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How’ve you been? I’m not going to blabber (much to your relief I figure). Straight to the main course we go. But first, where we left off last week;

Somewhere in the middle of the stack, I saw it. The stained, cover-less exercise book I wrote in, not lecture notes. You see, as a matter of principle, I don’t keep diaries. I’d write my precious thoughts in stanzas. It was my little-known talent. I didn’t speak of it much because it was inconsistent with my alpha-male aura. Can you picture Christiano Ronaldo and Shakespeare in one person? Exactly! Back in the day, I used to rap some of the poems, but some things were too pristine, too ethereal, too pure for a ghetto rendition, Like Ginny. Half of the scribbles in that book were about her.

“Hi Chris, it’s been ages.”

OO SHIT! That wasn’t Amma, and it couldn’t have been Sam’s voice. I turned, slow mo, it was Ginny. She was standing in the doorway, my doorway. My bladder filled spontaneously, and I got it like a friend request; I wasn’t over her.

*       *        *

My pupils dilated, I felt cold all over and my hands moved clumsily. I didn’t even realize I had dropped my poem book. If I had taken an X-ray then, it would have shown my stomach touching my heart, and my intestines writing “Awurade m’awu!”

She wore a long oversize polka dot shirt over blue pencil jeans. The large black belt she strapped over the shirt did more than correspond with the black dots in her shirt, it allowed her shapely figure to teasingly stand out in the otherwise casual attire.

She held her long black hair in a simple pony and other than lip gloss, she had no makeup on. But the Ginny that rendered my stiff a year and a half back, hadn’t lost even an ounce of her aesthetic glory.

I was unprepared but delighted. I was vulnerable, and had to be guarded. I had to say something, but all the energy I could muster went into keeping me together and acting as unclumsy as possible.

“Ginny?”

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The cat napped,

The mice played.

The cat’s back,

Mice awaayyy!

*         *         *

Hehehe, my sorry attempt to say sorry But is it true? that an apology is more sincere when it’s brief? Because if that’s the case paah de, then i’m sorry for the fallow period; i was re-fertilizing:-D

So here you go, the continuation of your addictively loved story (I don’t get why someone falling for his best friend’s girl piques your interest so. why is it because…lol) anyways, so from where we left off;

The more I thought about it, the more I looked forward to it; I’d see Ginny and know for sure that I was free of her haunting sweetness, of her lingering effects. Yes, this would be a liberation of sorts, and my inexplicable coldness would be needless. I could be a friend in the true sense…or I could be in for the rudest shock. I could find out that what I perceived as a complete emotional detachment was actually latent passion. Aarrrggghhhh.

These thoughts streamed through my mind as I checked in to JFK the following Thursday. My Virgin Atlantic flight was going to stop over in London and I’d be in  Ghana before the next day ended, a week before Sam was to marry Ginny. Was I ready? I don’t know.

*         *         *

My flight was smooth. By 6:45pm on Tuesday June 10^th (five days before Sam’s wedding), I was sitting at the arrivals hall of the Kotoka International Airport. It was packed with Ghanaians coming home for summer and foreigners seeking oilier pastures. My head kept sticking out like a hydrogen-filled balloon, but I couldn’t see Sam.

My sorely-missed folks and Amma, my perceptive, beyond-her-years teenage sister had finally given in to waiting home for Sam to bring me before midnight. He had strongly insisted on taking me to see his new apartment in East Legon, but each minute he delayed in showing, I felt like calling Dad, or chartering a taxi. I helplessly waited, and there were few things I disliked more.

Worse was the fact that he was getting married, so he had enough get-out-of-jail-free cards to make me look bad for being upset. When 7:25pm came and he still hadn’t shown, I decided his cards were used up. I was about leaving when I heard the unmistakably sonorous voice of my best friend.

“Yo, yo yo yo waspaaappiinggg??!!!”

His demeanor was light and infectious, his smile was reminiscent of a blissful childhood, and I knew for a fact that I’d missed him. For the records, I’m not gay. In fact, I’m so straight that I could wear a g-string and still exude enough alpha-male aura to charm a nun. But when you’ve lived in a strange land for even a few months, you tend to value your childhood friends. A crowded sub-way in New York still felt lonely; everyone was invisible to everyone.

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“…He’s asleep o, can you imagine?…sorry I had to leave….miss you so much…couldn’t love you more than I do now…”

I cringed in the bed, it was a nightmare, and I wasn’t even asleep yet   (sigh) O life, but what doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger right? Well it sucks the life out of you before it does. The events of the following weeks were spectacular. I knew if things went on like it was, I won’t be able to take it, I might do something crazy, but as to how crazy I could get, even I was unsure.

I woke up the following morning certain of one thing; I shouldn’t be allowed anywhere near Ginny for too long. My loyalty was to my best friend, but when I was establishing that fact, I wasn’t privy to how unbridled passion could get. It didn’t matter if Sam thought I disliked her, it was better than he realizing that I was smitten by her. Ginny was like a slippery floor, and all I had on were flipflops, falling was an inevitability. I needed to get myself some thick rubber-sole wellington boots for her kind of floor, and I was hoping time and some distance would give it to me.

So I didn’t attend her birthday drink-up the following Friday, I used the exams as excuse. I ensured I was never  around when she came over to our room, and  I tried hard to not be around when Sam was on the phone with her. The most difficult thing to do was to walk past the Balme library and see her coming out, or play snooker at Tyme out and see her at the counter and not be able to talk to her. Why the heck hadn’t these chance meetings occurred anytime before Sam met her? Why had she been invisible to my eyes until she became unavailable? Why this redefinition of torture? Ahiaa wrong had I done in my lifetime to deserve this? What lesson did I need to learn in life that could only be taught this way? Would it have so fatally affected the grand scheme of cosmic events if I had met Ginny first? Would it? Read the rest of this entry »

Prelude: this’ the 1st part of a two-part short story about the unfortunate event of a guy falling for the love of  his best friends’ life. It’s an intriguing drama that’s all around…one i hope you never become a victim of . But by all means, enjoy! & do leave a comment

In the Beginning.

I’ve known Sam since when all we wanted for Christmas was our two front ‘thooths’. One of our most prized secrets we keep from everyone is that we used to enjoy playing ampe together with my cousins after school, way more than the average guy should. When no one was around to play with us, we played by ourselves. How could we divulge the fact that two dashing testosterone-filled hunks totally loved the most girly sport of their time?

After JSS, I travelled to the Bronx and returned just in time to make it for fresher’s orientation at Adisco. Sam spent two and a half years in Germany with his Aunt Sylvia, where he attended the Vaughn Lutheran College in Berlin. We both thought he was never gonna come back, because he naturalized. But it didn’t prevent us from keeping in touch once in a while. I became Adisco’s most priced basketball player, and he became the best debater Vaughn Lutheran had seen since the days of Jimmy Van Holder in the 80s. Read the rest of this entry »