She was fair and beautiful. Her black silky hair overflowed her shoulders like a plethora of foliage in a tropical forest. Her soft tender voice echoed through my seventeen year old heart like a symphonic recapitulation of intensive emotions. I was falling in love and I couldn’t help it.
The force was so strong that my musical abilities uncoiled like taste buds in the sight of culinary presentation of irresistible cuisine. I wrote a song and the song was about her. She had invaded my creativity and she was going to pay dearly for it. She had to marry me as penalty for presenting me with feelings that I couldn’t contain.
Her very sight took some strength from my limbs and my gait would collapse like a yoyo each time she smiled at me. I thought we were just friends and we had promised each other as much. The extent to which I was eager to spend money on cakes, chocolates, jewellery, accessories and exclusive lunches made me know that I was investing in something more than friendship.
The instrumental acquaintance was metamorphosing into a butterfly of love-heart wings. The only trouble is that she couldn’t tell me how she felt and that was such judicial tension and suspense that my weary heart couldn’t withstand. Did she really love me?
I planned her 18th birthday. I had turned 18 only a week before and the restaurant was teeming with decorations and mouth watering ala carte. The cake was waiting and her dried flowers had been delivered. Her golden watch, make up set, an exotic leather hand bag, pearl clip-on earrings and a necklace to match were beautifully wrapped awaiting this princess, albeit with nervousness. My accapella group was ready to sing the birthday overture and a recent original record of four songs; that I made especially for her was waiting in the cassette deck. I was ready to invade this tender heart with an impression that would accord me a wife.
I didn’t want a girlfriend. She smiled and was tongue tied. She cried but she didn’t say the magic words. She didn’t say ‘I love you’. I called a taxi, loaded her gifts in the boot and took her all the way home. Her mother panicked. I was confused. She later told me that her mum suspected that I wanted to marry her and she was only 18.
Eight months later, after many lunches, dinners and gifts, most of which she has to date, she said it. My world unfolded like the curtains of a theatre, exposing the orchestra in the pit of bliss and rhapsodic love. Six years later, I watched her walk down the aisle wearing the watch, earring and necklace I had bought her during her 18th birthday. I sang, played my sax and married her. 13 years down the line, she is much more adorable than ever.
“Kuyu Hellon, you’r a wonderful mother to our children. You breastfed our son for two straight years and remained as beautiful as ever. Now our lovely daughter is feeding the same way and she’s just as amazing as you”
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