HOW DO I TELL GLORIA I MISSED HER?
There is something I forgot to mention concerning the place I call home. Don't tell me you have forgotten how my house looks like? (refer to HELP, MY LANDLORD IS STEALING FROM ME). Nothing much has changed. Just in case you have forgotten how my house looks like (or I have never told you about it) let me tell you about it instead of beating about the bush. My house is a single room. It has a stool, a bed, a curtain (that divides the room in three) and what I forgot to mention, a cracked mirror.
I have mentioned the cracked mirror because Gloria has returned to my house. I didn't go out looking for her (I swear) she was brought back by a friend of mine who wanted to see for himself what it means to live in the same house with Gloria. I just wanted to get a second opinion on what it is like sharing a space with Gloria. Both of us are lying down. I could see Gloria in the mirror, that is if I could muster enough courage of bringing myself to look at her image in the cracked mirror. Granted, the state of the mirror is nothing to write home about (hey, what do they mean by this weird expression, worth writing home about? And who exactly is THEY? And who chooses to write home and end up taking about a mirror?) It is no wonder I am fidning it hard to write about the state of my cracked mirror.
The mirror was once rectangular in shape. Now (after seeing its unfair share of my constant feuds with Gloria, my reluctant lover) it had lost its original shape. Having fallen several times to the hard floor, the mirror looks something, amongst other shapes, like an improper square, or betetr still, a retarded oval. It could have been a perfect square, only its edges are uneven and jagged. The other pieces are lying somewhere in the City of Nairobi after being collected by the City Council of Nairobi.
Though the mirror shoudl be in equal parts, it is rather like there is a larger part towards (anyway, the position changes everytime I change the mirror) the part that is three-quarters big. This means the other part is one-quarter small. When you at yourself, in the mirror, you see two different images that want to merge into one image towards the middle of the unevenly oval shaped mirror. Since Gloria is back (after being dumped by the very guy she thought would bring her heavenly happiness) my heart has undergone untold confusion and convulsions. I have felt hatred. I have felt love. I have felt revulsion. I have felt attraction.
By the way, I have remembered not to forget to tell you soemthing else. I am having my hands strapped to my sides. This is to help put in check the urge, the temptation and the desire to touch Gloria. That is what I want to do. I want to touch Gloria. And once I touch her I will start telling her the kind of sweet nothings I know she knows I am dying (deep inside me) to tell her. I feel my fingers (tightly strapped to my sides) twitch in a dull pain. I can (from the corners of my eyes) watch Gloria lie on her back. I want to touch her. I want to feel her heartbeat when I run my fingers (or is it my hands?) all over her body. I want above all else, to ask her one question that has been giving me sleepless nights since she came back to my house.
If my hands were free, I would be running them all over her body. Though I would be telling her how much I have missed her, I would be wondering why my friend (who had vowed to treat her well) have brought her back to me. Even as I am thinking about this I cannot pretend I can't notice that Gloria is very special. She doesn't ask for anything, though she expects to be given special Operating Systems that can keep her healthy. She has two words to show she is content of not. She lets you take your pick. YES or NO, and her question is always NEXT and asking whether you want to update this, or that.
That is why I want to run my hands all over her. I am not doing that. I am instead having my hands strapped to my sides because I am scared and I don't know where to start telling her how much I have missed her.