Ride Or Die.

It is a quiet ride from home. You just got from work, parked your automobile and took your motorcycle. Well you always have a penchant towards anything that resembles a cycle. You feel ecstatic when the wind rushes across you as you press the accelerator and increase the speed. You have your full gear on. Helmet, body suit, elbow caps and knee caps on. You know how to keep yourself safe while riding. After all safety comes first to you. A quiet ride from the place you never really liked. But you can’t change things as per say. There’s some Adele playing through your Bluetooth handset attached to your ear.

You ride for a couple of miles before stopping over by the shoulder of the roadside. You marvel at the various color shades the evening sky has got to offer. You take out your smart phone and capture a few photos of the sun setting down beyond the horizon. The sky is splashed awash full of lilac, pink, tangerine and orange colors. The clouds are wide spread. There is no evidence that it would rain. Not today rain. Not today.

The clear crispy shots reminds you of home. Of the happier moments and days when you were just you. Just the little child deep inside who wanted to explore the world. Maybe you’d have become an astronaut in another lifetime. Or a pirate on the high seas. But nothing seems home lately to call about. So you think of calling your mother. But you decide against it. Maybe she is in some numerous chamaa meetings that you wouldn’t want to bother about. Chamaa and the fellowship stuff have never been your thing. You rode out of home because you found very many women shoes by your doorstep. You were forced to greet women which you didn’t naturally like. You have never been good with people skills.

So you call your uncle. Maybe some small talk would do well. But oscof, he’d bombard you with queries why you never call nor go to visit. At this point you feel it’s a bit too much for you. He asks you if stuff is okay. Life back home, and the progress with your girlfriend. He asks you if you see whatever you have with your girl would materialize into something. Something that would involve her people and your people meeting and some price would be negotiated and you’d have to part with some hefty amount of money.

You want to say that you’re not okay. But everyone thinks you have got your life figured. But you’re still not okay. You are used to doing things the right way. You can’t bounce this off, cause at your age it would seem irresponsible. You hate your job, but you can’t think of quitting and starting over. Why the heck would one quit a well paying job for some clout they’d chase over in the name of talent? Only you knew.

You think of breaking the news back home. To your mother, and to your girlfriend. You have the scene well played in your head. You hate telling them that you do not like the thought of forever after. The thought of waking up to the same person over and over again. But they’d tell you, “don’t you think it would be good to tie the note down now that you have things figured?”

You can’t complain cause not everyone likes what they do. Some do generally. But most don’t. They just do it so that life can move from point A to B. Just to be seen responsible. You are happy just standing close to your motorcycle. You remove your helmet and feel the fresh breeze blowing across your face. You feel at peace whenever you have those small small fleeting moments. But they’re always short lived. You think of going back home. Maybe those shoes by your doorstep have significantly reduced.

Should you go to your side chic? The one who knows every style from the book of Zanes Sex Chronicles? What of your best friend? You’re sure he is probably hammered somewhere. Or lying next to some girl who had been promised both heaven and hell but the guy would soon ghost her.

You go back home. You sit for about ten minutes on your cycle before heading up the flight of stairs. There are no many many pairs by your doorstep. Your girlfriend is in the kitchen. She is doing the dishes. There is some huge shopping that has been brought. You don’t pay much attention to it. You never know what happens to the chama money. It has never been in your line of sight to follow it up.

You change and dress into some short and vest. You proceed to brush your teeth, but you find that she pressed the toothpaste tube from the center. It always pissed you off. You have had countless fights because of it. You like the house neat. Your cleaniness makes you think that you might have OCD. But these days you don’t have the energy to argue about it anymore. You let things be. You never liked piling your laundry, she did hers after a week. So the roaches made use of that chance.

Your girlfriend comes back to the living room with a glass of wine in hand. She sits down at the plush white leather couch and switches on the TV. The volume is low. You know she is not really watching but just waiting for you to talk. You mumble something but she is quiet. So you try again.

“Hey, I think we should end this.”


“I want out of this.”

“The answer is still No.”

Your eyes don’t meet hers. She doesn’t take her eyes off the screen. Then she begins, “I have wanted a way out of this relationship for a while longer than you. I don’t love you. Don’t get it twisted. But I love the idea of being in a relationship with you. So we are not breaking up or anything. Besides I have been heavy with your child for three months.”

You think about it. The nausea she has been having lately, the morning sickness and the likes. It hits you that she is pregnant.

“I know, I noticed the change and your breathing has been that of a heavy woman.” You tell her.

“Why don’t we welcome this child into the world with love from both parents?” She asks.

She motions you to sit close to her. You sit down next to her and she leans in closer next to you. She puts her head on your chest and holds your hand tightly. You love the scent and fragrance coming from her. She then says, “we can always fall in love again. Over and over. Maybe this child will bring us the satisfaction. Stay around for this child.”

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