To, All The Girls She Was

It was a disaster. I should have known it would be when I walked into the restaurant and he looked up from his phone momentarily, acknowledging my presence with a nod before looking back down. The unchallenged audacity of men. Heat rushed to my cheeks with embarrassment before I awkwardly walked to the table, saying ‘sorry’ and ‘excuse me’ as I passed the flirting couples. The love birds sat on opposite sides of the table, bending over the wooden tables and gazing adoringly into each other’s eyes. I should have left at the first red flag but maybe, it was a work thing and I should not be too quick to run in the opposite direction. I was turning 29 for crying out loud and the aunties made sure I did not forget the absence of a man in my life. But every time I glanced at a calendar, the reality of my situation hit me like a ton of bricks – another year older, another year closer to the dreaded milestone of thirty, and still no closer to finding the one who would love me unconditionally. The subtle comments made at bridal parties and the familiar pang every time I got a baby shower invitation. “Cousin Ruth just got engaged.” “Nasirumbi, when will you bring a man home?” “You are getting old, Rumbi, when will you have children?” “You’re not getting any younger, you know,” they would say with a knowing smile, as if my worth as a woman were somehow tied to my relationship status. Yuck. The nosiness and pressure from well-meaning relatives and nosy co-workers was getting exhausting and the sorry excuse of a date was my first attempt after my failed three year relationship. As if finding a partner were as easy as picking out a new pair of shoes, or deciding what to have for dinner. If only it were that simple. I brushed my dreadlocks back as I got to the table, tucking the loose strands behind my ear. The muted glow of chandeliers overhead and the tinkling of classical music in the background immediately set the tone for the night. Plush velvet black chairs, crisp white tablecloths, and flickering candlelight. Great. Something elegant and luxurious. The white off shoulder dress contrasted nicely against my dark skin, ending a few inches above my knees. The silky material hugged my body comfortably, not clinging to my skin and dipping slightly to reveal some cleavage. The gold jewellery caught in the light and matched my open toed gold stilettos. Do I clear my throat to announce my arrival or do I just sit? I should have left, I highlighted yet again. After what seemed like an eternity (10 seconds), my date, if one could even call him that, looked up from his phone and smiled at me. Ah yes, the smile that had led me to agree to this date in the first place. Nathan wasn’t very tall but he towered over me ever so slightly. His glasses made him look like a hot nerd from some super hero movie that randomly used big words, and his dimples accentuated his perfect rows of teeth. He had a nice physique and obviously spent time being active outdoors because he looked fit, but he was definitely on the leaner side, not built like a brick house. The words of my Aunt Sharon at my younger sister’s bridal party rang in my head: “Rumbi just loves being alone.” That was the farthest thing from the truth. No, I did not like being alone. I was a victim of circumstance. “Nasirumbi,” Nathan greeted in his baritone voice, standing up and extending his arm in the direction of my seat. He moved to the other side of the table and pulled out the chair for me. I offered a smile, settling into the black leather seat and saying a mental ‘thank you’ to the heavens. My feet were killing me in the open-toed Steve Madden heels. The elevators were occupied and I had walked up several flights of stairs to avoid being late. We had agreed to meet here as I was never comfortable with men knowing where I stayed— alone. A lot of sickos in the world that somehow managed to evade both jail and mental institutions. “Pleasure to meet you again,” he added as he sat, adjusting his suit jacket. Nathan returned to his chair and sat down. The bar was behind him, where a row of men and their dates sat as they enjoyed wine and appetizers while they waited for their tables to be ready. I offered another smile. “Pleasure’s all mine.” I was already taking note of everything and so far, only three red flags. Who doesn’t like a carnival? I casually glanced around the restaurant, taking in the feel of quiet romance that filled the room, from the smell of expensive fragrances to the clinking of wine glasses. The lights burned low, quiet chatter rung in the air and the occasional laugh filled Amethyst hotel in Blantyre. He seemed charming, polite, and not overly attentive. He was a handsome man who could get a woman anywhere at any time, so I knew he didn’t need this date. He was only there because he wanted to be. “What beverages might I interest you in?” the waiter asked, standing at the side of our table. I opened my mouth to answer but was cut off by Nathan. “No, thank you. A glass of water for me and a juice for the lady.” Leaving no room for argument. He smiled at me like he had done me a favor, the i***t. So much for charming and polite; obnoxious and rude were better suited for him. Good looking but the lights were dim. Red flag number four. I raised an eyebrow, fighting the urge to laugh in his face at his presumptuousness. “Actually,” I interjected as the waiter moved to walk away. “Can I have a glass of Pearly Bay sweet white?” Nathan’s smile fell and he blinked in surprise. “Wine?” he repeated, his tone laced with incredulity. I nodded and met his gaze head-on, challenging him to rise to the occasion. “Yes, wine.” The atmosphere at our table shifted palpably, tension crackling in the air. “Fine,” he said, his tone begrudgingly conceding defeat. “Wine it is.” This date was already off to a rocky start. His dark brown eyes bore into mine, minutes ticking by and I stared him down. The waiter gave us a tight smile and hurried into the kitchen. He smiled but it did not quite reach his eyes. “So Nasirumbi, what is it you do?” His attempt at small talk fell flat as he struggled to regain his footing. My purse had remained stationed on my lap and I shifted it to the table. “I work as an auditor for D&M,” I answered, the earlier tension easing off slightly but not completely forgotten. “I should have you do my taxes one of these days,” he joked and I let off an easy laugh. “For the right price, of course.” Now that we’d pushed through the beginning of the conversation, it didn’t feel so awkward anymore. I took a piece of bread from the complimentary basket, buttered it and popped it into my mouth. “What is it you do?” “I’m into business mostly,” he answered, eyeing the piece of bread as I put into my mouth. I ignored him, focusing more on his words. That voice was laced in honey and tickled my ears in all the right spots. I nodded, encouraging him to go on. “I import cars from Japan and resell,” he continued. “I am a very important guy, y’know.” Yikes. Was he about to give me the ‘big-boy-of-the-town’ speech? Cliche and honestly, overused by the not so big boys of the town. All bark, no bite. “That must be—” “I make a lot of money for a man my age.” Here we go, I thought to myself taking another piece of bread and tossing it into my mouth. The monologue went on for more minutes: his cars, his investments, his businesses and his money. I must have missed the part where I asked for his portfolio or resume. We had been introduced by a Orama, a mutual friend, who thought his personality and mine could be put in a bowl together and mix well. Looking at the way the date was going, he could not be more wrong. A man without a pause button would bore me to death. Obviously arrogant and full of himself, he would bite my ears off with all the things he could throw at my feet and do nothing at the end of the day. The other diners in the restaurant seemed to be enjoying their meals and each other’s company, their laughter and conversation a complete opposite to our table. That sort of easy interaction and effortless conversation was what I wanted and I was being handed the short end of the stick. I almost lunged for the bottle of wine when the waiter arrived, thanking myself for not accepting the juice. The night would exhaust me if I tried to do it sober. The waiter poured the shiny liquid into my cup and I took a sip, putting on a small smile directed at Nathan. The warmth of the liquid as it settled into my stomach was welcome and I hoped it felt at home. He rumbled on while I stared at the menu, looking for a delicacy to escort my wine. “What will you be ordering?” The polite waiter smiled, taking out his notepad and pen. “I will have the ravioli with a Greek salad,” I said, pointing a well manicured finger at the item on the menu. “I will have the steak and some creamy pasta,” Nathan ordered. He set down the menu and crossed his arms on the table. The waiter nodded before disappearing. I reached for the bread basket but was interrupted by Nathan. Again. “You should really ease off the bread, all that dough is going to your stomach.” Any chance of rectification, obliterated. Add ignorant to the list of things to describe the man. My eyes narrowed at the words that came out of his mouth so easily. He said it confidently, like a man who thought he was above his mediocrity. The careless words of a man who knew nothing about me and was shallow at best. Where did he even get the gall to address me? Sure, he was handsome with his low fade and nice teeth but he was not taking home any trophies for polities and mannerism. “I didn’t realize there was a bread quota for the evening,” I replied calmly, holding eye contact as I shoved another piece of bread in my mouth. The hostility on my face was the under dressed and underrepresented version of the unholy anger and disgust that boiled in my chest. I held onto the profanities that threatened to erupt, knowing men like him thrived off calling women irrational and sensitive. I chewed slowly lifting one eyebrow, daring him to showcase his ignorance. Two brain cells with fainting spells and they were fighting for third place. “Obviously, I didn’t mean it like that,” he chuckled, taking a sip of his water. I contemplated tipping his cup and spilling the water on him but I was and am a lady. He was not about to get a rise out of me, he was not about to bring me down to his level. You fight a pig in the mud, you get dirty and the pig loves it. “Thanks for the tip, but I think I’ll manage just fine,” I said, my voice heavy with sarcasm as I reached for another piece of bread. I forced a smile, counting down to the second my order hits the table, and I could go home and rest. A silence descended and I made no effort to fill in, thoroughly enjoying the way he squirmed in his seat. I stared at the minimalist art that lined the walls of Amethyst, dark colors highlighted by the occasional nude. A large canvas hang on the wall across me, with muted colors and subtle textures. It appeared to be nothing more than a random arrangement of shapes and lines with bold strokes and big negative space. Nathan’s words, however untrue, rang in my head in the silence. I was not fat, curvaceous maybe but fat was pushing it a little too far. 5’4 on my best days, being gawked at by men was a normal part of my day considering I was packing enough for two. The BBL allegations had come and gone, as had the ones that said my dreadlocks were artificial. The dark side of pretty privilege? You did not know if someone is really trying to get to know you or they are just interested in bedding you and adding you to the tally. Aside from the black spots that lined my arms and legs, and the oh-so-frequent stretchmarks, ugly and fat were not words one could truthfully attach to my name. I was glad for the space between tables and the privacy of our conversation. It was one thing to be belittled by an ignorant man and quite another to feel the pitying stares of other diners burning into my skin, adding to the embarrassment and humiliation that weighed on my mind. Our food came and the rest of the date went quietly, with the only other words uttered were him asking me to pass him the salt. The clink of cutlery as he cut through his steak and I quietly spooned my ravioli into my mouth. I downed my fourth glass of wine and considered drinking straight from the bottle. Instead of risking a hangover and driving home intoxicated, I pushed the bottle a bit farther away from myself, putting distance between me and that temptation. “Check, please.” Nathan waved at the waiter. I laughed in my head, half expecting him to want to go 50/50 but also knowing his ego would put Jupiter to shame. We sat there in silence, both avoiding eye contact and waiting for the check to put us both out of our misery. Besides, my bed was calling me by my full government name: Nasirumbi Akali Mungomo. It was a waste of a night and a good outfit but the food was great and there was just something about the atmosphere at Amethyst hotel that made me want to stay there forever. “Nasrumbi,” Nathan began, “I should apologise for my remarks earlier.” I mentally rolled my eyes but nodded instead, scrunching my lips. I did not have an answer for him anyway and the silence resumed. “Will I be seeing you again?” he added, tilting his head and his dimples highlighted his boyish charm. I almost laughed out loud but somehow managed to keep a straight face. God can most certainly forbid, I thought. “I am not sure but we will see,” I answered, lying through my teeth because there was absolutely nothing to see. Note to self: decline offers from mutual friends who think they should set you up on a date. He smiled slightly, understanding that the date had been a disaster and I would rather chew grass three times a day than repeat that whole ordeal. At least he had some self awareness. “Shall I walk you to your car?” “Yeah sure.” I grabbed my white and gold purse from the table and got up. The battle with my heels was back on as we walked out of the restaurant. The basement was one flight down and waiting for the elevator would take forever. My heels hit the carpeted floor and we walked down, each to their own thoughts. I clutched my purse to my side and he had his hands stuffed into his trouser pockets. He hadn’t touched his phone for the remainder of the date and the silver Rolex he wore was stainless and gorgeous. A man of some class. The basement was well lit and a slight chill hang in the air. For someone that got cold very easily, I sure did forget to carry around a jacket a lot. As we landed on the floor, I quickly searched my bag for my keys, desperate to get out of the cold and away from Nathan and his uncouth comments. I walked over to my car and stood at the drivers door, unlocking my dark green Mercedes Benz C200 AMG. Nathan stood a few feet away and the awkwardness was palpable in the air, so thick one could spread it on bread. “The date was…something,” I started saying. “You hated it and I understand,” he stated calmly, looking at me with a smile. His hands remained buried in his pockets. “I wouldn’t say it was 100%…” I trailed off, trying and failing to find something reassuring to say. The date was a bigger disaster than the economy of Malawi and that sucked really bad. It was the equivalent of standing outside in the rain in June…in Mzuzu, without a jacket or an umbrella. “Nonetheless, you were amazing company.” He stepped back. “Drive safe and goodnight.” I nodded briefly before getting inside my car and locking my doors. Good riddance.