I will tell you about this girl I have a crush on. Most times my crushing heart is actually disappointed when my expectations of its recipient are not as I ideated it to be. It was a cold night, I couldn’t feel my hands. I pocketed them but it was like the cold air passed through the fabric of the black jean I wore. I guess my jean was porous, I felt tremors pass from my belly to my body, it gave me goose bumps. Everyone was in black jackets or corporate wears but I wore a blue shirt on black jean. Each of them in a conversation but I sat at the corner with the pose of The Thinker writing about them all. It seemed so powerful to me that they all conversed and laughed. Acting in their normal ways but didn’t know I watched them, wrote about them.
I heard laughter and shouts, saw the way they looked at me as I passed. I never talked, just slipped in and out. I knew they’d want to know, ask questions in their minds. If only I could read minds. I guess they watched me too, their thoughts would spiral when they saw me talk to Seun.
On Sunday I could see the guy’s eyes squint when he saw me. The eyes of one who realized that he had seen me somewhere before. You see I had come to their church before. I guess they all sensed something and some knew.
I waited while they had their meeting, it was a noisy one. Their Director of Operations (D.O) was the spokeswoman and as she spoke each of them made exclamations. I don’t like interruptions, the exclamations felt like interruptions to me. After the service they would all converge in little groups making conversation about what I don’t know. And I pretended like I was listening to music as I saw one girl stand in front of me and look at me from the corner of her eyes, expecting me to talk to her. I just kept a straight face, heard all they said and watched them. It is my nature, to not talk but look and watch, hearing it all, then writing it down from my thoughts. You see, I think a lot.
They had more girls than guys, my UNILAG guys would like this church. It had attractive statistics. I like their Pastor, he made some jokes and preached funny but I guess I was too cold to laugh. Waiting outside, two guys came out talking about protocol and all. I understand it but I don’t need to say it. Not really important. We are leaving now, I guess I didn’t wait too long or it may be that writing about them didn’t make me bored. I still have one more Sunday, I hope there’s still more about them. I’d like to write about their characters. The fine choir boy seems interesting. Am I the only one that feels the cold? It’s really windy. K.C reminds me of Dafe.
I would watch her as I prayed with either one eye closed or both eyes squinted, watch her in a black blazer, white shirt and yellow pencil skirt, I can never forget. Her friend was beside me and urging me to dance but what was body movements compared to how my mind adored the beauty my eyes was fixed on. I would look at her as she passed by me, walked with very hot legs I craved to touch and a body I loved to look at. I wonder what they all though as they saw me stylishly staring at their usher who didn’t even know I was looking at her. The pastor preaching on this particular Sunday kept ranting something about Boko Haram and the church and I felt we had more pressing concerns to deal with currently than hear his bad English.
I would watch her smile to people as they waltzed into the church and mouth along the frenzied songs sung by the choir. She would come to stand beside her friend and give me her phone, showing me what she what she wanted to tell me. She had watched me watch her through the service and asked me what I thought of her dress, feigning anger that I saw her this morning but didn’t say anything. My situation is one where I am crushing on what is already mine, I guess the expectations of my mind are what I see here.
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