My mind has always been something I regarded from a distance, something whose workings I contemplated with curiosity, respect and something of worry. My mind has never been my own. When I was younger, it was easy for my mind to slip up behind me and do something that I could not explain to myself in the standards and rationales that humans have lying around so handily.
I would lie in my bed at night. Terrified of the things my mind was without doubt bound to do to me on the morrow; things that were going to cause me pain and stigma. To me they were normal natural things. But the world didn’t see it from my point of view. I was always the enemy, always the outcast. A good thing I thought, until I learnt that in the world of humans, it is the one with friends who survives. And so the cycle continued. I suffered for being myself, because my mind wouldn’t obey, because I didn’t want it to obey. There was a time I tried to care…
It tore me apart. The confusion, the self loathing… she was there, all the time. Soft and pleading, Reminding me (She who called herself my mother) that I was not cast in the ordinary mould. But she was never truly my mother. I did not need her. She stood in my way.
It is her fault she is no more.
I came to terms with my self; my beautiful, dangerous, pure self. I learned to observe my mind, to use it. To make it my greatest tool in this existence I conducted among these cattle, these milling thoughtless cattle.
My mind is my greatest possession. Nothing can tamper with it. And as I entered that therapist office, as I closed the door gently behind me and felt it lock with a soft snickt into the wooden frame. I knew,
This was war.
I regarded her coolly, but not too coolly. I presumed mid thirties. Well she was my aunt’s peer after all. This was without doubt an intelligent woman. Intelligent people have a slight… presence. She had it. As we exchanged pleasantries, I searched in my mind for the proper temperament to exhibit, the right mask to wear. What do people who go the therapist for the first time feel like? Awkward? Fearful? Defensive… all three?
I surveyed her. She wasn’t a bad looker for that age. She had a face that must have once been startlingly pretty and was now ageing in that distinguished well kept way. I looked at her soft creped arms, and like a swordsman feinting and parrying, I kept her engaged in conversation while I imagined the rest of her. Thick yellow thighs, shapely and dimpled in places… soft buttocks quivering furiously as I fucked her prostrate form over the desk.
Do you have a girlfriend?
No, what for?
Her voice poised, the statement hung in the air like a moment. the consequences of forgetting your mask.
“The thing is, I am at a point in my life where I m focusing so hard on a career, on making It.” …lower voice for effect. “I do not want to be a burden. My aunt cannot understand this. I know she wants someone to care for but. Now drench everything with emotion, “when my mother passed… I learnt I had to learn to be on my own. I don’t want to blame anybody for my hurt. I have to devote myself to my life.”
Her lips pursed, her neck angled. She was thinking. She smiled.
“Reginald, But you have to know that no man is an island. We all need each other. To be frank your behavior is worrying your aunt, she knows that…”
Ding ding ding ding… you are in the clear…
I like women. And not just because of the challenge. I like women because if you want to understand society, understand its women. Study women. Women were my hobby. Not to mention that masturbation is boring.
I liked this woman. I was not going to forget her soon.
On my way out, I threw the blister pack of sleeping tablets she had prescribed into the bushes.
I went to the therapist today. Interesting that therapists are supposed to heal the mind, but the word therapist breaks down to “the rapist”. Inconsequential and purely circumstantial of course, but nonetheless a nice tidbit to turn over in ones head.
My aunt has been telling me I need help. God knows what for. She says I am strange because I have no friends. Why would I have friends? People bore me. People irritate me, they slow me down. She slows me down. I told her these things a long time ago. I am not making that mistake again.
I am unlucky in the sense that I have a rich idle guardian. If she was broke or busy she would give up. But no. My aunt is obsessed with me; always hunting down some new theory to improve me. Looking back I am surprised she has never thought of a therapist before. She has done everything else from getting witch-doctors and to pray for me to hooking me up with nice church girls.
She is lucky I still need her.
This morning I cleared my schedule. Put on a decent looking pair of pants, cut my hair, trimmed my nails, and ironed a shirt. Ditched the jeans and t-shirts, I had to make a good impression. This had to be gotten over with as soon as possible. I was going to kiss the shit out of that therapist’s ass. Wait, that is kind of funny.
Walking out of the hostel I caught the eye of the girl from 404. She threw me a look that must have been intended to be flirtatious but merely managed to make her look like she had toothache.
“Hi Reggie” She said twisting and squirming around the door in some alarming coquettish display.
“As you haven’t greeted your sweetheart today?” she pouted.
Nga as you are leaving early? Anyway I made some-ka nice breakfast. Oba you first come in? Bambi It is nice I promise. No first wait and eat naawe! (Silly laugh) ok fine but beep me when you come back in the evening. I will be waiting, Reggie you’ve started your things again! You can’t even greet me did I say anything yesterday first wait!!!
Free labor can be a bitch.
Good morning, I have an appointment for 11 o’clock? Dr. Katwesigye?
Smile. Relax the muscles around your mouth. Keep the edges of your lips from trembling as you do so. Create creases around your eyes. Show just a hint of teeth. When people see you smiling, they will assume that you mean them well. So they will relax.
The receptionist, a greasy faced little woman was nattering loudly to someone outside. I was prepared to dislike her on the spot. A luxury I rarely allow myself. In addition to talking loudly, she was looking at a picture spread in a local tabloid and simultaneously filing her nails. I tried to avoid looking at the big bottomed house girls shoving their asses up at me from the page.
Excuse me? Calm, courteous, clipped vowels to create the sort of urbane accent bitches like these gobble up.
Greasy face hacked away at her talons.
Saw saw saw
Good morning? Hello?
Saw saw saw
Greasy Face exploded. “What!”
Deep breath. Anger is a reckless and dangerous emotion.
I have an appointment. 11 o’clock.
She shoved a blue plastic square at with a number on it at me. “You are number 7. You can wait there.” She pointed at the moth eaten couches in the corridor, then went back to filing her nails.
I sat on the couch. I was trembling. I stood up. I sat down. I was getting angry, slowly but oh so uncontrollably angry. I knew the feeling of pure rage gnawing relentlessly at my sanity. I had suffered at its hands before. I tried to analyze the anger. I listed all the chemicals that were pouring into my brain. I meditated with ferocious intensity on the tendons that tightened in my neck; the battery acid like bile that flooded my mouth, the hammering of my heart flinging itself against my ribs. The anger was going to consume me… I was nowhere near in control. I was nowhere. These were the times I knew I could kill someone. I needed a diversion. I had to get control… I needed a distraction, a challenge of some sort. Someone or something to wrap my brain around before I did something that would make life even more difficult for me than it already was.
“Number 7 please!”
I was calm again.
I broke up with Therese today.
It went much better than I expected. She didn’t cry, or throw furniture. She just sat there and sort of auto-shredded herself into a puddle of patheticness. At least I got to fuck her one last time. I probably can fuck her again. It can’t be that difficult.
Jeje was happy to see me, fawning the moment I walked through the door. If he had a tail no doubt he would have wagged it. Jeje is lonelier than most people. In a way he is like me. People avoid us because they find us peculiar. We are just peculiar in different ways. I wanted to see how he would react when told him about Therese. True to form, he exploded.
“You did what?” Why would you do that? That bird! She didn’t talk shit. Or give shit is what I am saying.
Sometimes it is difficult to figure out what exactly Jeje is saying. He is like that.
I couldn’t take it anymore.
Take what? His mouth hung loose as it always did when something was perplexing him and he was concentrating on figuring it out. A small well of saliva collected in a huge glistening bead on his lower lip. I watched fascinated as it swelled, swelled and then dripped soundlessly to the ground. Jeje licked his lips. Too late dude.
Why did you hook up with her in the first place? He asked.
The way she walked made me laugh. I wanted to keep her around. My work was stressing me. But you know I left my job.
So I told her to go. I wasn’t stressed anymore.
“Why would you do that? That must have hurt her feelings.” He looked dazed.
It doesn’t matter.
He gave me the look I used to catch my mother giving me when she thought I wasn’t looking. Half disgust and half… fear?
“That girl loved you.” He said eventually.
It doesn’t matter.
And it didn’t, she couldn’t do anything to me. She is not a vengeful person.
I left Jeje’s. He didn’t have the DVDs I wanted. I went to Mr. E’s in Ntinda. In retrospect I should have gone there first instead of enduring Jeje and his spit bubbles. I stared at the shelves. Most of this year’s movies I had already watched. I was bored already. Martin Lawrence’s zany face stared lopsidedly at me, flatly two-dimensional under the greasy polythene wrapping of the DVD cover. I stared back. He stared back even harder.
Not to be undone I stared back.
“I can do this for ever maaan. For ever I tell ya.” He seemed to be saying.
That doesn’t make you any less of an idiot I muttered under my breath.
A smooth brown arm crossed my line of vision and picked up the DVD I was looking at. Suddenly and as always… my mind froze. I could see the round girlish arm moving as if in slow motion, I could almost feel my breath fluffing the soft delicate hairs on her upper arm, could almost hear the blood pulsing in the thin greenish blue veins that lay beneath the pale bronze skin of her inner wrist. As her fingers gracefully closed around the jacket, the fragile creases on her knuckles flattened, her fingernails whitened slightly from the pressure…
… And then the moment was over. The hand withdrew and everything speeded up. I turned my head and studied her. She was small, about 5″5’; an assembly of beautiful curves, soft brown flesh and glam sparkly clothing. She seemed edgy, fidgety…nervous. Maybe she was attracted to me. I thought back to when I had come in. She was at the cashier’s when I entered, paying for a DVD. Then she had lingered around a bit. More than was necessary really. And she had restricted her lingering to wherever I was.
So she was attracted to me.
I looked at her again. Not bad. Okay then, I mentally shook myself into action… and…
She turned round. But she turned too suddenly, her eyes were too wide. Plus she seemed unsure on how she wanted her mouth to look. Genuine surprise is never unsure. It just is.
“Hi,” she replied. Her voice trembled. This girl must be really young.
I reached out and cupping her chin in my hand, turned her face up to mine. I heard a sharp intake of breath.
“What are you doing?” She said. Her eyes were wide, wide with real fear. Fear is good sometimes. When you calm their fear, it somehow makes them feel closer to you. And the rest is downhill.
I wanted to see your face properly. My voice was at a suitably low, suitably gravelly register.
“Why?” Scared but curious, perfect combination.
I looked deep into her eyes.
They say you never forget your first time. Voice half an octave lower. And right now your face is perfect.
She dissolved. This girl was REALLY young.
I took her to Chillies. She said she didn’t drink and I didn’t push it. As she talked I studied her. She was more intelligent than most form six vacists; curious and intense and naïve. As she talked, my eyes wandered (rather lazily) over her face and neck. I couldn’t make up my mind what to do with her. She was too easy a conquest. My staring was making her uncomfortable but she ploughed on. She bent over to emphasize something passionate and boring about the importance of voting in the 2010 presidential elections and her warm brown soft looking breasts squirmed temptingly at me over the top of her low cut, bra-less top.
That was it. She was going down. I made a bet. I’d have her naked and sucking my dick before an hour was out. I rarely lose such bets.
I didn’t lose this one.