You know that feeling in the pit of your stomach; that fluttering sense of foreboding you get when you do something which could end in tears but you take a chance and do it anyway? Because in the moment, you are more focused on getting the thing you did off your chest? That feeling that threatens to break the bounds of your unsettled belly and explode through your chest & out of your lungs?
That’s what I’m feeling now. I’ve just sent a text to Richard, my boyfriend, telling him exactly what I think about his silent treatment.
The music I’m playing on high volume is not helping but I can’t focus enough to lower it or turn it off. I should turn it off. I should turn everything off. The music, the lights, my heart. Just fucking close down for living and be done with it all.
But there’s a coward that lives somewhere inside my conscience who won’t let me. Coward or prophet? I’ll let the future decide.
So instead I pick up my phone and dial Ayitey’s number. But before it can ring, I end it. I can’t randomly call a married man in the middle of the night to talk about my problems, even if he was my best friend years before he met his wife.
I put the phone down and try to think of someone else to call. Not Mansa. She has become an early sleeper since she had her first child. Motherhood is draining, apparently.
Shit, I need to get some new friends!
After 5 minutes of sitting in despair I give up and turn off the music. I love you Labrinth, but you’re not helping.
I turn off the light, turn on the fan and turn to social media. Surely there’s a meme there that understands what I’m going through. The internet doesn’t disappoint. What the internet also doesn’t do is give you peace of mind. Because for every 3rd meme that makes me giggle, I find 5 random couples dancing in a video or a picture of a proposal or wedding.
Fuck it, I guess I’m turning the phone off too. I toy with the idea of turning life off again, but I shake it off, turn to lay on my back and stare at the ceiling until I fall asleep.
I wake up the next morning and for a split second I forget everything; from the underwhelming text exchange with Richard the night before, the ensuing feeling of fear and the overwhelming feeling of loneliness. Just for a split second though, because my phone pings and I scramble for it. It’s a text from Richard. My spirits lift for a second until I read it.
“I think we should take a break,” it says.
And that’s when I break.
Down.
***
But as I wash my face in my tiny bathroom, I wash away tears that I can’t control. I pat my face dry, and for several minutes, I lose my thoughts in my hands as they reach for the jar of cotton balls, and grab the bottle of natural skin toner I purchased the day before from a Saturday market. I am completely lost in wiping my face with the mildly stinging liquid; in fanning my face to help it dry quickly and finally in massaging my face with the toner’s accompanying oil.
It is as I leave the bathroom to get dressed that I am hit by the thought of being single again but I don’t cry. I have no more tears to shed, but my heart is still heavy. I dress up and stare at my reflection in the mirror to see if my eyes are puffy from crying.
What stares back at me is nothing short of glorious. The morning sun beaming through the window dances on my skin, glistening on minimized pores and coconut oil. In a moment of pure vanity, I am taken aback by my own beauty. He’s going to let all this go? Ha! Fine.
If he doesn’t want to be with me, I sure as heck don’t want to be with him. Not when I’ve got that fresh skin glow just giving me life. I make a mental note to order more of the skin care set at the end of the month.
