Inertia

I am stuck. There is so much to tell you right now although excruciatingly little has happened. Most of the things are happening in my head. My thoughts are mulling over and over, they are tormenting me, twirling and twisting some pleasant some wretched. I want to call him; I want to ask him if we could go for another walk. I want to confess that I am falling for him. The thought of him. That his face is the first I see when I wake and the last I recall before I go to sleep. That I can’t eat and I can’t sleep anymore. I want to tell him to hold me again and never let me go, to go ballistic for love. But I won’t. I have done this before, played my hand a split second too soon and other times a few moments too late. This balancing act is killing me. Show interest, but not too much, don’t scare him. Why do boys scare so easily?

It was a very hot day, a Saturday in February. The MEC’s wife and former (sacked) Mayor of a small W C Municipality were to pick me up from home at 8:00am. We were going to a funeral of one of their comrade’s and the only reason I went is so I could listen to Boesak speak. He is most dangerous from that pulpit. By 10am we were ushered into a small community church hall. VIP’s on the left and the rest of the community on the right. My companions were obviously classified celebrities by association and although I felt uncomfortable with such distinctions at a funeral service I said nothing. I took my seat next too another (also sacked) former Mayor of a small WC municipality and he proceeded to pour his heart out to me about how unfairly he had been treated by his friends- the politico’s. We are at a funeral you self absorbed prick – I thought but again, I am ashamed to admit, did not say!

In these municipalities mayors are dime a dozen and the novelty soon wears off when you roll with these folks and realise they are more messed up that average citizen. No sense of morality, no lines to cross, no internal GPS tracking system – no idea of right and wrong. They are in this game for themselves. To make profit, to feather nests, create opportunities for friends and to f**ck, each other themselves the community. I hate politicians and I hate their games even more.

So I am grinding my teeth wondering when the highlight of this low light is going to make an appearance. I jump at every opportunity to hear Alan speak. He gives me chills. His collection of love poetry in Afrikaans is a must read. A must. He finally takes the stage and speaks after the exec chair, the premier, a few MEC’s all of them occupying the front row on the left. Family of the deceased seated front row on the right. He makes a quick scan of the audience and then begins. He launches into the VIP’s seated in the rows to the left. Accuses them of not delivering on their mandate to make a better life…for all, I get the chills. “Ons dogters is nie HOERE nie he bellows,” a comment on the increase of prostitutes on the N7. The front row VIP’s start to squirm.

All the while this is happening my eye is drawn to a short little man in an expensive suit. His son by his side, their exchange is so tender my heart wants to break. I see he is bruised, I think he needs healing. I focus all my positive energy into the back of his neck. I take the chills and translate them into love, the purest love for him. I have never spoken to him. I can’t tell you who he is.

I am exhausted by the end of the day and like always I am smitten, still have not spoken to him but I want to love him, I know love can heal him. A few weeks later we go out, in the safety of a group but I get to speak to him finally. He is tiny, his hands petite his mouth round. His hair curls impossibly and his mind fascinates me. A few weeks later we are alone in a room. We listen to orchestral music, we smuggle on his luxurious couch overlooking the sea sipping a bad red. I shower so does he, I tell him about my heart and he places all his cards on the coffee table for me. She hurt him, he loves his kids. He confesses. He cries, he shudders and we make our way to the bedroom. The sheets seem foreign int this room, too bland for one so smart, he is reading a book, a bad one, his ex wife had read before she dumped him – he is still trying to understand her. The first glimmer of concern is raised within my mind.

He whispers huskily, voice thick with lust, that this is all he had wanted for the longest time. I think it is the first of many and give him everything in my repertoire. Everything, I hold nothing back. My heart is at peace as he curls into me. I feel content and fly off to Oslo the next evening convinced I would see him again. Make love again. Hold him again. And that just never happened. I was crushed. So utterly destroyed, I felt angry more than anything else. Why? Why say you will cook me “stamp mielies en bootjie sop” and just never answer my calls, respond to my messages and avoid me at all costs. I heard a few months later he was dating a little petit foreign girl. She was dripping in the jewellery he gave her. My heart stopped a little. I am angry, this feeling now guides my next interaction with a boy I like especially if I like him a lot.

I am going to wait to be pursued. Even if that means I loose him in the process. If he does not want me enough to chase me then he does not want me enough right? I can eat I cant sleep anymore, waiting for you to walk through the door – I wish I didn’t miss you anymore!

I hate playing these games.