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OK. I promised to write the male version of Kovie’s story from the previous post. So here it is…

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Finally I got to a red light. I pulled out my phone to check who had been dialing incessantly for the past 15 mins. Since I was a guy, it could only be reasonable to expect that this caller was female. I would never get the point of leaving 20 missed calls on someone’s phone when obviously he/she was unavailable or unwilling to pick up.

Sandra… My emotions took a quick tumble into the dark depths of rage, disgust and revenge. How was this even possible?! Why was she calling me now? Didn’t we agree just yesterday to be “just friends”? What kind of friend called you up at 2 am? What if I wasn’t returning early from some club at this time? Was she actually expecting to wake me up to talk her through one of her emotional breakdowns again?! I sighed deeply, getting a rein on my feelings. Perhaps she was having a rethink of her rejection of my lover proposal yesterday. With that hope in mind, I reluctantly pulled over and called her back, trying my best sleepy voice impersonation for a reasonable excuse.

She went straight to the point without the usual accusing questions about why I refused to pick up at the first ring. She needed me to take her cousin to the airport for 5 am that morning. I checked my watch in disbelief. That was less than 3 hours away! Granted she expected me to have been sleeping and not partying away the sorrows of my rejection, (did girls think we didn’t have any feelings whatsoever?!) but this was totally annoying! Having been recently relegated from the “emotionally attached” Premier League to the “friends zone” League Division 2, I was in no mood to run last-minute, crack-of-dawn errands for anyone in my black book, Sandra not in the least! I allowed her pointless explanations to wash over my ears while she pleaded with me, not to take her back, but to take her cousin to Omagwa International Airport in less than 3 hours, forfeiting my sleep for that night, as well as my planned morning church service by direct result.

The thought of church was the only thing that held me back from my typical response. Instead of lashing out at her like the wounded, salt-rubbed lion I was feeling like, I replied in the velvety tones of the king cobra about to strike his mesmerized prey. Hopefully she would take the subtle refusal before her pride was irreparably damaged by the evil words forming themselves in my dark skull. If she did, the door would still be open for a possible attempt at wooing her all over again.

But Sandra insisted, saying I was the last person she could think of calling on such short notice. Immediately my anger burned. The word “Last” had triggered the avalanche of memories from various taunts received over the years over my being clueless and naïve, always the last to know what was going on and always finishing last as the nice guy. How wouldn’t I be the “last” person she could think of?! Arrggghhhh!! I gritted my teeth involuntarily as I prepared to vent my pent-up frustrations on this helpless lady on the other end of the line.

Suddenly my Christian side took over. I heard the restraining Voice in my head telling me to breathe deeply and be slow to anger. I had learned over the years not to argue with this Voice. A third idea suddenly came to mind. I reached down for the Mr Biggs cellophane bag on the car seat next to me and brought it onto my lap. I held the phone mouthpiece to the bag as I rustled it gently and tenderly while continuing to speak. My impression was that the Mobile Telephony Network had begun to frustrate our call with static and poor reception in the usual Nigerian way. After about ten seconds of “static” and complaining that the line was getting faint, I pressed the red button gently. I switched off my phone, kicked the car, turned on the traffic indicator, checked my mirrors calmly, and zoomed off into the night.

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