To, All The Girls She Was

Chapter 2

“The dating pool is sewer water,”I mumbled to myself as I steered my car down the idyllic neighborhood street. I was too pissed off to think about what I was doing, so I gripped the steering wheel and felt the adrenaline pump through my veins.

My windows were closed and I cranked the AC up to compensate for not wearing a jacket.Namiwawa’s streets were lined with pine trees throughout the road and manicured lawns graced the planned presence of town houses.

Dating life was supposed to be tough but that was absolutely ridiculous.

Had I been out of the dating scene for so long I could not tell a good guy from a douche bag?

Obviously, my luck with love sucked but I did not plan on being single for the rest of my life.

I had built myself up; finished a Masters degree, built a home and owned a farm. The small procurement business I did on the side had taken several hits due to inflation but I was not doing to badly. The past two years had been productive but it was time for a change. By nature, humans are not solitary creatures and like many before me, I craved companionship.

I did not know how many more baby showers or bridal parties I had left in me.

My heart was ready to be given away but to who? Who would show care for my fragile heart and meet my needs mentally, physically and emotionally?

The pain of failing in my last relationship had subsided, and I no longer flinched or got nauseous at the thought of investing time, energy and effort into another human being.

Maybe I had stayed away from the scene for too long and this was the price to pay for shying away from dating.

I cranked up the volume of the music that blared from the speakers and Rupert Holmes ‘Pina Colada’ song came blasting.

I rested in my thoughts of finding and meeting Mr Perfect and blocked out the quiet evening outside. The memory of the evening’s events played out in my mind like a bad movie – the awkward small talk, the forced laughter, the painfully obvious lack of chemistry.

My thoughts were interrupted by a phone call.

I peered at my phone as I honked at my gate.

June, my best friend, calling to find out how the date went.

Jumpscare, I laughed to myself before answering the phone.

“How was it?” she squealed on the other end of the line. The gate opened and I drove inside, killed the engine and settled into the car.

“We have a problem,” I finally answered with a weariness that I couldn’t quite shake and adjusted my seat. My heels had long since been tossed onto the passenger seat together with my purse.

I sighed and put the phone on loud speaker, mindlessly ranting about the circus I had for a date. Listing the red flags in chronological order and signaling my annoyance in scoffs and tone changes.

“Can you believe the nerve of this boy?” I fumed, throwing my hands up in the air even though she could not see me. My hoop earrings rattled against my ear.

June laughed through the phone and the sound filled the car.

“I am sorry, honey,” she said.

I sighed, letting the weight of the evening sink into my bones. Nothing a long bath could not fix.

“I am about to knock the hell out of 29 and everyone is giving me an earful about getting married,” I sighed, closing my eyes and hiding from societal pressure in that darkness.

“It was only one date, Rumbi,” She encouraged softly. “I am sure you will meet an amazing man.”

I had been approached by numerous married men but that was neither here nor there. I was not going to settle for being a mistress or a second wife. Married men were a no go area for me and I would sooner choke on melting glass than aid and abate in cheating.

The hopeless romantic in me wanted a man to myself; all his love, effort and attention to be focused on me and our life together.

“Maybe you could start by actually saying yes to dates,” June spoke.

Yeah, no.

If the date with Nathan was a lesson, the take home message was the state of the dating pool: pissy, moldy and murky.

“Are you implying that I should entertain the idea of using my free time to hang out with strangers that may or not wear socks, sandals and football jerseys to dates?” I shook my head and opened my car door, leaning over and grabbing my purse. My heels could wait in there. “Seems like fraudulent business.”

“It is not,” June exclaimed. “How do you expect to get to meet and know someone?”

The old fashioned way of roses and love letters that aged like fine wine, I answered mentally.

I rolled my eyes, knowing she had a valid point. Still, the thought of being in ‘the streets’ gave me chills. Those garbage-laden, dimly lit sidewalks with two working streetlights in a five mile radius and four stray dogs named ‘poppy’ was were I was expected to find a man? Pass. I walked up the pebble foot path and up the stairs to my door.

“Well, you know what they say,” I replied, “if at first you don’t succeed, laugh it off and try again. Or maybe just give up and become a crazy cat lady. I hear the benefits are pretty good.”

“You don’t even like cats.”

“True.”

“Don’t worry, Nasirumbi,” she said, her voice soft and reassuring, “your prince charming is out there somewhere. Hopefully, not acting like an ambulance.”

We both dissolved into laughter. A man that was a street warden was a definite no; you could take him out of the streets but you could not take the streets out of him.

“I will talk to you later, June,” I said, balancing my phone between my ear and my shoulder as I rummaged through my purse for the front door keys.

“Goodnight, Rumbi,” she yawned before the line went dead. I fetched my keys and inserted them into the keyhole, hearing the click as the door opened into my empty house.

My home could be mistaken for a haunted house if it wasn’t for the furniture and plants that littered the house. The only signs of life were the lights on the veranda and the front yard I kept nice and tidy.

The cool air chilled my face as I stepped inside, silently welcoming me back into my lonely life.