a slender build. We worked in the same department of the retail store. The level I had attained in tennis was due to his tutelage. The line of our relationship did not stretch beyond the sport and that was exactly how I wanted it. I glanced at the time on my mobile phone.
Two more hours to go, I thought. There was nothing to do at home except involuntarily dwell on unwanted thoughts. Then I realized that there was a funfair in town and it wasn’t far from our rendezvous. A wander around the funfair would kill some time.
The sandy days of sandcastles on the beach, replaying wrestling bouts with siblings where I had lost my first tooth, waking up at the break of dawn to watch Cad’s Breakfast Television against my parents’ instructions. The good old days. I sighed, diverting from memory lane back to reality. Life had changed. I had changed. Life had
have been my baby if she hadn’t been a bitch, I thought. She neither looked fancy nor happy, only pregnant. Life had changed her, it appeared.
breathtaking. I had seen and been with ladies with far more physically aesthetic qualities. Yet there was something magnetic about her. And then I broke my gaze, shifting slightly on the bench. My veins were running with nervous anxiety. I wanted to leave. Don’t be a pussy. She smiled and relaxation seemed to flood her face. Her eyes caught my tennis racket. ‘I see you play tennis?’
Here comes my partner – tennis partner,’ I said, glancing at Franklin. Why the need for clarity? I asked myself. She chuckled and extended a hand. ‘My name is Sumbo.’ I was about to give her my name when Beatrice’s face flashed
across my mind, fueling me with the need to get out of here as soon as possible. I accepted the handshake, ‘It is been a pleasure but I have to be on my way.’ I caught a hint of surprise mingled with disapproval in her eyes as I withdrew my hand. I hurried off to meet my tennis partner.
My ideal man would have been muscular, huge and at least three inches taller than me but I found myself attracted to his slender, polished, somewhat athletic physique. The fact that he was scarcely an inch taller was inconsequential. Perhaps this was what they called chemistry.
tired as I had left her. I took the small sofa opposite hers, wary of any sudden movements from the dogs.
Kreate is a budding Nigerian writer with a flair for fiction. Writing for him began sometime in secondary school where he dabbled in poetry and plays. He has authored two self-published short novels.
He is a banker and lives in Surulere. Read more interesting pieces at KREATEATALE