Friday Night, The morning After

 

I’ve been in the house for quite a while. I haven’t checked out the time but from the amount of light that go past the curtain into my room I reckon it’s a little past 11, 2 if am still drunk. The events of last night are just a memory but proof of a half-naked lady hurdle to cusp her hands on my man boobs. I turn to look at her face but she buries it into my long unkempt hair. I don.t remember her name or even why I decided to bring her home last night. Probably I do but am too hangovered to admit that I was trying to find out if I could still shuffle, get down and most important of all still out there in the dating scene. She has a subtle scent of  expensive perfume so I presume she’s got some class. Her palms are soft and her breath warm.

I open my eyes slowly while keep my breath in rhythm with hers while I struggle to replay how last night went down. This is a trick I learnt since the dreadful day at Njoki’s when I tried to slip away and got busted because my breath was uneven. Nkt weirdo! But anyway thanks to her, slipping away has become more of a talent and as such I don’t have to remember anybody’s name or promise to call when it is pretty clear that when I pretended to save their numbers I actually replied to my whatsapp messages. Carefully and noiselessly, I slip out of her embrace and drop onto the floor. I turn back to see her face but the horse tail hair has got it covered, literally. The fake hair looks new, which is a good sign since I won’t have to disinfect my bed. Her skin is chocolate with a dark birth mark on the nape of her long neck. Without getting to see her face I deduce she’s a 8 or 7 depending on how easy she made it for me last night. Something I guess I’ll never know since my computer is off so no video evidence. I’m naked and I can’t be able to find my clothes. Well, I see all my clothes but they are all over the floor and I can’t rem which set I put on. My shoes don’t help either: three pairs are dirty and as such they won’t help me pick out the trouser I had on. While still struggling to patch up what happened the previous day, an idea strikes me that by finding my wallet, I would find out what I wore the previous day. As I grope through the pile of filth the washing lady has used to squeeze kshs 600 from me every week, she moans something to do with Freddy. I smile at the thought that it’s probably her boyfriend’s name. After quite awhile groping about am certain my wallet is either lost or misplaced. Whichever way, I’ll never figure out what went down because my phone too is nowhere to be found either.

I walk to the front door and pop it open. A few girls scream and their mothers curse just as I realise am still buck-naked. Full of shame I close the door as the conversation outside shifts to women saying they would talk to the landlord to have me evicted. As I disappear into my bedroom I hear something to do with man whore and bad example. I wish that helped me figure out what went down the previous night but all I got is a proper reason to start scouting for another house or just move in with Mary, the crazy girl who believes am a neurosurgeon. I slip back into bed as the lady brushes off the hair from her face. Without my glasses on she looks quite beautiful so I do a little dance of victory for having added double points on my street credit. As I lean to kiss her on the forehead and try for a round two it dawns on me. My name really is Freddy! And she looks a hell lot familiar. Maybe that’s because I must have been with her most of last night but something seems totally wrong. She doesn’t seem like the kind who’ll go home with an asshole like me or maybe she was just off her game the previous night. Who am I to judge? Everybody falls down sometimes only that this overly familiar beauty fell at the wrong feet.

Somebody knocks then opens the front door so I cuddle back to sleep in her embrace. It’s probably my roommate back from his Jehova Witnesses duties. Which means he’s converted a few souls, drank lots of tea and walked a marathon. But the person who’s in the house hasn’t ,locked the main door so am pretty sure it isn’t my room mate. I shut my eyes and pray they don’t budge into my room without knocking unless it’s Kim Kadarshian and Janet Mbugua. I guess am too late with the prayer because before I say an amen the door is swung open.

“omera bado unalala” I hear the all too familiar sound of Lando my favourite Jaluo.

I heave to face him and wink at him to get off but the joke is already on me. He dragged along the entire Gor mahia crew who are already taking pictures. My phone rings and Lando tosses it to me. It’s Sande so I guess I’ll get to know exactly what happened.

“Hi Sande, fill me in on what happened last night”

He laughs teasingly and says, “You guy deserves a medal or something cos last night you were unbelievable”

“haha I get it, ….so what did I do?”

“You sure you don’t remember?”

“yeah sure I don’t”

“Who am I to spoil your fun? Let’s make it one of those lost seconds you’ll never recover but trust me bro, you were a-m-a-z-i-n-g.”

He’s definitely happy I can’t remember so I lie back staring at the ceiling making up things that I suppose could have happened.

 

photo adapted from theleaguepfmoveabletype.com

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5 responses to “Friday Night, The morning After

  1. (It’s probably my roommate back from his Jehova Witnesses duties. Which means he’s converted a few souls, drank lots of tea and walked a marathon) REALLY?!

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