Guess he’s already disqualified. And he’d looked like he had so much potential. The injustices of this world.
“Awura Adjoa, so what d’you think?” “Huh?” She’d drifted away again as his voice droned on. He chuckled, and smiled sweetly. “About the existence of extra-terrestrial beings. A definite yes or an undeniable no?”
And, he’s here sprouting nonsense! Unh-huh, that’s it, I’m out. “Umm…I can’t be too sure,” she shifted her chair back and started putting her belongings in her handbag. “But, wow, would you look at the time, definitely way past my bedtime!” She smiled feebly, and grabbed her coat. “Gotta run! Nice..uhh…talking.” She made a beeline for the exit.
Just as she stepped off the restaurant onto the street she saw him get up from the corner of her eye. Oh no, she groaned inwardly. Don’t let him be a stalker, please. I promise, I’ll be nicer to the next one. Awura Adjoa crossed the street hastily while trying to button up her coat against the chilly fall wind.
A few moments later, she stepped into the warm embrace of her college apartment. We made it! She thought to herself. Reaching down to slip her booties off her feet, she heard a sound behind her and craned her neck to see which of her two roomies it was. The punk rock attire confirmed that Al was up again enjoying her nightly delight.
“So?” Al said, as she slurped drops of melting ice cream off her spoon. Awura Adjoa finished unwinding her checkered scarf and hang it in the closet along with her coat. “So, what?” she asked innocently. “How’d your date with mr. he-could-possibly-be-the-one go?” Al was known for her often cryptic statements and sarcastic humor. Awura Adjoa walked towards the kitchen area. “Let’s just say mr. he-could-possibly-be-the-one quickly dissipated into mr.-a-definite-no-no.” “Ha! I told you so!” Al squealed jubilantly.
Awura Adjoa groaned. “Yeah, yeah, and you promised not to say that dreaded statement. Besides, what happened to having a little faith in my ability to decipher people occasionally?”
She grabbed a spoon from the cabinet and pulled a stool towards Al. She was ravenous. Trying to come up with a polite excuse to ditch “Sir” Alfred, as he’d introduced himself, had failed and she’d left in a rude rush. It had also succeeded in inducing her usual craving for ice cream which surfaced when she was famished.
“Simple. The “occasionally” is yet to show up, so until that finally happens, I’ll remain your faithless servant.” Al snickered and the crevice of a dimple showed in the corner of her lip.
Awura Adjoa sighed. True, the ‘occasionally’ hadn’t yet arrived. You would think that after ten dates with guys from different ends of the male spectrum, she’d have met at least one person who fulfilled 75% of her expectations in a possible mate.
Either they had no belief system, meaning they had no value systems and would probably treat her like trash, or they were close to religious fanatics, meaning they’d probably sit down and wait for life to happen to them. They were either not smart enough, or too smart to the point where they used the date as an opportunity to prep for their upcoming research symposium. And those who had it all spiritual and personality-wise, just didn’t do it for her physically.
I mean, is it so hard to ask for an interesting man I am actually attracted to? “No, it’s not.” “Huh?” Awura Adjoa said as she awakened from her reverie. “No, it’s not impossible for you to find that guy you’re looking for.” Al said softly.
She looked Awura Adjoa straight in the face. “You’re probably going over your mental checklist of what he had, and what he did not, and you’re asking yourself why he – or they – can never be the complete package, right?” She cocked an eyebrow.
“Darn, you’re good!” Awura Adjoa replied. She licked her silver spoon and looked at it thoughtfully. “How exactly do you know what’s on my mind?”
“Call me psychic.” Al grinned mischievously. Awura Adjoa gave her one of her famous looks. The “seriously, just cut to the chase” eye.
Al assumed her smart-alec stance as she leaned back against the fridge and folded her arms.
“Well, I’m not saying you’re predictable, but after going through this process, seven-eight-nine-ten times, I think I know what stages of denial and self-rebuttal you go through after mr. he-could-possibly-be-the-one fails to deliver. Heck, even a two-year old could figure that one out!”
Awura Adjoa ran her hands through her braids. “Am I that much of a nutcase?” she whispered.
Al set what remained of the vanilla and almond ice cream on the table and touched her arm. “Not a nutcase, just trying too hard.”
“You really think so?” Awura Adjoa asked.
“Yep. You’re no longer living, you’re simply existing. Waiting for the next thing to happen. Spending all your energy looking for mr. possibly-the-one, while remaining incognizant of the fact that your braids need to be taken out. You need to pay attention to you, right now.”
Awura Adjoa looked down at her peeling clear-nail polish painted toes. Al was right. She’d gotten spun into this whirlpool of finding ‘the one’. She’d set up a default checklist in her mind against which she rated any guys she had the opportunity of meeting. And in all of this, she’d ignored the one person who’d been begging for attention that whole while. Herself.
“Why do you have to be so on point all the time?” she asked as she raised her head.
“I already told you,” Al said as she reached for her and pulled her into a warm hug. “I’m psychic.”
Jemila Abdulai is the creative director, editor and founder of the award-winning website Circumspecte.com. A media and international development professional and economist by training, she combines her business, communications and project management expertise with her strong passion for Africa. Besides writing and reading, she enjoys travel, global cuisine, movies, and good design.