“A Day Forgotten to Remember”

Midday sun has gotten very tiring, hungry as a lion from a long flight. The streets and buses are congested with massive and heavy construction workers hammering the roads with concrete and mud all over the city. The market places opposite the road seem busy with hawkers carrying foodstuffs and babies on their backs.
I sit in the passenger car, reminding myself how long it’s been since I last visited Africa. I heard voices from the backseat of the vehicle. Frank asked, “do you speak Twi?” I am not sure why he’d asked such a question, knowing very well I could understand even though I couldn’t speak it. I noted, no, I don’t. I wanted to find out if he would say anything about me to his friend that I didn’t know. He spoke things I never thought he would, positive things.
The good things and energy you keep later become your birthmark, something written on your path and journey that people would remember you for. What purpose, what stronghold?
As he drives, I see the streets, the children. I want to do more. I am capable of doing more. Where do I start? How do I begin with no support? Financially I am struggling, trying to put a smile on the people I care for the most. What was his name, that beautiful boy driving? I can only imagine his pinky lips on mine, kissing and caressing me in his arms, and his smell, beautiful as me. His name was Eric.
I turned around only to see his profile smile, and he did the same. We spotted, our eyes met, and our speech became silent as we only heard the music play, my favorite music by Gyakie, ”forever”. I wanted to tell him I loved him right away, but I thought he knew that too. He drove with style, and all I could feel and think about was the streets that raised me. I am home. I feel safe, secure, and at peace with myself.
Frank was busy talking to Eric about their childhood experiences. How hard life has been for them and how far they have gotten even to have food to eat. Listening to Eric’s side of the story, I realized we had so much in common. I could relate to his fears, his trauma.
Frank and I grew up in the same neighborhood. We went to school together, and our families were very close friends. I could tell Frank disclosed a lot about me before picking me up at the airport. When it comes to relationships, commitment is easy, but love is the hardest.
We reached our destination. Frank and Eric helped carry my items of luggage. As Eric entered the hotel room I had booked, I watched his stature, eloquence, and refreshing figure.
As he was about to leave, I’d asked him. “Do you have a girlfriend?” He smirked, saying, I knew you were going to ask me that question. I laughed, knowing very well he was acting sarcastic. “How you know that?”
“Cos I was going to ask you the same question.” In my cognizance, I knew he was going to ask me a question.
The night became a bliss of silence; it’s like we both said fewer words and more observations. He held my hands, about to ask me a question, when Frank came screaming.
“Yo, Eric, I am not a security guard. I am not getting paid to stand here waiting on you “. Lets step.
“Can I come by tomorrow?” Eric asked. She nodded in agreement.
When Eric showed up the next day, their intertwined garments were on the floor. Eric proposed to Niki. Although they hadn’t known each other for long, they knew right away, they belonged.
Her body shook while he was struggling to breathe. She remembered a day she almost forgot. He had never done this before, marriage. He despised marriage, and here he was asking for a loaf of bread instead of sugar.

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