Okey… Just write about today.

(Let me waste your time a bit and quench a reader’s wish.. Note : This is not a continuation to 'Meet Me Halfway' , that is coming soon, waiit for it.)

1.24 P.m.Don stood at the Westlands bus stop to town, a few phone calls had left him desperately waiting for the fastest bus to the capital, he was already a few hours late from an appointment with a friend.

A long bus pulls up, he hates the long ones since they take forever to get to town, but something about this one urged him to jump in and save his hustle for a ‘faster’ one. It was filled up, save for a lonely seat at the back seat. It looked so lonely, like it had just signed divorce papers from it’s partner of five years. He made his way to keep it company.

The bus coughed into life, and was eating up Waiyaki way after a few short turns, and Don seemed to enjoy the cool breeze oozing through the open window to his left. (That window to the left will manifest to the backbone of this post, keep it tucked somewhere in your mind.

The breeze continued blowing, and he realized a kind of confusingly but still very silently sweet smelling cologne, a deep contrast to the arm-pits he had dealt with all early morning. His eyes were forcing themselves to the direction of the source, but he held his head to the front, though he knew the strength would never hold. He would cave, somehow, and cave he did. The bus took a turn into Kenyatta Avenue, slowing down to the slowly building town traffic, despite it being a Saturday. A few meters and it stopped.

The sun outside shone bright against the high-rise buildings, and the bus insides started to bake in the heat. He still had his ugly AF (it’s what his friends now call his old but still favorite cardigan) on, despite the heat and obvious thin sweat welling around his temples. He looked to his left, and the window was almost fully open, then he saw the source of the cologne, a sight to behold, but he decided to keep calm. As he turned back to his phone, something caught his eye, her nails. For the record Don admits to his friemds to hate nails, because he has some ugly set, so he is always with a cutter clipping them away, but these ones were not just nails, they were those nails done in no hurry, the kind which demand respect and attention, and a little smile. He gave them the smile.

“Hey, nice nails…” He almost says, well, the better part of his voice goes Awol.

The traffic was now at a standstill, as the lights ahead cried red.

She held harder to her (what do they call them, clutch bags?) yes, to that one, and smiled at him.

“Ooh sure, I never remembered the window is open..” She replied.

“Actually, I was complementing your nails.. But still, be careful with the bag…” He replied, trying hard to hold back a laugh, and at the same time hiding the flush of embarrassment.

She realized what she did, well, his voice had not helped, she placed her hand on her mouth. They both laughed, not a little but hard, like kids who have grown together with Sorghum and meet him after fourty years  and he has a potbelly.

“Oooh thank you…” She managed, amid laughter.

The traffic moved an inch, and the bus leaned forward and almost kissed the buttocks of a tiny well-manicured Toyota vitz.

She leaned forward and laughed a little more. He needed to change the topic before she, mmhh.. lets say peed on herself.

“How is your Saturday..?” He asked. The only gentleman thing to ask.

“Well, its good bad.” She replied. He always gets an instant attachment to people who find throwing in poetic touches to their wordings.

“Mmmh.. How is good bad?” He asked.

“How do I put this, well, am going to talk to a friend who is about to walk out of a non-working marriage…” She opened up.

Don is slightly stunned. He expected something about a turn up, something about her going to a wedding reception, and by her simple dressing and rich touch of English, a wedding reception somewhere in a leafy suburb. Those ones don’t overdress. Don never expected anything to do with marriages, weddings yes, but not marriages, he is not even close to marriage, and the closest he ever got to marriages is weddings.

“Well, that’s bad, it can never be good…” He says, sensing confusion in him.  

“It’s not bad, at least she is leaving a non-functional marriage..” She says as a matter of fact.

“Okey, you can lean that way, at least she is getting out of it not getting into …. It.” He slightly pauses, sensing a touch of negative connotation; lucky for him she was the ones who frequent Church.

“I just hope she is sure of the decision she wants to make…” The lady has some concern on her face.

The bus takes a left at Sarova and speeds towards Hilton, Don feels a funny feeling in the tummy.

“It has actually been eating her up, she wants out of it terribly, and when someone calls you to just have a work in such situations, you don’t turn them down, do you..?” She asks.

“I guess am supposed to say No  ...” He answered, and smiles.

“Sure, she might get back there and you remain the bad one…” Don adds, surprised by his own ability to contribution.

“Sure sure..” She semi rolled her eyes “How is your Saturday..?”

Don smiled, he never expected this. “Well, its hot, and busy, I have to rush somewhere and take someone somewhere.”

"That's pretty confusing.." She said, pulling a 'clueless' look. 

"Well, i have this friend who really wants to have a run into the slums and meet someone there who runs a Childrens home, and i have to take her there as I say hi to the little chaps there.." He explained. 

"Wooow, that's nice..." She said, with some excitement.

"I just hope it's not that hot there, my brain might over heat, and that's not good." Don added, grinning.

She laughed, again. “It’s hot and you already have like three tshirts and you say it’s hot…!”

“Its just one vest, a jersey and a cardigan..” He said, faking some seriousness.

“Wait, am only in a chiffon top and I feel hot, and you have three layers on…” She laughed again.

He mentally played around with the name Chiffon, wondered how it spelled and hoped to one day use it to set some standards, but feared the result if he got the C and the S wrong. He also wondered if chiffon was the material or the funny pattern flowers.

“But girls are  allowed by nature to wear light clothing.. We on the other hand don’t have the freedom to….” He started out.

“Don’t play that card, man..” yes, she called Don that, he felt elevated. “you will faint, lose one layer, and I would suggest that cardigan..”

“But it has Michigan written on it…” They both laughed, harder this time round, leaning forward, as the bus came to a halt.

“I hope to see you around someday…” Don said, as they alighted the bus.. “I write, maybe you can visit there someday and I hope you enjoy.”

“Wooow, you do, so you are a blogger..” She asked.

“Well, I don’t really like that name, let’s stick to a writer, or someone who writes on a blog, but not blogger”. Don replied, faking a headmaster attitude.  (Ooh yes, Don also writes, and I will give you his link once he decides to behave).

She smiled and handed him her phone “Type in the link and I will visit your work”

“But you will wait a while before a new post pops up, inspiration has been away on hibernation…” He said.

“Well,..” She looked the direction of the Archives building, “Here is some inspiration, write about today..”

“I will..” Him.

“I will read it.” Her.

“You seem the trusting kind… What if I run away with the phone..?” He asked as he punched in the link.

“You know am asking myself the same question….” She answered with a smile, and they said their goodbyes, and somehow he knew he had one new reader.