WASTED

I see the last tiny bubble hang loose on the wall of the glass of booze I was holding. It was either my ninth or tenth round of KJ, I can’t remember well. Sometimes the bubble looked like it had doubled, sometimes it was only as single as I was at the time. Okay I am feeling single. I feel like that bubble. Having nothing much to clutch on, not even a straw. The forces within the booze that I can’t really say simply because I sucked in Physics way back when the grade mattered more than anything in the world – held the bubble to the wall of the glass. I could hear the bubble screaming that it doesn’t want to let go and eventually disappear from the translucent view of the booze. Cheap booze. But at the same time, the pain of holding on to the wall for that long must have made the bubble wish for it’s disappearance. I call it death. I am a bubble. A lonely bubble who is as strong as it’s union of with other bubbles sticking on the wall of the glass together. We may not be bubbles in the best and most expensive rum, but at least we are bubbles existing somewhere in a sea of ‘medicine for digestion.’ The only problem is, I’m now the only bubble left because she is no longer with me. 
I take a sip, embrace it in my mouth abit, gently place back the glass on the table, I see the bubble remains intact on the wall of the glass and swallow the sip after doing the hundredth rerun of the ingredients of the KJ. This time, I peer into the surface of the booze that is quarter empty. Yea, I tend to choose to see the glass from that perspective today because I feel empty. The surface of the cheap brew acts as a portal for sometime. Memories of our times together replay on that surface. 
We first met two years ago. I can’t forget it was on a Thursday because in UoN, Thursday is the new Friday. My gang and I were to assume patronage that night in a new joint we wanted to try out in Westy. Thursday set the pace for Friday. Normally we remembered Saturday was also a day after sobriety was fully loaded back on Sunday afternoon. That was the life. Someone sang that the club is not the best place to find a lover and so the bar is where he goes. I wasn’t looking for a lover, but I can testify that I found mine in a bar too. 
We matched into the bar ready to get our physical-selves as high our high spirits were at the time. Just to be sincere, I was the chairman of our patron-cru. When the chairman barks Skylax, the entire pack goes to Skylax. When the chariman barks Lidos, the pack goes to Lidos (Hehe). When the chairman barks Club Sober, the pack goes sober. Nobody beat me at drinking. Pose a challenge and you’d be the one throwing up after some extra rounds beyond your alcoholic limit. That also meant that nobody could beat me in hangovers. My hangovers ended on Tuesdays. 
I took my place as the chairman on a mighty table at the rear end of the bar. This particular joint was quite calm. Though it seemed like we were the only ones in there who understood what patronage was all about. Our mouths couldn’t remain shut, for both purposes. One, to laugh with our thunderous voices as we argued about anything to everything. That is inclusive of the teasing that we did to the waitresses too. Two, to empty bottles and glasses that were as a result of emptying our pockets first. The background was beautified by some old hits from when I was a teen. 
My mind drifted from the jeers of our table, virtually taking a walk around the bar. I found myself tuning in to the background music. It was Mike Posner’s turn to shine in the bar with my favourite back in the days. 
If I could write you a song to make you fall in love
I would already have you write under my arms
I used up all of my trick
I know that you like this but
You probably won’t 
Because you think you’re cooler than me 
You got designer shades just to hide your face
And you wear ’em around like you’re cooler than me 
And you never say hey or remember my name
And it’s probably cause you think you’re cooler than me…
The song was just a song until my eyes caught glimpse of one like no other in the bar that night. She was seated at the counter on a long bar stool that she sexily used to her advantage ; her advantage over me perhaps, I thought. One of her legs rested on the footrest of the stool by the heel-breast of her six inch heels as the other freely hang – both revealing the spotless light skinned calves she had. Half of her thighs towards her abdomen all the way up to her chest was covered by the purple-off shoulder dress she had on. 
I hadn’t even drunk a quarter of my usual dose when I stood up to leave our table without an excuse. Nobody questions the chairman you know? I was hypnotic. I don’t know whether it was the little amount of booze in my system or the rule of attraction women have. I can’t tell. I couldn’t feel myself walking. Maybe I was gliding. In any way I landed on the stool next to hers at the counter. 
All of a sudden, sobriety kicked in. Perhaps it was brought by the adrenaline that shot up my spine when she turned to look at the mjango who had thought himself worthy to seat next to her. She might have processed in her slaying mind that this mjango was in for a rude shock of his entire life, a stopper he’d live to sob over, an insult that would make him loath beautiful women (God forbid! Chineke!) or a slap that would cause deafness to one his ear. The same way she turned her head to study me is the same way she turned it back to the bar tender to ask for a refill of the only drink that was friendly to her in that bar – Fanta. 
Like a ghost that was sent to make me miss the jackpot I didn’t know would be my one and only for two years, cowardice possessed me. That was after my eyes sneaked out of their usual angles to cover the wonderful story her chest narrated. Her light skin glowingly hosts a tattoo of a rose flower right above her left knocker. I would later know that it was the perfect depiction of the heart she has. A golden necklace hang on her neck with a bail – the shape of a star; resting at her cleavage. The valley of wonders that flows with milk huh ? 
She had turned to look at me, yes. But I was still playing serious and pretentious at that time as if showing her that she was not the reason I was there. That she was not the reason I also wanted to have Stoney over the booze I have a history with. Yeah, I ordered Stoney. She looked like she was waiting for someone. She was dressed for such an occasion anyway. I bet the one she might be waiting for was not dressed in a pair of recycled khaki trousers and a T-shirt under an old leather jacket like I was. Though before he showed up like I thought he would, I had to make a move even if it was a death sentence. Call it a do or die. 
“Waiting for someone?” I began. 
She didn’t even move to suggest any response. I have never trembled like I did that moment. My ego was broken by it’s knees. I gulped my Stoney in despair, desperate to finish it and leave. I told myself that I was wasting time. 
“No. Not any more.” She turned over to me. 
I paused in the middle of my long sip in disbelief, lowered the glass and looked back at her. I died for a moment. 
Was there an imperfection in this lady’s body? Absolutely none that I could see. Even the spots of healed acne on her cheeks served the perfection I saw in her. 
I found my words, “Not anymore? Sorry about that.” 
“It’s okay. I’m just starting to think that I have been pushing too much. I even accepted to meet him at his favourite joint to talk. I have never even been to a bar.” 
The bar is indeed a place where even those who are not patrons find a place to release their inner selves. We talked for so long that night at the counter. I suggested we should leave after I noticed how the masculine bald bar tender looked at me. He looked like saying, “You know it’s my job to hear people’s problems. Especially the pretty ones…”
Her voice was all I paid attention to by the way.
***
We became friends out of being that ear she needed to let out her heart too. We became lovers after we threw our past and increased the magnitude of our friendship gradually. Beauty is what drew me to her, the lovely being I saw in her is what kept me by her. I found myself changing because of her. I have never been to a club or a bar again. I didn’t hand over my chairmanship. Who knows who took after me? Because I don’t. Now for the past one week, she has been showing signs of disinterest, like she doesn’t want anything to do with me, to do with us! It’s like she wants to call it quits. Reason being, she doesn’t want to say. I love her. Never in my life have I ever loved a woman like I did love her. 
My stress couldn’t be taken elsewhere but to the bar. I am being carried home by some of my old fellow patrons who remained loyal to that joint. They found me wasted on a single table full of several bottles of beer. I heard them say, “Huyu ni yule mschana anamtesa hivi. Na vile tangu ampate aliwacha kuwa player na kupiga maji…” 
I tell them to take me to her, with stammers of course, “Nipelekeni kwa mlango yake na muniwache hapo. Sitatoka kabla aongee na mimi na anipee hug. Akikataa nijiue ata. Maisha si maisha bila huyo manzi yangu…”
“Apana mjango ushajiwaste. Tunakupeleka home.” 
“Nitawatandika nyinyi. Kwani hamuniskii?” 
I still stagger as they hold me by my shoulders. 
“Munanipeleka ama muniwache nijipeleke…”