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1 Boy Meets Girl - I Killed Them

Love heals the chancre of long rejection.

It is with a kiss or a long warm hug.

Ears wide open, and hearts of affection.

Filling all emptiness rejection dug.

Love kills, yet it be not one of its flaws.

Here, it punctuates a sad maiden's dialect.

It's the death in a mother lion's steel claws.

Her wet cubs against foe beasts to protect.

Love steals, away, strength to do as you please.

Fills up the graveyard of old days' romance.

The umbilical cord of tomorrow's bliss.

If you find her easy, it's in a trance.

The frail miss hurts the hunk with this old tool.

Love is sweetest when you're loved by a fool.

--Love Heals, Ray Anyasi

Love at first sight was bullshit till I saw Sarah. Her skin was smooth, dark and shiny like the skin of a Moroto cobra in rainy season. She flashed a bright gorgeous smile –not at me, but at the driver of the bus we rode to work. Quickly, my mind captured that smile and stashed the picture away somewhere in my brain where it is untouchable. Simply put, her smile was only a tiny fraction of her entire beauty, yet, only the most blessed and purest of men deserved to be seeing such smile every day.

I said a hearty good morning to her and she blessed me with that smile, it was proof enough that God loves a man. That was how it seemed to me that morning, you must be loved by God if all you do to be gifted such a smile is to say a common good morning. That was how we became friends. Every day from that day onwards, we took not only the same route, but same bus to work. We will often sit next to each other and have a good cheerful conversation all through the ride. She constantly reminded me of that girl in that Bryan Adam's song, Eastside Story except that in my case, I gave her my name and number and got hers.

Soon after, I invited her to have lunch with me in my favorite restaurant –I mean the restaurant I'd loved to be frequenting if I were rich. She agreed to join me for the lunch but not that easily. She made me beg on a knee with a gift in my hands. That was just for me to have the chance to spend a fortune on a skimpy meal while sitting opposite her, grinning from ear to ear.

Aren't women impossible to comprehend? The same lady who gave me her number gleefully as if she's been waiting half her lifetime to find me has succeeded in making getting a simple date as hard as getting a blowjob from a Khaleesi right in front of her Khal.

After spending a third of my monthly take-home pay on a Chinese dish in a Kampala restaurant, she said it was a fair meal and thanked me. Fair meal? Are you fracking kidding me, miss?
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By my standards, we had a great time; I saw that smile over and over again. That was worth more than the miserable meal I paid for. I will say it once again, her smile was God's blessing best represented on a broken face.

Our friendship was the stuff of a fairy tale, at least from my end. My friends who saw us together envied me…well, even the once who said I was being retardedly disgraceful to manhood for being that hot, hot after just a girl. I had a head full of phrases and comments that people described me with as it concerned my friendship with Sarah. One friend said I was too lucky for his liking. So, on a certain evening after work, I decided to push that luck a little further. We met at the bus station. Just like me, she'd had a pretty tough day at work. We decided to take a sit under a tree and talk before we hop into a bus.

'I like you Sarah,' I said while scanning her countenance. It goes without saying; my heart was already beating fast, the way my voice came out was strange. I never heard myself sound like that; I never even thought it was humanly possible to sound like you were talking from an empty hole. I can't tell if that was how she heard me, anyway.

'Of course you do,' she giggled softly.

'Do you like me too?'

'Will I be sitting here if I didn't?' she sounded as if my question was the silliest thing she ever heard from a grownup.

Being loved back will mean a lot to any man. If the woman be Sarah, then it will mean everything. 'Sarah, I like you beyond the, the…normal…normal like between friends. I mean –I love, love…you. I love you. I want you and I to, to, to be more than friends because I ar…ar…am in love with you, Sarah.'

As I stuttered and chewed my tongue for up to three minutes trying to say those few words, Sarah kept this bowled over stare on me like she thought I must be out of my mind. The moment I said the last word, she busted into a mocking laughter. It was humiliating. Embarrassing even, but I was prepared to soak that up.

'Sarah, this is no laughing matter,' I managed to say from trembling lips.

'Of course it is no laughing matter, but it makes me laugh all the same.'

'I know you would have preferred a more articulate speech, but please pardon my fal…'

'It has nothing to do with the way you said it. No, not at all, my dear. As a matter of fact, I'm flattered to see that I took all your boldness away,' she kept the smile everlasting as she spoke, 'the thing is, you're not just my type as it concerns intimacy. I like you, you're nice and caring. You're a good person, but definitely not the type I'd date. I'm sorry I laughed, seriously, I'm sorry.'

'So, so, I can't get anything from you?'

'What do you mean by anything?'

I too don't know what I meant. I was just saying arrant gibberish.

'We are still friends, aren't we?' she said, 'I like to remain your friend, always.'

The way I saw it then, it was the hardest thing to do in the world. To be just friends with such a woman with astronomical desirability. To think that you would eventually have to condescend to marrying a mere mortal female after being that close to a goddess. It was unthinkable.

That night I could not sleep. I talked about it over and over again with my roommate, Yacob. Yacob was what I considered a chronic loafer. He had no job or any formal training that could fetch him one, and he was uninterested in finding one by the way. He was annoyingly content with living off others. Yacob was what my father would have called a lifetime receiver if they had met. He lived in my apartment, he ate my food, he wore my cloths…everything he did, I funded and everything he used, I owned. I wasn't complaining though, he was a fun company to have. You never get a single boring moment with Yacob. So it was like having a live-in standup comedian at a little more cost than financial.

I talked to him about Sarah almost every night from that day I got that first smiled on the bus stashed away to that corner of my memory. Actually, he was the one who urged me to ask her for a proper affair. He said I'd regret not acting fast if another man came for her. The thought of such eventuality was unwelcomed…alarming even. Another man with my Sarah? Holding my Sarah? Kissing my Sarah? On top of my Sarah?

Stop it, stop it, don't go there. Not now, not ever.

As I got myself a-tip-of-the-ice-berg ready to say it to Sarah, I could almost hear her saying her no, no, no. Obstinately into my ears, the ears of my heart, to say. Yacob does not think so. That particular night, he told me a girl is naturally programmed to say no at first; even to the man they'd die to have. He talked as if he'd read The Female Mind Creation Manual, by God, et al.

He encouraged me to keep asking till I get a yes from her.

A yes would come?

He could only say that because he wasn't there to see the look on her face while I spoke like a five-year-old in front of a clown. If he'd heard the heart aching sound of her laughter as if I was being world-recordly ridiculous, he wouldn't be asking me to try again.

What I thought that night was, I must be out of my mind. How could I even dream of such a union, not to talk of asking for it? Sarah was way too good for me. A girl like her should have or be waiting for a better man to come around, someone definitely wealthier with a high class. I must have been dreaming to think that ordinary me could have extraordinary her.

I would wake up now from my dream and begin to hope to meet half-a-Sarah someday, but Yacob won't let me. He insisted he was sure about what he was saying. I was easily inclined to put a little faith in his theory. Why not? He was the guy who had nothing to impress a lady with, yet occasionally got decent hook-ups. So, I let him take an advisory role in my Project win Sarah.

Yacob went to work immediately. He suggested that if he added his voice to my case to her, I might gain some points. He asked me to invite her to our apartment…my apartment. The idea was simple, bring her and let him spend time singing my praise in the sweetest tune ever. Sweet talk was his thing. He could convince an ostrich it flies faster than an eagle. He said I would come off as the generous and altruistic gentleman who keeps an annoying old friend in his apartment. He was self deprecatory too. I liked the idea, why not? If I have spent all these year putting up with all his big-baby crap, reaping something priceless from it won't be a bad idea at all.

Getting Sarah to agree to visit was another hell of a hurdle. It was twice as hard as getting that lunch date. I preached, I begged, I sent gifts…heck, I even had to punch a man in the face for brushing against her on a walkway.

Then she agreed to visit my apartment by 2:00pm on the 27th of October, 2012. On that Saturday, I, Constance Matulele, was a very happy man. Happier than Nelson Mandela on the day of his release from jail. I sanctioned Yacob to clean the apartment as hard as was humanly possible and cook her favorite meal. Sweet potatoes porridge with smoked fish. I bought new table covers and curtains for the doors and windows. One would think we were expecting a Saudi princess. To Yacob's credit, he was a terrific cook; the meal was just…well, half Sarah-befitting. And it was impossibly impressive still.

Then she showed up in all her majesty. Wearing a new-looking light pink silk gown that stopped shyly before her thighs ended and at the top part of it, the V-neck line allowed the inner cheeks of her fist-sized breasts push out bravely into plain view. Way to go, girl. The queenly gown was hung over her shoulders by half inch wide, dark pink straps that perfectly overlaid the black straps of her push-up bra. It was a perfect overlay that you would hardly notice the bra straps which were half inch wide too…like she was dressed up by a mathematician. She had an orange scarf, not on her head, no…over her shoulders. It covered the baby-skin of her upper chest and her cleavage. But she took it off as she stepped into my apartment.

Feed thy eyes oh ye sons of mortal men, for this day you…

4:16pm, that was the exact time of her arrival. After all the anticipation and waiting, her graceful legs stepped through my door, it was worth the wait. I introduced her to Yacob quickly and he went to work at once. Trying his best to translate my six years of shit taking into priceless jewels that would beautify my plain personality before her royal majesty…or so I thought. He began to tell jokes after jokes and making witticisms fluidly. I liked that he kept her happy, but a part of me was jealous that she'd never been that excited in my company. What the heck, he was my live-in leech of a comedian…my money; I could as well take the credit. Be entertained precious Sarah.

We served her the meal; she gave it an easy pass mark. I served her a glass of fruit juice, an expensive one, mind you. She took only a sip of it then made a bitter face; you'd think it was vinegar in the glass. She said she'd prefer diet coke instead. Not a funny joke.

Instantly, I grew wheels under my feet and was at the nearest department store before a second thought. They were out of stock; I checked the next store, same story. I then had to go a lot further than would take a jiffy. In the end, it took me about twenty-seven minutes to find a bottle of diet coke and return to the dignitary I was hosting in my apartment.

In my apartment, right in the middle of my sitting room, a dreadful shock was waiting for me.

In the excitement of having found what the Queen demanded, I busted into the room, Yacob and Sarah swiftly jumped off each other. They couldn't be quick enough for me not to see what they were into. Everything now seemed like a horrible dream, but I remember clearly their position –after they had disentangled, that is. What they were doing had no other explanation.

She was slow to withdraw her left hand from inside his sagging dirty, denim pants, not quick like he was in withdrawing his hands from wherever they had been. Inside her bra…maybe, because now more than half of the entire fist-sized breasts were outside their cups, daring for more engagement.

Yacob stood away with his hands thrown up.

'This is not what it looks like, Constance, let me explain…' he was saying rapidly, and then swearing by some never-heard-before deities of Bunyoro.

Sarah wasn't saying anything, she was busy rearranging her hair and pulling down her gown properly, she left the breasts as out as they were as if they had a role to play in making things calm or they'll defend her if things escalate. Her composure was nowhere near apologetic and it made me mad.

I couldn't understand it, I still can't. I mean…how could a girl who couldn't give me as little as a warm hug descend this low to Yacob? Yacob? No, the good-for-nothing other-people dependent Yacob? The incurable body-odor Yacob? Even at that moment he smelled like a three days rotten smoked fish. I can never have a face-to-face conversation with Yacob, when he speaks, his mouth smelled like the devil pooed inside his stomach. How could she bring herself to be an arm's length near him, let alone kiss him? What did he do to her? How can they do this unspeakable outrage to me?

All the majesty of her personality I held in my head vanished quickly. In my sight at that moment, she became the dirtiest thing I'd ever looked upon. More dirty than Yacob.

She took her scarf and began to tie it over her head to cover her hair completely. Now she looked like faithful mama Sarai having no idea what papa Abbey was up to with the handmaid.

She is mocking me and I know it in its bare face.

Yacob was on his knees speaking frantically. I wasn't hearing anything he was saying anymore. A million thoughts ran through my head so fast it was like I wasn't thinking at all.

My hands dipped into the bag I held on the other hand. I brought out the bottle of soft drink she demanded and without thinking, flung it at her quickly.

She had no time to react before it hit her on the left temple.

From that moment on, everything began to happen fast. She sprawled uncontrollably all over the floor. She did not scream in pain or shock. Just a quiet squawk before she hit the ground on the back of her head. Yacob sprang from his knees to hold her head up.

The bottle was broken into three sizeable places and many more tiny jewelry pieces. And my anger was rising even further. I picked a piece of the bottle, Yacob turned to me to wonder what I was up to.

He should have known.

I drove the piece of bottle through his neck. He held his throat and fell on his back. I did not take a second look at the fool. His blood was spouting up to the ceiling and spraying all over us like a colorful fountain on Halloween.

I couldn't control myself anymore; I grabbed a longer piece of the bottle and began to stab it continuously on Sarah's chest and neck like a maniac. I did it up to thirty times before I was able to make myself stop. By that time, my hand had been deeply cut on my palms by the bottle. Everything and everyone in the room was soaked in blood. Her blood, his blood, and mine, everywhere I looked.

That moment, the devil in me disappeared and I was left to realize what in the world I'd just done.

I had two bodies to explain.

I became scared, very scared. I had to do something fast. I cleaned myself and changed my cloths, and I bandaged my cut hand. Somewhere between all those, I must have had a black-out.

All I could think of that time was to run away and as I write this, I'm still running. Not just from the legal consequence of my crime, but from their ghosts. I see their faces all the time. The face of Yacob when he was pleading for mercy and forgiveness in the name of those stupid deities, and the face of Sarah, the innocent look she maintained as if she meant to say to me that a goddess can never be wrong.

I've been able to cross the border into Kenya, but there is no border to cross inside my head. I'm trapped in the torturous gaol of my conscience.

Have they really done anything to deserve such cold-blooded horrible death?

Theirs was a rare and impeccable boy meets girl tale, but I killed them.

The End… (oku agu)