DOE.
“Doe is an emotionally deficient boy in a big man’s body who has coffee money. He doesn’t have ati like a lot of money, but just the right amount to sustain a good conversation. And I am sorry to say so, but he preys on girls that are emotionally weak,” she then pauses as if to listen for my reaction.
“Girl, I hope you are right cause you are maiming my heart. You are killing me slowly,” I respond regretting why I asked her to do the psychoanalysis in the first place.
I am sorting millet to take it to the mill later on. I love the feel of the millet going at each other on my palms. It contradicts my fear of small things that appear in masses, like aphids. They give me the hibby-jibbies.
“I said I am sorry.”
“That doesn’t really make it any better.”
“Should I stop?”
“No, go on. Much as I don’t want to hear this, I need to hear it. I will bite onto the millet when I feel like cussing,” I say tentatively.
“Unlike Doe, however, there are times when you are fine emotionally but then occasionally, the past comes to hunt you and you get out for a dance. On a wholesome perspective, you and Doe are alike. You are both manipulative and so it’s always a question of who’s more manipulative.”
ALSO READ;DIAMOND AND GOLD.
“Oh come on!” I exclaim while stopping the sorting process to look at my phone. I am almost mad to think that I focus more when I look at whence the voice comes from. This voice that’s never afraid of letting out the truth and asking the hard questions. It isn’t a video call, but I am looking at her voice (is that a thing?) because she struck a chord.
“I am not done. It’s a cycle because you are both available for each other when you are vulnerable or feeling low. You’ll have a lot of those moments. A billion and one of them. Will you always run back to one another when you were a disaster the first time? I think you need to shut that door yourself first. Show him you aren’t accessible, at least not anymore. And he will eventually let you off the hook.”
While letting out a deep sigh, I pick up my phone from the kitchen counter then I take her off the loudspeaker. She is too loud. And ruthlessly honest. For the first time, I look at the millet chaff that’s spread all over my dress.
“I hear you and I hear you well, if I want out of the hole then I need to put down the spade first. It’s just, this spade is so smart and witty and you know the spade…”
“Afraid to call a spade a spade? You know well that it’s best to let Doe go. The question is when you’ll do it.”
PS; I am almost certain that I set an alarm last night and named it “Wake up call to write.” I say almost certain because I was half asleep and half watching top gear when I set it. It was meant to go off at 4am but it did not. Either that, or 2020 robbed my ability to set an alarm. I woke up at 7am contemplating on whether getting up would count anymore. And no, this isn’t another classic version of ‘the dog ate my homework’.
It’s the last Tuesday of the month. Surely, February must bring the best of days and friends who don’t think you are emotionally weak. It’s the month of love, innit? Cupid made a mighty huge order at the black smith’s. If you fail to capture at least one arrow, that’s totally on you.
Poor Doe