23 Apr
23Apr

In the middle of the road, he stumbled, coming from a party that he had never been invited to in the first place. 

He had never been one of those people to crash anyone’s party in any form, but tonight he had done so. Probably out of curiosity or despair, or a combination of both. He did not feel guilty about what he had done; if anything, he was kind of happy that he had pulled up when he had done so. Even though he still didn’t feel better about himself being a good guy.

He remembered it all like there was a projector stuck in the back of his brain, showing him the events of his long day/night and the stress and the heartbreak it had resulted in. 

Partly it was his fault and partly it was her fault. 

He had been talking to her, from the group of people who admired art born from the remnants of the environs. They shared the passion for the earth. 

It had started with a conversation they had had when they first talked. She had wanted to go to the avenue where they were preparing to celebrate Earth Day. 

She had asked him just about the basic details of the event; however, he had spiraled into asking her other questions, such as her schedule for the next day, then he asked about her attire for the next day, and then they started talking about their favorite colors. 

The moment she had said that her favorite color was brown, he had raised his eyebrow at his screen in the dark. 

Why brown? He had texted. 

Brown is the color of the earth, and the earth is the host of everything divine. She texted back. 

This girl was his type. He decided. After so many unsuccessful conversations with the ladies, he had almost given up on the ladies. But this woman touched the deeply neglected part of him in a strange way. 

Their conversations were very curt and precise, in a curt way that seemed almost dismissive. With every text, he felt like he was taking a risk to talk to her. It felt as if each one of them was behind invisible bars that were keeping them from getting chatty with each other. 

Is the earth divine to you? He had asked, 

Yes, because otherwise, why would all of this nature, animals, humans, and energy be housed here? She had queried. 

Yes, otherwise, why would you be on it if it wasn't divine? He shot back. 

He knew that it was not something to say to someone you didn’t know, but he believed in fate and vibe. He knew that the vibes didn’t lie.

You know why Gaylord Nelson invented Earth Day? She had asked for a long time. 

He felt offended because she hadn’t picked up on his hint that he liked her and her energy. He sent a gif of a man saying no. 

Because of a catastrophe. She had sent the text. Nothing else, as if he was supposed to understand. 

What does that mean? He queried. 

I expected better from you. She had deadpanned and then he knew. 

He knew that because the Earth Day they were about to celebrate soon was born from a catastrophe in California, and their regular anniversary of their relationship that would blossom after was going to be birthed from the cheesy text that he had risked sending.

They were a match made in heaven or hell. Whatever was creative among the two was their origin. Because they really matched the energies of both mind and spirit. He had then decided that he needed to see this person, touch her flesh, and stay assured that he was not talking to a robot or something that one of his many enemies had designed to actually tempt him.

Do you want to meet me? You sound like you want to. She had sent it as if she was reading his mind. 

She was one of his Hessdalen lights, which were both beautiful and mysterious to humans till now.

Yes, I want to meet you. His excitement got the best of him. 

This conversation they were having was one of a kind. The one that made both his blood and mind sing. His intellect said that this lady actually knew a lot, and his body told him that this lady had so much power over him. 

Ingoma, She texted.

Will you be there? Can I have your picture? He had texted back, but she had left him on read.

After that, she never talked to him again that day. He decided to save her number, despite the fact that he had already crammed her digits anyway. 0788957684

 He saw a poster of a party on someone’s status and remembered his mysterious Artemis. He did not know why he was suddenly referring to her as Artemis.  The goddess of the hunt, the wilderness, wild animals, nature, vegetation, childbirth, the moon, and chastity.

Perhaps it was the allure of chasing, hunting, her, or perhaps it was the wilderness in her curt responses, or perhaps it was her unexpected interest in nature and everything divine. 

He loved this. He loved the feeling he was feeling in his chest right then. He hadn’t met anyone he wanted to pursue in a long, long time. 

If she was at Ingoma, he would go there. Despite whatever was happening there. That evening, when he pulled up at the place, it seemed like no big deal was happening there. T

he space was on the rooftop and quite open. There was a little stage near the big long windows just past the bar. He liked that there were secretive-looking compartments on the outside.

 He sat right where he could see everyone coming in or leaving if he wanted to. He sat there sipping his cold Mutzig as he watched the Forces of Nature, a National Geographic documentary, half-heartedly.

It felt like she would obviously text or call if she was here since he had sent his pictures in the group they had shared-that is, if he had ever cared to actually. He had tried to call and the phone hadn’t gone through

After some minutes, he was already immersed in the video, and an hour and a half later, he moved to one of the private sections to focus on the video while he took some notes that he might later use for his fucked up website about nature stuff that only a bunch of people in his small circle appreciated.

Twenty minutes later, he had drunk around ten bottles of beer, smoked a few cigarettes and was still reeling from the hangover from the previous day. He knew this was insane, but he liked the idea that he was doing it for himself. 

He was bored, but National Geographic had kept him in good company until people came for a birthday party. The whole thing was extremely loud, except that the birthday girl seemed like she didn’t want to be there.

As they started to sing, her name came up in her chants: Denise. It was the same name as his target. When she darted eyes in a small smile, avoiding people’s eyes, their gazes locked and held. He knew he'd found his person. 

He started towards her at once with conviction. She was now in a bubble of excited, tipsy, drunk people who loved her-maybe they were singing her happy birthday. 

She seemed to avoid his eyes moments later, but he couldn’t stop looking at her. His own gaze was dazing, and his brain wasn’t clear enough, but the energies didn’t lie. They did not. 

They had great chemistry. intellectually and spiritually, and probably in many other aspects if they gave it time.

When the chants ceased, he approached her with his bottle of beer.

It’s you. Happy Birthday, Denise. He said, feeling pleased with his level-headedness and composure. She simply stared at him 

I can’t get you. She screamed in a deep, throaty voice that he was certainly not expecting from a lady with a small bone fixture. But it was an earthly guttural sound that felt oddly familiar in his brain.

I said it’s you, Denise, and I’m Frank! He yelled back.

 Brown is the color of the earth, and the earth is the host of everything divine. He quoted her. 

Her eyes lit up, but then she shook her head.

I can’t get a word of what you’re saying, She said, fidgeting with her hands on her glass of cocktail. She looked around, as if to look for someone. 

Looking for someone? Frank asked. 

Not really. More like trying to get rid of someone. She responded with fire in her eyes. Again, her words were indecipherable. 

That was until he felt two strong hands gripping his shoulders very hard. 

Take him. She said.

 The two burly men he had seen earlier at the door when he came earlier took him and threw him out and led him downstairs. 

Once he was downstairs, another guy came down but stopped at the second last step. His skin was like that of an Arab, but with a deep tan, and his hair was braided, but what he noticed were rings on his right thumb and left index finger. 

You’re not the only one with good taste or the utmost courage in the world. 

The exotic man went back to the party, and he left with a newly heartbroken heart.

Comments
* The email will not be published on the website.