Crush, Crash and Clash

There are a lot of bad people out there…Sometimes, when I think about it, I agree with the adage: better alone that with bad friends.

“If you feel for someone,” Abigail asked with a dreamy expression on her face, “does it mean that they feel something for you too?”

Her mother started upon hearing this question. She let the plates fall out of her hands and drop through the water to the bottom of the sink. She turned to stare at her daughter who was seated at the kitchen table.
“Why do you ask, dear?” She inquired, trying her best to look unperturbed.
Abigail hesitated, and then smiled broadly. “Well, there is this boy.”
Her mother, who was always keenly interested in everything that her daughter did and said, wiped her hands against her apron and sat down next to her. She rested her chin on her hand.
“What about him?”
“I… I feel something for him.” She revealed with a giggle.
She felt like scolding her, and telling her that she was too young to start nurturing feelings for boys; but then she remembered her own experiences as a besotted teenage girl and smiled knowingly.
“So, who is this mystery boy?”
With the smile on her face growing bigger, Abigail lowered her head and scratched at the table with the long nail of her forefinger. Her heart beat faster.
“Kelvin,” she breathed without looking up.
The woman stared at her daughter, and was suddenly overwhelmed with motherly concern. She was so little a girl, and she was yet to experience the pain of growing up. But already, she was experiencing her first crush. This was a very delicate moment, and she had to act with prudence.
“Suppose he feels for you too?” She asked. “What are you going to do?”
“Um, I don’t know,” she sighed, little wrinkles appearing on her forehead.
“Okay,” she said with a chuckle, “maybe you will get married, move out, and leave mommy and daddy all alone.”
“Oh mom!” She laughed. “I am too young for that—you know that!”
“I sure do.”
“Yeah, I know that I am too young; but mom, I really love this boy! He is so handsome and so nice! I am so confused—I don’t know what to do!”
“I understand how you feel dear,” she said, placing a caring hand on her daughter’s. “But just give it time, will you? In time, everything will be alright.”
The young lady suddenly shot up to her feet with an angry look across her face.
“That is what all you adults say—give it time!” she fulminated, pulling her hand out of her mother’s. “Well, I can’t help what I feel!”
With that she stormed out of the room. Her mother sighed deeply.
“Here we go,” she said to herself, “my little girl has grown, and here comes the trouble!”
Abigail put on her slippers and rushed out of the house. The hot afternoon sun was baking the ground as she plodded down the path towards the big white house in the distance. At this white house stayed her friend, Ruth. Ruth was older than her by a goodly number of years. She was married and had about four children, all of whom were far much younger than Abigail. They had come to know each other at church.
The truth was that Abigail was freer with Ruth than she was with her mother. Furthermore, unlike her mother, Ruth told her things which appealed to her romantic notions. The white house was indeed Abigail’s favourite destination. Her mother understood her propensities to spend more time with Ruth than her, because though older than her, Ruth was really a child in the head.
She tapped on the large metal door with a little pebble. The guard on the other end lifted the little metal flap and glared at her, but when he recognized her, his countenance softened.
“Ba  Abigail,” he intoned in a gleeful voice. “You are welcome!”
“Thanks,” she chirped as the large gate creaked open. She stepped inside, and the gate closed behind her. She stared at the guard, who looked kind of quaint in his green uniform. He smiled broadly, exposing his teeth, which were stained yellow by frequent smoking. He had little blood shot eyes that sunk into their sockets. He was so emaciated that all the bones on his face showed, and his small frail being made Abigail look like a giant. It was not surprising then that she wondered why they would hire such a frail being to guard their house. He could not subdue a thief of any size, could he?
“You look nice, Ba Abigail,” he complimented, staring her from head to toe, his little eyes shimmering with excitement.
She had to try her best to smoother a laugh.
“Thanks,” she said, smiling shyly. “Is Ba Ruth around?”
“Yes; just walk to the door—she is in the living-room.”
Abigail shuddered slightly as she walked up the marble steps to the front door. Oh how envious she felt! If only she could have a house like this one and one very handsome Kelvin to go with it! Then all would be well for her indeed, and she would be one very happy soul.
She curled her fingers into a fist and tapped on the smooth, brown, mahogany door. She stood back with a smile of anticipation.
“Come in!” Came Ruth’s sharp voice, which, even Abigail had to admit, was surprisingly sharp for a woman her age.
She pushed the heavy door open and stepped in. Snowy, a fluffy, little white dog, ran from the living-room to meet her. It showed its excitement by dancing around in little circles.
“Hi Snowy!” She shrieked with delight. She picked up the dog and carried it in her arms as though it were a baby. The dog lay still and growled softly from contentment, for it loved such pampering. She walked with it to the living-room, where she found Ruth, slouched in one of the luxurious sofas. In one of her hands was a TV remote, whose buttons she pocked with her thumb as she aimed it like a gun towards the large TV that stood on one end of the room.
“Hi Ruth!” Abigail greeted with enthusiasm as she flopped onto the other couch opposite her.
“Hi dear!” Ruth shrieked, swinging upright. Wrapping the shawl around her neck more securely, she came off her couch, moved forward and embraced Abigail lightly.
“How are you, my lovely friend?” She said, her voice full of affection.
“I’m fine, thank you,” she responded, “How ’bout you?”
“I am alright, dear,” Ruth slumped back onto the couch. “How’s mommy?”
She winced a bit. “She’s… okay.”
“That’s lovely.”  She returned to poking the remote. Abigail sat watching her, caressing the dog on her laps by running her fingers through his thick fur. The dog was enjoying this exceedingly, and it rolled onto its back so that she could caress its belly as well.
Ruth was a great fan of reality TV and was soon hypnotized by the screen to such an extent that she quite forgot about Abigail. For a good five minutes she stared at the screen without turning her head and kept giggling occasionally.
Abigail’s greatest fascination at the moment was Mrs. Mwambo herself. She was very beautiful and well dressed. She was so beautiful that Abigail felt quite jealous. She had long, thick, black hair that extended way beyond her shoulders. Her complexion was a smooth brown colour, and her skin did not have one single blemish.  Her fine clothing gave her a look of royalty.
‘Where the heck did she get such long hair?’ Abigail thought, ‘No one in Zambia can have such long hair.’
She had indeed asked her such a question before, and she had replied saying that it was natural.
‘Perhaps she ain’t Zambian,’ poor Abigail thought as she stared at her in wonderment. ‘That hair is too beautiful.’
“Would you fancy a cup of coffee?” Mrs. Mwambo asked suddenly, jolting her out of her day dreams.
“Um, yes,” Abigail replied.
She vanished into the kitchen and came back a little while later with a tray, upon which were two saucers that contained  some tea-bags with strings attached to them; a little container of sugar; and a teapot with hot water in it. Mrs. Mwambo placed it carefully on the little table in the centre and gave one of the saucers to Abigail.
“Where are the kids?” Abigail asked as she sipped at the hot tea.
“They’ve gone for afternoon lessons,” she revealed with a triumphant little smile. “They won’t be back till five. So don’t worry, it’s just the two of us.”
Abigail felt a bit excited upon hearing this and smiled broadly. The children were quite a bother and she thought it quite smart of Mrs. Mwambo to send them for afternoon lessons.
“Nice dress you have,” Ruth commented, eying the dress Abigail wore. It decently covered her bosom and run all the way down to her ankles. It held firmly to her abdomen and waist but flared out from the waist down, making her look like a maiden in ancient England. “Purple’s a nice colour.”
“Thanks,” Abigail said with a shy smile.
“But it’s an inch too long,” she said with a stern look in her eyes.
Abigail was unsettled by this statement and almost choked on her tea.
“Mom would have me dress in long skirts and dresses. She says they are decent.”
“You are joking, right?” She appeared shocked. Little wrinkles appeared above her brows, which were neatly trimmed to leave only two thin lines of hair. Their dark colour was reinforced by black eyebrow pencil.
Abigail shook her head reluctantly, her eyes as round as golf balls.
“Wearing like that—so old fashioned!” she screeched. She got to her feet and ran her hands down her short black skirt, which terminated just above her knees. Abigail stared at her nicely shaped legs and wished in her heart that she could have legs like that. Her own calves were quite large and bulgy, and she was somewhat happy that she always wore long dresses.
 “You should wear like I do; how on earth will you attract a boy in such apparel?”
Abigail suddenly went all stiff when she heard this, and at that moment, it apparently dawned on her—the reason why Kelvin had not been taking any notice of her.
“Um, there is a boy, actually,” she began timorously, stirring her tea without realizing it.
“A boy!” Ruth was interested. She flopped into her seat and leaned forward, her eyes glistening with excitement. “My little friend is in love! Oh, how sweet! What is his name?”
Her heart raced. An intense excitement always fell over her whenever she talked or thought of Kelvin.
“His name is Kelvin,” she said in a whisper, a dreamy expression coming across her face.
“Kelvin who?”
“Banda.”
“I know that boy!” She shrieked, rocking back and forth with excitement.
“Of course, you know him,” she stated firmly, “He usually teaches at church.”
“Yes!” Her eyes glowed, “And he looks so handsome when he’s preaching; when he’s wearing that sleek necktie and black suit. He is so well-groomed and good-mannered that boy!”
“Yeah,” Abigail agreed, lost in daydream. In her mind, she could already see herself walking down the aisle, dressed in a long white wedding dress with Kelvin by her side. She shook herself out of her day dream and said:
“I really like him, but I wonder if he feels the same way about me.” She sighed in despair. “God, I don’t know what to do!”
“If I were you,” Ruth said, her eyes burning with passion, “I would go for him!”
This revelation startled her, considering what her mother had said earlier.
“But… I am too young to get serious with any boy,” she said turning her head away sadly.
“Too young? Baa!” She appeared shocked to hear this. “What do you mean too young? Now is the right age!”
“How?” Abigail was stunned. This was the total opposite of her mother!
Ruth suddenly lowered her voice and grasped her hands. She leaned forward and stared into her face with mischievous eyes that seemed to undermine whatever it was she was going to say next:
“Let me tell you the facts of life, my dear,” she said in a breathy voice. “Before getting married, I went out with different men. All in all, I had seven boyfriends.”
“Seven?” Abigail’s eyes bulged out.
“Yes, and my husband is the eighth.”
“Gee, but why so many?”
“You’ve got to practice,” she chuckled. “By going out with boys while you are still young, you’ll get to understand men and thus you will know how to treat your husband better.”
“Oh,” Abigail sat back and loosed her hands from Ruth’s grip. A distant look came across her face. She was inclined to thrust aside everything she had just heard, but she had so much respect for Ruth. She was very serious at church, and to top that, she was a mother of four. She was no naïve woman, so she definitely knew what she was talking about. Although everything she said was in stark contrast to her mother, she reckoned her mother was just being, well, a mother. Mothers were unusually strict with their daughters and didn’t want them to have fun. Obviously, Ruth, as a good friend, only wanted what was best for her.
“But with this dress, he won’t even recognize me,” she moaned.
“Actually, that’s not true,” Ruth said, taking a deep sip at her tea.
“How do you mean?”
“I know his type—he loves girls who dress up decently. I’m sure he has recognized you, but he is just shy to approach you.”
“Is that so?” She was amused. “So what do I do? Should I just walk up to him and ask him?”
“No, make him came after you.”
“How do I do that?” She shrieked in amazement.
“Simple my dear,” she said with a snigger, “find out what he likes in a girl, and be that kind of girl. You will see; he will be all over you.”
“Wow,” she marveled at her cleverness. Not even her mother was this clever!
“Yes my dear, keep an eye on him and find out everything about him—what he likes and what he doesn’t. Then when he starts taking note of you, you’ll know that you have him. Then when he comes to look for you, you should pretend that you are not really interested. Tease him; make him go on his knees for you! Boys easily lose interest if you are too eager.”
Abigail laughed till tears came out. “You are very clever Mrs. Mwambo!” she gasped.
“What have I told you about calling me that?” Ruth said with a stern eye. “Call me Ruth—we are friends.”
“Sorry,” she said apologetically, “I tend to forget.”
Abigail’s smile grew bigger as she contemplated everything Ruth had just told her. Ruth, on the other hand, looked on with a contemplative look on her face.
“Woman to woman,” she said in a very soft voice, “I can’t lie to you: I find Kelvin very attractive too. If he was not too young for me, I’d go out with him.”
Abigail goggled back at her in astonishment. The thing which surprised her was that she had said ‘If he was not too young for me’. She thought the obvious reason was that she was married. Anyway, she understood what she meant, or at least she imagined she did.
“I will fight for him,” she said with a determined look on her face.
“That’s my girl!” Ruth commended. She eyed her dress once more. “On second thought, you still need to change your dress code. At least expose a decent amount of flesh.”
She leaned forward and undid several of her front buttons till the cleavage of her breasts showed.
“There there,” she said with a smile of contentment, “A little bit of that to tease Kelvin with.”
Abigail giggled merrily.
Ruth leaned forward and said in a confident tone that sent all the hairs on her body standing on end:
“We ladies are powerful. We always get the men we want.”

She left Ruth’s place just before five; just before the brutish children arrived—as Ruth had described them. She walked with an extra spring in her step, and her observant mother could not help noticing.
“Had a good time, huh?” She asked.
“Yeah,” Abigail replied. Of course she did not want to go into details, so she quickly left for her room.  

The following morning, which was a Sunday, Abigail’s mother was shocked to see her daughter coming to the breakfast table with one of her old dresses. She had grown too big for it, so as you can imagine, it seemed as though her flesh was going to burst out along the seams. In addition, it was an inch too short—barely covering her knees.
“Abi!” She squealed in annoyance. “You can’t wear that!”
“Oh mom,” she whined, “but this is what I want to wear.”
“It is too short and too revealing! Go and put on the dress I bought you last week.”
The girl went up stairs reluctantly and came back wearing a long brown dress which nearly swept the floor as she walked.
“That’s better,” her mother purred.
She sat down at the table with a sulky look. Her mother looked critically at her and noticed that she had not buttoned up on her chest.
“Button that up,” she hissed. Abigail did as she was told, but with heavy pouting.
They ate breakfast in silence, with Abigail sulking heavily.
“You are mad about what I said yesterday, huh?”
Abigail did not respond. She just dug harder into her cereal.
“I’m sorry,” she smiled. “Sometimes, I forget that I was once a little girl.”
Abigail smiled slightly upon hearing this.
A few minutes later, Abigail was plodding alone on the road towards church. It was not so far off. It was only about twenty minutes walk. Her mother stayed behind, saying she wanted to finish off some work around the house.
“Just as well,” she said to herself, “I wouldn’t want her around when I make a move on Kelvin.”
At that moment, she suddenly recalled what Ruth had told her and undid the buttons on the top front of her dress and pulled it down slightly so that the cleavage of her breasts showed.
“To tease him a bit,” she said with a naughty giggle.
But to make a move on Kelvin, and let alone to ‘tease him a bit’ was not so easy. He was so famous a boy that there were virtually people around him all the time. All her attempts to get near him and to get him to notice her were futile.
After several unsuccessful attempts, she left for home in disappointment. It was the same the next Sunday, and the one after that. But no matter how dismal her success rate, she did not give up. She kept at it. One of the things that kept her going was a statement that Ruth had told her:
“We ladies always get the men we want—always.”
This was her maxim, and it kept her fighting, fully confident that she was going to get the man she wanted.
Surely enough, one day, her efforts paid off. It was a Sunday after the service. She was about to rush off home with her mother who happened to be waiting for her by the roadside when she noticed that Kelvin was standing all alone. Her heart thumped loudly when she realized what a great chance she had.
“It’s now or never,” she breathed and moved unsteadily towards him. But she had barely moved a metre when a girl suddenly appeared from nowhere and stood before him.
“Hi Kelvin!” She screeched, giving him a light hug.
Abigail drew to a dead halt, turned around and promptly walked away. A bitterness came over her and she bit her lip in pain.
As she walked away with her mom that day, she could not hide her melancholy. She had come so close, and yet so far!
Upon reaching home, she promptly went to her room and hurled herself on he bed in a bitter rage. She reviewed the incident over and over again in her head. She clearly recalled how excited Kelvin had been on seeing the girl, and the big smile that had appeared on his face when she hugged him. All these memories simply added to her pain.
It was at this point of reminiscing that it suddenly struck her. A smile spread across her face.
“I know why he liked the girl,” she said ecstatically, “God, I know what he likes in girls!”
She ran to her mirror and pulled out her comb. She undid the ribbon that held together her hair, and combed it out. She gasped when she realized how long her hair had grown. Up till now, she had always tied it upwards together with a ribbon. Somehow, it had grown, and when she combed it out, it nearly touched her shoulders. Of course, it was not as long as Ruth’s—but it was long. She recalled seeing Kelvin staring in amazement at he girl’s long, wavy hair and she recalled seeing his hand move to touch it as he hugged her.
“It’s silly what boys find attractive in girls sometimes,” she laughed. She leaned towards the mirror and stuck out her lips. She pulled out a stick of lipstick and smeared a goodly amount of it on her thick lips.
“To tease Kelvin with,” she chuckled.
Suddenly, just when she was in the middle of fantasizing about Kelvin, the shrill voice of her mother calling from the kitchen jolted her out of her dreams.
“Coming ma!” She said in near frustration.
She found her mother leaning over the stove, her hand making quick movements as she scoured it clean.
“I want you to help me prepare lunch,” she said, without looking up.
“Sure,” she agreed.
When her mother turned around to take a look at her, she started in amazement.
“Wow!” She said with bulging eyes.
“What is it?” Abigail asked with an innocent look.
“You look different.” Her voice sounded smaller than usual.
“I don’t look good?”
“You do. I’m just surprised.”
Mother and daughter worked together to prepare lunch. Cooking for the two of them was not a difficult thing, for they were light eaters. In fact, Abigail’s appetite grew even smaller when there were things weighing on her mind.
“I am worried about you,” her mother revealed when they were close to finishing their lunch.
“What do you mean?” Abigail asked with a terribly innocent look.
“You are changing.”
“I am growing,” she said bluntly, bowing her head over her food.
“There is something I have always wanted to talk to you about,” she said with a sigh.
“What’s that?” she asked with an air of nonchalance.
“It’s about your friend, Mrs. Mwambo.”
“What about her?” She lifted her head suddenly and stared at her mother with wide eyes.
“I am… just not comfortable with you spending so much time with her,” she said with an extremely worried look. “She doesn’t seem like a very good person!”
Abigail shot to her feet, the darkest look her mother had ever seen spreading across her face.
“Mother!” She shrieked in rage, hitting the table with her fist. “What kind of mother are you? First you stop me from seeing boys, and now you want to stop me form seeing my best friend? What is more, you make me dress like a peasant! I hate you!”
With that she stormed out of the room in a fit of rage, leaving her mother shaken and stunned.

It was a hot Sunday morning, and Abigail was standing under the shade of a mango tree along with several of her church mates to seek relief from the baking sun. Her eyes were fixed on the boy who was walking towards her, the gape on her face growing bigger with each step he took. And when he reached her and greeted her, the noise in her head was nearly enough to drive her to sheer insanity.
“Hi there,” he said with a breath-taking smile, his large, brown eyes hovering around her hair for a few brief moments.
She was struck dumb with shock and excitement for several seconds.
Finally, she managed to spit out a few words: “Hi yourself.”
“Abigail right?” He asked as he shook her hand.
“Yeah,  Kelvin,” she agreed with a dreamy expression.
“I’ve heard rumours that you sing quite good. A couple of friends and I will be practicing some hymns this afternoon. Would you like to join us?”
She stared back at his handsome countenance with excitement and affection reeking from her face.
All she wanted to do at that moment was to say: “Yes, I’d love too”, but then she saw the fierce look on the face her mother from the corner of her eyes and with added courage said:
“Before we do it with the others, I’d rather you teach me alone first.”
“No problem,” Kelvin said, definitely happy at the turn of events. “Right now would be fine. I’ve got a couple of hymns that we can go through together, if you got the time.”
“I do,” she said.
“Good, we can do it under the tree at the end of the car park. There’s a nice bench there, and less disturbances.”
“Yeah, that’s fine with me,” she smiled as she watched from the corner of her eyes her mother walk away with a couple of other women. “Give me a moment; I need to use the ladies.”
“Sure, you’ll find me there.”
Abigail could not believe her luck. She rushed to the ladies’ room and quickly undid the buttons of her blouse.
“Away with peasant’s dressing,” she said.
A little while later, she joined Kelvin on the bench under the cool shade of the jacaranda tree.
“You look lovely,” Kelvin said, his eyes falling on her exposed breasts for a few seconds.
“Thanks,” she said, batting her eyelids rapidly.
“Okay, let us get underway.”
“Sure.”
After several attempts to make her sing, Kelvin realized that Abigail was not really in the singing mood. Rather, she seemed to be in the mood to stare at him all day. Her big round eyes roved all over him, from head to toe.  He put down his hymn book with a snigger.
“Abi,” he asked gently, “Is there something you want to tell me?”
“Yes,” she responded spontaneously.
“Well, go ahead.”
She hesitated for a while, but then she realized that this was the only moment she had, and that if she let it slip away, she was never going to see another such moment again. She breathed in deeply, then said:
“Kelvin, from the very first time I lay my eyes on you, I fell in love with you. I can’t go around carrying this burden in my heart, so I need to let it out. I really, really like you, Kelvin.”
Kelvin appeared stunned by this revelation, but then his face gradually softened. He took her hand and gently squeezed it. He stared into the girl’s face and said, with deep sincerity:
“You are a very sweet girl Abigail, and I understand how you feel, but I am sorry; I can’t go out with you. I’m already seeing someone else.”
The smile on Abigail’s face stayed as thick streams of tears poured out of her eyes. She shuddered severely all over. After a great deal of effort, she picked herself up and said with a trembling voice:
“Goodbye, Kelvin.”
With that she turned and walked away. As she did so, she almost fell and stumbled on several occasions. Her life flashed before her eyes and she remembered the question she had asked her mother some time back:
“If you feel for someone, does it mean that they feel something for you too?”
Now she knew the answer.

Abigail did not tell anyone about what had happened—about Kelvin turning her down. It was too devastating an outcome, and at the same time, it made her feel immensely ashamed and worthless. She did not tell her mother, because she feared that she would rejoice and revel upon hearing it: after all, she had been opposed to it from the very beginning. But she did think of telling her best friend Ruth; and eventually, she did make up her mind to tell her because she hoped that she would help her know what to do next.
Hence, on one Friday afternoon, Abigail went to the white house several blocks away from their home. When she tapped on the gate, as usual, the guard opened it in his merry way. But she answered glumly and in such a low tone that he began to imagine that he was hard of hearing. She, however, did not need to ask about Ruth.
“She’s around,” the guard said, his eyes glittering with mischief. “You don’t need to knock; just push the door and get in—that’s what she told me.”
Abigail shrugged and did what she was told. She pushed the heavy door open and walked in. She walked to the living-room where she heard some giggling. She had barely walked in when she stopped dead in her tracks, for right there, on the couch, heavily and passionately kissing Ruth, was a tall and slender young man. Her jaw dropped open and she stared on in horror. The little pebble she had carried in her hand and used to knock on the gate fell to the floor, making a loud, sharp sound on the wooden tiles. The two love makers started at the sound and jumped to her feet. They goggled at Abigail in sheer embarrassment. The young man, who was now looking incredibly stupid, hurriedly buttoned up his shirt.
“Abi,” Ruth called in mock affection, moving to hug her, but Abigail pushed her aside, and stared at her contemptuously.
“I can explain my dearest,” she said in a pleading tone. “You see, my husband—he’s away for a business trip. It’s been a week now, and so I got lonely.”
Abigail did not say a word. She just stared at her in disgust. Her eyes fell from her pleading face to her skirt, which had rode up to her thighs. She solemnly turned and walked towards the young man. She stared him straight in the face with such a fierce look that he nearly crumbled to nothing.
“Hi?” He said in a horse voice.
Abigail swung her arm and slapped him across the face. “That is for turning me down!” She shrieked. She swung her other arm and gave him another slap on the other cheek. “And that is for sleeping with a married woman.”
The young man was stunned. He remained caressing his stinging cheeks as she walked back towards Ruth.
“I hate you,” she blurted out into her face.
Mrs. Mwambo was thoroughly shaken as she watched the girl run out of the house.
Abigail slipped out through the gate even before the guard had barely opened it.
“I told you she was around!” He called after her with a taunting laugh.
Abigail ran all the way home. She burst into the house and hurled herself into the couch next to her mother who happened to be watching television. She stared at her daughter and started when she saw that her face was drenched with tears.
“What is wrong dear?” She asked, moving to touch her.
“Where is dad?” She blubbered. “Why did he go? I miss him so!”
She knew that her daughter only mentioned her dead father when she was very distressed. She leaned forward and embraced the crying girl tightly.
“Mom,” she whimpered. “Love stinks!”
“I know, honey,” she said as she patted her daughter’s shoulder, her own eyes filling with tears, “I know.”