear the cue hit the white, which in turn hits the four, sending it spelunking into the corner left pocket.
I open my eyes. The coppery taste of blood on my tongue. She is looking at me. She knows I’m watching her. She knows the game. She pots another one. Then another one. She’s on a roll. She makes the last one without looking. Calls it, even. The game’s over. She hands over the cue. She doesn’t feel like playing any more.
“One drink.” She says as she walks past me towards the bar.
I glance over at the pool table. All the men are staring after her. And then back at me. A little awestruck maybe? A little jealous maybe…?
Maybe.
I turn to face the bar. She is already waiting.
“One drink? One drink is all I need.” I mutter to myself.
I square my shoulders. Clear my throat. Head in her direction…
The days are hot…sweltering. The nights pretty much the same; Buzzing mosquitoes, sweat slicked sheets and the never ending creak, creak, creak of the bed next door…
Damn paper thin guest house walls.
He gets a different one every night. No tastes, no preferences. Tonight’s is big breasted; cute face. I got a quick look at her as he hustled her into his room.
Would I screw her? In a heartbeat. Maybe even pay for it too. I don’t know. I’ve never had to pay for sex before.
She’s a vocal one, Miss Thursday. Won’t shut the hell up. She keeps giving him instructions. Faster. No, slower. No, now from behind. Wait, I want to be on top. Okay, now hit me…
The creaking stops.
“What?”
“I said, hit me.”
“Are you sure?”
“GOD DAMMIT HIT ME!”…

Cellophane (She had me at "I know")

Sixty seconds. That’s all it took. One lousy minute. For her to take what I thought up to that point was a pretty cool party of a life and turn it on its head.
60 seconds…1 minute. The amount of time it took for her to walk into the room, slip off her shoes (they were slip-ons, I remember that. The brown sequined ones I think. I wonder if she still has those) and half amused, half she still didn’t know what to think of me, watch as I vomited my opening line, my grand entrance into the story of her life all over her pretty little toes.
I’ll be the first to admit, it wasn’t the grandest of entrances. It was three words. No riveting monologue. No sweeping of the feet. Three. Simple. Words. And not very good ones at that. They were the first three words that popped into my head. And they weren’t even the traditional,
“How are you?”
Maybe I should have said something else. Thought about it a little more. But then, maybe not. And maybe it’s not too far of a stretch to think that in those 3 simple words she even found me charming. I don’t know. We never really did do a memory lane of that night. I mean, sure we looked at the pictures a couple of times, yes there were pictures, probably lost now but we never really sat down and talked about it. Made an attempt to relive it. Get each other’s side of the story.
After all this time and I still don’t know what her first impression of me was. In those first few minutes, I mean. Before the alcohol and the dancing and the hand holding and the cigarettes and the kissing and the waking up the next morning and the asking me for a t-shirt…before any of it. I still don’t know…
“You’re really tall...”
Yup, that’s what I said. Those were my famous first words. I find it kind of embarrassing actually. Like, was that really the best you could do? Make some obvious observation about her appearance that wasn’t even really a compliment?
And here I thought I was good words…
Red nail polish. That’s something else remember. On her fingers and her toes. Red was her color in those days.
And these days? I really couldn’t tell you. Although if I was to guess, I would have to say that she outgrew the color red quite some time ago.
Gosh, you can’t imagine how much it sucks for me to know that I don’t even know that about her anymore.
Red nail polish. White jeans and this green, short sleeved turtle neck thingy that I really don’t know how to describe. That was my first image of her. The way her clothes clung to your body accentuating how perfect I thought her body was. How perfect I think her body is.
And she was pretty.
My attraction to her was instant. I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. The entire night. I’m pretty sure that she noticed. I mean, I wasn’t exactly trying to be discreet about it. But then, maybe she needed the attention that night. In spite of the not so true although more true than not things she had heard about me. Maybe she needed to lock lips with someone. To rub her hips against someone. To lose herself as much as she could with someone, without losing herself completely to that someone. Only she knows.
And her answer? To my unconventional three word introduction? Probably the best answer she could have given anyone in such a situation. Two words that trumped my three to shit. That for some reason I still can’t put a finger on, made her all the more appealing. That in my mind had me.
She pursed her lips. Looked at her friend then looked back at me without turning her head. She had that amused look back on her face…
“I know.”

Glass Slipper Memories (snippet) ****Leak!****

Moments like these are rare. Few and far between. As once-in-a-life-time as that perfect sunset on that perfect day; with that perfect girl and that perfect kiss.

So savor it. Squeeze it for all it's worth. Sip at it until there's nothing left. Until there's nothing left but an empty glass and a chewed up straw. Surrounded by empty plates, stolen glances and desperate hands held secretly beneath the restaurant table.

Until it's engraved on that cold slab of stone of yours that someone, somewhere dared to call a heart. Commit it to memory. Every second of it, every detail.

The way the light hits her hair, giving it that orangish-red glow creating the illusion of a halo. Turning her into your own personal angel. If only for an hour, if only for the night.

Remember the curve of her neck as it tauntingly slopes down towards her strapless shoulder, daring you to do something about it but warning you not to.

Hold onto the scent of her skin, as it drifts lazily towards you from across the table; as fragrant as chrysanthemums in late bloom, as wondrous as the wonder that is late spring. Warm and aromatic; working its way under your skin.

And her voice. Oh yes, that unforgettable voice. Mellifluous, tender. Her voice that speaks volumes. That shares secrets. That starts wars. That creates worlds. Her voice that echoes through the corridors of your heart, bouncing off its walls, kissing them; mwah! Like the smudge of her plum tree red lipstick on the nape of your neck.

Forget them not; all these things. As you walk up and down these lonely streets. Searching, searching...The cold winter wind chapping every inch, every centimeter of exposed skin.

Play them and play them again. Enumerate them, write yourself a list, paint yourself a picture, thumb yourself a reminder; whatever helps...whatever gets the job done.

Because one day, maybe not one day soon, maybe one day far off but one day none the less, she will ask you a question. For the exact day, the very hour, the precise moment that your heart leaped from your rib cage and into her lap. And trust me, she'll want to know. She'll have to know. And believe me when I say, your answer will make all the difference in the world.

Of Bullets & Breakups

They say that all good things good to an end. That nothing, not even love, lasts forever. I guess it was foolish of me to think that we of all people, as flawed and imperfect for each other as we were, could beat the odds. Go the distance. Run the good race. Cross the finish line. And every other couples cliché you can think of. Boy was I wrong. So wrong, in fact, that it almost cost me my life...

There was blood everywhere. On the floor, on the bed, on my shirt, on my hands...it gushed from my stomach like a fountain and I couldn't get it to stop.
We had another fight. Another argument. About the very same thing we argued about every single time that we had raised voices, broken dishes and punched in walls. False accusations of philandering. We fought about it a lot. Her accusing, me denying. A whole lot more than used to anyway. The one bedroomed box that we had decided to make our home, wearing the scars of our arguments valiantly.
We were both volatile people, impulsive and passionate. Which was probably what made our whirlwind of a relationship so exciting. But as a result, so were our arguments. Often going from a quiet rumble to an explosive eruption within seconds. Spewing lava that destroyed everything and everyone unfortunate to get in its path.
But as volatile as we were, as impulsive as we were, there was always a line. One that we both knew that if either one of us crossed it, there would be no turning back. As angry as we got, our anger was always, without fault, physically aimed at the house. She would smash a glass, I would kick a chair, she would throw a vase, I would punch a wall. Like an unwritten rule, we never physically targeted our assaults at each other.
But that one night, that last night; all that changed. I hit her. SMACK! Across the face. So hard it left a print. Like the sole of a shoe in a square of wet cement. She went sprawling. More from surprise than from the actual force of the blow. She looked stunned. Like she couldn't believe what I had just done. I had just done the unfathomable. Broken our silent agreement. Our unwritten rule. How could I? Although she said nothing, I could see the question creep into her eyes.
“You brought up the one thing I asked you not to.” I said in answer to her unspoken question. My voice was haggard and hollow, the dregs of my suddenly dissipated anger swirling at the bottom of my heart's glass.
She had talked about my father. My father who had died more than 10 years before. His death a result of his sticking his penis in places he had no business sticking it. His death had been a painful one. For him to experience as well as for us as his family to watch. And the scars that he left behind innumerable. A mother, spending every waking moment in a constant battle for her life, a half brother that Ive never met but who I know is out there. And the knowledge that the woman who had destroyed our family was still alive, still breathing and living a productive life while my father was dead, cold in the ground.
She had talked about my father. Said I was toxic, just like my father. That I would end up just like him. Sick and alone. With nothing but the promise of the grave to comfort me...and so I had hit her.
And as she held the side of her face and stared at me in disbelief I was instantly sorry. And not because I was remorseful, either. But because I saw the fire in her eyes and I knew that there was no telling what she might do next.
I looked around the sitting room, tried to locate anything that she might try to use as a weapon. In my distraction I barely registered her walking past me towards the bed room...and then I remembered.
I hurried after her, calling after her. Each time more desperate than the last. I had to get to her before she got to it. But when I reached the doorway to the bed room I knew I was too late. The draw next to the bed had been pulled out. Many of its contents spilled out onto the floor around her feet. She stood facing me, her feet parted like I had taught her to. She pointed the gun at me, like I had taught her to. Removed the safety, just like I had taught her to.
Deep calm breaths, I told myself. Deep. Calm Breaths. I raised my hands in a gesture of surrender. To show her that I had no intentions of trying to hurt her.
Now Lloyd, I told myself, talk her down.
I took one step into the room.
“Angella, Honey, you need to put the gun do-”
But Angella, honey, pulled the trigger before I could finish.
BANG!

You don't want me, you want the version of me that lives in your head.../ As I try to shake the dust off

I could feel her heart beating in her chest. Faster...and faster...and faster. She was trembling. Her lips, her tongue, her mouth working over time. She pressed herself against me, wrapping one arm then the other around my neck. I could taste her. I could smell her. Beer and tobacco mixed with need and uncertainty. A fiery desire with the forbearance of calamity.

But as Mixed up as her mind was, as her heart was, as her usually sensible sensibility was, she far from cared who was watching. Dark corner or not, she wanted me. While she still could have me. While I still paid attention, before I found another muse. And if she didn't care, well then neither did I. After all, this is what I wanted...wasn't it? Some one to hold onto, to feel less alone with, to kill all those lonely moments with. Maybe even someone to fall in love with. To have kids and grow old with. But if so, if that was what I really truly wanted, then I certainly didn't want it tonight. Not here, surrounded by all these eyes trying their best not to stare. Beneath these muted lights, red and green and blue. Locking lips with my ex times two. Or is it three? I really can't see that far back. As atrocious and callous as it sounds, they've been so many in between.

She placed a hand on my chest. Pushed me away. Broke the kiss.

“I have to go.”

Her voice was a near whisper. Syrupy, indecisive. She made an attempt to leave but wrapping an arm around her waist I pulled her back towards me.

“But I don't want you to.”

Mine was low and intimate, with just enough “I want you” in it to sound convincing without sounding desperate.

Placing a hand on her face I leaned in and kissed her. Making it deep, making her want the same thing I wanted: for her to stay.

And she did. For a few minutes anyway. Four or five minutes maybe.

Then came the questions.

“Why now?” She asked, breaking the kiss again. “Why like this?”

I looked at her. Her expression made it clear that she was going to need an answer.

I cleared my throat.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, we have more fun now and act a lot crazier now than we ever did when we were together. And I'm wondering why.”

I sighed.

“Can we not have a Q&A right now and just make out?” I asked. I may not have known what I wanted but I did know that this was not it.

“No Lloyd, we can't just make out.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because I have a weak heart. And I'm not sure I can take this.”

One beat, Two beats, three...

I didn't know what to say. Didn't know whether to play along or to say what I was really thinking.

Another two beats and with a shrug of the shoulder, a shake of the head and half a mind to throw in a scoff just for good measure, I decided to spill.

“To be quite honest Keira, I find that kind of surprising.”

She said nothing but her expression begged of a question...and so I answered it.

“In case you've forgotten, you don't do relationships. You're afraid of commitment. Being with someone is more of a chore than anything else. sound familiar? You dumped me, remember? So what are you saying? That you've changed? Ready to give us another try? What?”

Keira looked up at me, startled. I think seeing for the first time just how much she had hurt me. I thought I had gotten over it but here I was, five years down the line, the wounds she had left behind as fresh as the white, white Fila high tops on my feet.

She turned away, shook her head.

“Maybe...I don't know...”

Deep breath. Clam yourself Lloyd. Avoid drama at all costs.

I cupped one side of her face with a hand. Stroked her cheek with my thumb.

“How about we live for the night and worry about the rest tomorrow?”

Keira placed her hand on top of mine.

“I would like that.”

I kissed her again. Got lost in it. Tic...Tic...Tic...the minutes blew past me. Blew past us. Then all too suddenly, before I could figure out what was happening, the magical moment we had gotten lost in; lost us. And back came the music. And the swell of the crowd. The lights and the smell of cigarette smoke. And Keira? As for Keira? You ask...Keira was gone.

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!