The pain of joy (Part 2 of 2)

“Where’s that little bastard?” barked Monica’s father. “Tell me! Where is he?” Monica had never seen her father so riled in her entire life. For the second time in less than 24 hours, she was struggling to get words out of her mouth because of a man; only that this time it was in a less desirable situation. “You will tell me who that kid was one way or another! And you’re not leaving this house till I say so!” he shouted before banging the door behind him.

By the time Monica could muster enough strength to get out of bed to see if Tim had jumped through the window safely, he was in his room trembling. “What the fuck did I get myself into?” he mumbled as his fingers twitched trying to roll a blunt. He didn’t know whether to call Monica and or barricade himself inside his room. He opted for the latter.

“Where’s your mum?” asked Monica’s father after calming down. “Is this what she puts you through every time I’m gone?” Monica was torn between covering for her mum whom she had a close relationship with or try and salvage what was left of her parent’s marriage. “I asked you a question young lady!” asked her father, seemingly angry.

“I don’t know where she is. She left last night and said she’d be back but I guess she didn’t come back.” replied Monica in between tears. She could see the rage on her father’s face. He walked out of the room and she could hear him make a call from the other room. He walked back into the room and sat across her. “Get dressed.” She calmly walked to her room and prepared herself.

A short while later she was ready. All through the drive, she kept thinking to herself, “What have I done?” They pulled up to her campus. Without uttering a word, her dad walked out of the car and she followed suit, toe to toe to the Vice Chancellor’s office. She didn’t know whether her dad was getting her suspended for something that happened outside school or transferring her to another campus.

She sat pensively at the reception area as they waited for the Vice Chancellor. She couldn’t understand why her dad would go to the highest authority over such a petty issue. “Good morning Mr. Brown, sorry for the delay, I had to jump out of my window to get here,” joked the Vice Chancellor as he greeted Monica’s dad. They followed him to the office.

After sharing a few pleasantries and catching up over a cup of coffee, the Vice Chancellor turned to Monica, “I’ve heard of the little situation you had at home. What do you have to say for yourself?” She sat there crying unable to utter a word. “I know she’s not going to say a word!” retorted her dad. “I’m going to make this easy for her. Tell me who that bastard was and I’ll consider rescinding my request to have you transferred to another campus and banned from any school activities. That includes that goddamn play you’re in right now!”

All through her life, she’d never had to make such a decision. She would either have to rat out the guy she had feelings for and gave her a starring opportunity or lose the opportunity to launch her acting career. She knew her father was serious and she had to make a decision. It was between her current situation and her future. She chose her future. “His name is Tim. Tim Mavros.” She replied.

“You can leave now,” said the Vice Chancellor with a hint of disappointment in his voice. He knew Tim and held him in very high regard. Tim had just been awarded a full scholarship and his budget for a second play had been approved by the board. He couldn’t understand how such a bright prospect had got himself into such a situation.

“Mr. Brown, I know you’re pissed that this kid had the nerve to sleep with your daughter in your house,” he started in a soft voice. “As the board chairman I know you can convince other members to expel the kid or suspend him. But let’s approach this cautiously. The kid should at least get a chance to present his case. We don’t want a lawsuit which will bring unwanted attention to your family, would we?”

Monica’s father agreed to the Vice Chancellor’s request and left the office. The drive home was equally silent and nobody uttered a word. Not even a hello from the other side. By the time they got home, Monica’s mother was already home. Mr. Brown explained what had happened and pinned the blame on her for their daughter’s indiscretion.

“Can I come in?” asked Monica’s mom as she peeped through her bedroom door. Even before Monica could answer, she walked in and sat next to her. “I know this is a hard time for you. Just try to understand that your father is doing all this to make life better for you. I’m sorry I wasn’t here to help you get through that situation.”

She hugged her as Monica wept. They lay on Monica’s bed till she slept and her mother tucked her in. “Mike, that’s your daughter. You don’t need to be so hard on her. I’m used to it, but she isn’t,” said Monica’s mother as her husband walked into their bedroom.

“Too hard? Wouldn’t being pregnant as a teen be harder? I’ll sort this whole mess out tomorrow. If you were around more often maybe we wouldn’t be having this conversation.” Retorted Mr. Brown as he switched off the lights and got into bed. Their marriage was good as dead at this specific point.

As other students headed to class two weeks later, Tim was seated outside the school boardroom. “What did you do boy?” He knew that voice and those exact words. It was his father. He remained silent as his father sat beside him. His father was in his mid-forties but amazingly quite fit for man his age and would pass off for a guy in his 30s. Dressed in rugged jeans, a denim shirt folded at the sleeves and tattoos on his forearm, he was nothing close to the boy seated next to him.

As they waited for the board to come Tim told him what had transpired two weeks before. Surprisingly, his father was very easy about it. “Listen here boy; your future has nothing to do with whatever happens in that meeting. You’re way smarter than any kid I’ve met and trust me, I’ve met plenty. Whatever happens your dad is here for you. Good decision with the window though, I’d have been caught or knocked out the guy.”

For the first time in a very long while, father and son shared a laugh. At half past 9, the board was already seated and Tim and the father were called in. Immediately they opened the door, Mr. Brown’s face turned grey. He dropped the glass he was holding. Tim’s father remained rooted to the ground with his mouth agape.

Mr. Brown couldn’t believe what he was facing. Twenty six years before this meeting, Mr. Brown had a fight with his brother over a woman. To get his way, he framed his brother for a robbery and his brother was sent to prison for 3 years. By the time his brother left prison after being acquitted for lack of evidence, Mr. Brown was already engaged to the woman.

During this period, the woman had his bore his brother a son whom they willingly handed over when he left prison. The two brothers never saw eye to eye and for twenty six years and had never communicated. The whole room was tense and Tim was prodding his father trying to find out what was wrong.

“Could you kindly leave Tim’s father and I for a while please,” requested Mr. Brown as the board members shuffled their way out of the room trying to speculate the reason for what they had just witnessed. Tim’s father held on to his son as everyone left the room. This was the first time Tim had seen his father’s tears.

“I..I…..I…..I’m….I’m sorry Dean,” mumbled Mr. Brown as he rose from his seat. “I know there’s nothing I can do to atone for what I did but I’m asking for your forgiveness.” At this point Tim was very confused and didn’t know why his father was crying and the board chairman was asking for forgiveness. “Two years Mike. Two fucking years behind bars! For what? A woman? Are you happy now?” Posed Tim’s dad as Mr. Brown approached him.

Mr. Brown fell to his knees and Tim could see the regret in his eyes. His father stood there without uttering a word. “What’s going on dad? Why is Mr. Brown asking you for forgiveness?” asked Tim. His father tuned to him wiping tears from his eyes and said, “This is my brother Tim.”

 

 

 

The pain of joy (Part 1 of 2)

“I don’t know why we’re doing this,” whispered Tim as Monica shut the window behind him. “Trust me, there’s no other way,” Monica replied as she sunk her face into Tim’s chest. The rain was pounding, the lights were out and Monica was home alone. Tim got off his wet clothes and sat on the edge of the bed uneasily shifting looks between the door and window.

Tim was not your typical college student. He was always at the top of his class and was actively involved in drama and music. His definition of a fun weekend involved catching up with anime and smoking js in his room. Monica was the complete opposite. She had joined college courtesy of her father’s position in the board and had barely mastered her timetable three semesters into college.

They had met in a drama class. Tim was a playwright and Monica was an aspiring actress. She saw Tim’s play, “The Faithful Mistress” as the perfect opportunity to kickstart her acting career. She landed the role of the lead actress, Dana; a housewife who was married to a rich businessman. Dana was a mother and faced a lot of torment in her marriage. Her husband was possessive and abusive. She found comfort in drinking and partying.

Depression is psychological
Depression is psychological

On one of her nights out, she met a man and after striking a rapport, they went to his place and well, as they say, the rest is history. Monica could see Dana in her mother. Her father was barely around and her mother would always find a reason to go out and return in the wee hours of the morning smelling of cheap condoms and stuffy covers. She always thought to herself, “At least she’s using protection.”

She befriended Tim to better acquaint herself with the role. Tim on the other hand, came from a single home and knew the struggle of being raised by a dad who did nothing much when it came to his kid’s affairs. In their rehearsals, Tim and Monica eventually became comfortable with each other and started sharing stories about their childhood.

Despite coming from different backgrounds, they found equilibrium in their struggles. Both of them wanted someone they could call their own. Loneliness had brought two people together. It started out with sporadic lunch dates which gradually become everyday lunch dates.

As Tim sat on Monica’s bed waiting for her to hand him a t-shirt, he thought of how he’d admired Monica months before she auditioned for his play. This was a dream to him. He was sitting on her bed in his boxers and she was bending over the dresser in a dress that could barely hide the cusp of her butt. In his mind he was already thinking of all possible scenarios but his body was scared stiff.

He reached out to his trousers and pulled out a joint. He looked up to Monica and she smiled back as she tossed a t-shirt to him. He lit the joint and took a long puff as he gestured to Monica to take one. She gladly obliged and after a few hits, they were giggling and suddenly everything was less tense.

Monica reached over Tim’s lap to pull the cover. She looked up to him and their eyes locked. She could see the desire in his eyes and he could see the passion in hers. He pulled her over and had her rest on his lap. He held her by the back of her neck and pulled her closer. He could feel her warm breath as their lips interlocked.

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Her heart was beating in synchrony with his. Monica could barely utter a word. Tim laid her on the bed and took off her dress. She saw the awe in his eyes when he first saw her bare caramel skin. It was flawlessly smooth and her perky bosom stared him in the face. The whole world was literally in front of his eyes. He could finally have his cake and eat it.

He planted his lips on her neck and she arched her back. Her body was tense and had goosebumps all over. His kisses gradually lowered over her breast and she dug her nails in his back. “Should I stop?” mumbled Tim. Monica just nodded her head in between heavy breaths encouraging Tim to go on. He gently placed his lips on her navel as she obligingly raised her legs for him to pull off her panties.

“Do you have protection?” asked Tim as he threw the laced panties on the floor. “Didn’t you carry yours? I’m safe anyway, had my periods last week.” replied Monica as she pulled Tim closer. She could feel Tim’s bulge on her crotch and both of them were hot for each other. Tim yanked his boxers and went in. Monica’s moans and the rain competed for decibels and Monica reigned supreme.

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Their bodies were finally one. Two troubled souls had come together and in their misery had found comfort and companionship. Monica wrapped her legs tightly around Tim’s waist not wanting to let an ounce of the moment go to waste. They both reached their climax and Tim lay lifeless on the bed with every bit of energy drained out of him.

Monica rested her head on his chest and none of them uttered a word. She held against him as he ran his fingers through her hair as if to assure her he was there to stay. The room was getting a bit chilly so he pulled the cover over her and after staring at the ceiling for sustained periods, they both fell asleep to the background sound of the pounding rain.

“Monica! Monica! What the hell is this?” belted out her father as his imposing figure filled the frame of the door. “I leave for one week and you’re lying naked with a random kid? Just give me a few minutes and we’ll see if this will ever happen again!” he barked as he shut the door behind him.

Tim was scared stiff and was struggling to collect his thoughts and figure out where his clothes were. He could hear Monica’s father rummaging through some drawers. He quickly grabbed one of Monica’s sweat pants and pulled a t-shirt from the dresser.

“You’ll know to mess with my daughter,” shouted Monica’s father as he barged into the room holding a gun.

What ever happened to Fridays?

When was the last time you attended a house party? Not a family gathering or a one month old kid’s birthday party. A proper house party with ratchets and a little bit of chaos. A house party isn’t a house party if someone doesn’t throw up, a fight breaks out or someone or some couple randomly starts crying. The crying bit I’m yet to understand. How is a party related to sorrow?

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I haven’t been to a house party in years and I’ve started a petition to reintroduce house parties. You shall find the form attached on my next post. The few among us that have no diapers to buy, still want to get wasted and paint the town or rather house with semi-solid edibles. Just like the old days when Jesus turned water into wine because the party don’t stop till the sun come up.

I’ve mentioned a few parties I used to attend in uni and unfortunately this memory stems from the same basic friends that I had. They weren’t bad. They just didn’t know how to throw parties. I can’t recall one good house party they threw. Not a single one. The best one ended up in more than five guys looking at each other in the wee hours of the morning because a scorned girlfriend had taken all the girls with her; even the ones she met there.

So the party started like all other parties would start; with a text. “There’s a party. Bring the booze, we have the bitches.” I was young, hot, pretty skinny and looking to skin another human being. Such kind of texts got me over the roof and I spread the word to my trusted crew. I’ve never been a fashionista so dressing up was never part of the plan as long as I had fresh breath and a pack of condoms. I always though rough rider was legit until I met a girl whose ride didn’t last long enough and I had to be dropped along the way.

We met up and being the cool people we were, decided to buy a slightly respectable beverage. It was quite cheap but very few people knew of its existence and I had no money. After various lobbying conferences and secret caucuses, we bought another fairly priced bottle and set off to conquer the world with less than $10 between us. Nothing was impossible in the face of fairly shaven female crotches and a slight whiff of perspiration stemming from walking to the party.

The school was in a remote area but I had spent quite some time in the area and knew my way around. All the way to the venue we were just praying things wouldn’t follow the same path they usually did. Disaster. You remember that time traders were having a party at the temple and out of nowhere Jesus comes in, pissed as a bull in a Spanish street and whips people around? That’s how I usually reacted to these whack parties. Only difference is that I get invited. I had no whip but I’d make sure nobody enjoyed the evening. Even if it meant calling the cops on the parade.

So we got to the party, hungry and all. We were met by loud music, hanging bosoms and slightly ashy butt fissures. At his point, my face lit up. This is why they forgot to put an extra O on Monday. I was lit. I was walking up the stairs faster than you could say, “Donald Trump sounds more like Donald Tramp.” It actually does sound the same, doesn’t it? I was in the zone. My name was being called from every direction. I knew this was the party I would meet my next blog article.

I realized my name was being called from every direction because I was on the wrong floor, knocking on a random family’s door. I went back to the right floor and yes, the party was partying. Not in a good way. We didn’t know the host but knew a co-host who wasn’t really a co-host because he knew another co-host that was a co-host at another party. We got to the door and the bouncer, who I presume was the host, asked for our drink before we made our way into the party. I was at the front and pushed his hand aside and walked in. To my surprise, the ashy butt and hanging bosom, were ploys to attract us. We had been duped.

I backed out so fast I forgot ashy butt’s waist was wrapped out my arm. I’m too sleek for myself. Now there was a problem. We didn’t want to share our drink because there were no females as promised except for the chained dog that didn’t even bark when I said she wasn’t a bad bitch. Dog just lost valuable points there for chickening out. Ashy butt was with us now because she saw we still had fresh bottles and looked equally fresh, draped in cheap clothes.

The host started cussing us out and we just stood there, bottles now open, staring at ashy butt and looking for a way out. Out of nowhere, Max steps in and calls out the host. Max is our co-host. The guy that knew the guy that heard about the party from the invited guy. It was all calm at the beginning and we knew he had it all under control until he let out a yelp. Not those loud ones, the kind a puppy makes when you startle it. Brief yet definitive.

We were ready to square off
We were ready to square off

We knew it was about to go down. Before we could roll our sleeves and dish out capital punishment, Max started crying. He wasn’t folded up or being roughed up. No, Max was crying roughing up the host. In all this confusion, ashy butt had escaped and we couldn’t trace her. Things were getting even weirder by the minute. Lazarus disappearing from his tomb was straight up David Blaine but this was undocumented. The host started weeping and he and Max were comforting each other.

I’m still confused as to why any of them cried but I had seen enough and decided to pull the plug. The hookah pot they were using belonged to a friend and I decided to confiscate it.  Ok, this was after we ran out of charcoal and even tried chopping wood from someone’s fence. I rushed down the stairs and signaled my friends to follow suit. We were bringing an end to this party. We dashed into the darkness with the hookah in tow.

I cry for Argentina. Or my friends. Or anyone
I cry for Argentina. Or my friends. Or anyone

Why we carried the hookah is still beyond either of us. We finally got to the crying bandit’s house and pulled out some charcoal. One of our friend’s girlfriend was there and ashy butt as well. Come to think of it, ashy butt was probably the most loyal stranger I’d met. She ditched her own birthday party for us. I’m sure it wasn’t because we were cool because we weren’t.

We set up the hookah and started smoking one of the most vile carbon products I have ever inhaled in my life. I could feel all the exhaust mufflers cheering me on. But why did ashy butt follow us anyway? I had no money and neither did my friends. I did smell good though. I had one of those free Bvlgari colognes and ladies love a man who knows the value of free things.

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Anyway, we smoked to our feel and ashy butt had no option but to spend the night. The surprising thing is that she looked extra shiny in the morning bar the butt fissure. My condoms were still fresh, ready to protect me through another rough week. I gathered everyone to the living room and made a declaration that I would never attend a party someone I went to school with had organized.

I kept my word. For four days I did not answer to any call for a party. On Friday morning, I got a call from another friend. There was a party. In such situations I always referred to the bible and asked myself, what would Jesus do? I forgave my friends and as soon as my class was over, I bathed in cologne (still Bvlgari) and headed out for a party. This time it was definitely going to be different.

Can you hear me?

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Hi God,

I’m sure you know who it is so I don’t need to introduce myself. From what I’ve heard and read, sources say you’re omniscient. I bet you already know what I was going to write about. I’ve fallen into the habit of writing letters so I couldn’t forget to write to the man with the biggest following. I have a lot of issues and most of them actually concern you. I’m certain you don’t mind my inquisition, that’s probably what made the first church stand strong to date.

Recently I’ve come under a lot of fire. I’ve been called everything from confused to an atheist. Do you think I have no beliefs? I asked you questions before but you never seem to answer my concerns, it’s like you suddenly became a celebrity; all you have is, “No comment.” A lot of people will talk, say that I’m starting to lose it, but if you gave me the brain to think, why are your people castigating me for using it?

The people you sent came over to my land and called my people heathens. A primitive people. A society without beliefs. Do you really think my people had no beliefs? The mountains, the trees, lakes and everything that naturally came to be as a result of your magnificence? I asked someone a question and she told me I’m too confused for life. When people pray to you and it works, that counts as a blessing, but when they pray to others and get, it’s termed as evil?

Sometimes I wish everything was as simple as following the Ten Commandments. In that case, I’d easily allow myself to see out my life under the same laws but it’s not as easy as it sounds. I’m taught about forgiveness every now then. Hell, I even give fourth chances to people who screw me over and they still do the same thing. So how come you can’t do the same? You are the ultimate being, so technically, you have power over Lucifer. Why do we need to suffer over something you can easily bring an end to?

Can’t you just forgive him? I’m simply a human being, what power do I have over a spirit? The same spirit that was almost as big as you in terms of hierarchy if I may add. The cardinal commandment is to love your brother as you love yourself. Does that only apply to humans? I do my best to always accommodate people but it’s very hard when religion teaches me otherwise. The pastor says don’t judge but judges me because of my friends. What is the ideal Christian life?

I bet you already know most people think I’m an agnostic, atheist or pagan. You know me better though, you created me. You gave me a mind and with that I was supposed to use to analyze everything I’m taught and make conscious decisions. This is me analyzing everything and pointing out what I feel doesn’t add up. I want to believe everything but the people doing your job aren’t doing much to convince me otherwise.

What’s a church? The people? The building? The belief? Me? One way or another everyone has their own interpretation of what the church is. I’m not a model Christian but I bet I live my life openly enough. The Catholics told me drinking alcohol wasn’t wrong as long as I didn’t get drunk. The Protestants judge me for seeing me in a bar. Should I cut off the people I consider friends just because religion doesn’t agree with them? Or should I try to make show them better?

Where do we draw the line? From the little Christian education I received I learnt that no sin is greater than the other. Theoretically, I would agree but technically, that’s a far fetched idea. In the bible, same sex relationship is frowned upon but we have gay bishops. Selfishness is discouraged but we have religious leaders making a living out of the desperate. Who is fooling who?

The Christian faith is built on the model of Jesus Christ. If anything I read was correct, Jesus led a very humble life and encouraged his followers to do the same. So where did the prosperity gospel come from? The more you have is as a result of giving. Who comes up with these things? Why do we have pastors on the Forbes list? Pastors are living in mansions but preaching to people in the slums. Does a pastor have to fly in a G5 to talk to you?

It’s getting really confusing when pastors and politicians lead the same lifestyle. Blessings are equated to wealth. I thought our riches lay in heaven? I barely go to church nowadays. I don’t think you’ll hear me better simply because there’re hundreds of us congregated. I have my own special needs and the way I communicate them to you is all tailored to my preferences. So why is it a big deal if I don’t go to church? Is my presence more important than my belief?

I come from the school of thought of doing good and expecting nothing in return. That gives me satisfaction as an individual. You probably knew some day would come when the church would be watered down to fit individual interests. I’m not a father yet but I want my kids to grow in the knowledge of thinking as individuals in a group. I won’t deny them the chance to make their own decisions. I’ll introduce them to religion and they can decide whether religion cuts it for them or it doesn’t.

Everyone talking about selling souls and I’m a little bit confused. If I sell my soul, can you redeem it? I tend to think, selling your soul is a figurative term but people always blow things out of proportion. A soul is your inner self, right? My inner self is the values and principles I have I guess. So doesn’t selling my soul refer to compromising my principles for a certain form of gain? And where do I draw the line? If I’m selling my soul to save a soul, does that make it any more justifiable?

You created us so you know we’re all different in our own ways. I can deny myself some pleasures because that’s who I am as an individual but what happens to my brother who can’t do the same? Why does the world have to judge him using my standards? You had it all right in the beginning in my opinion. When your son died and the religion that is Christianity was born, things took a little bit of a twist. Jesus mingled with the masses but his followers have isolated themselves from society.

Right now I haven’t been to church in a number of years. What action is more important; being seen in church or doing good? Every day it becomes more unclear because to everyone it seems like congregating is the ultimate act of Christianity. I’m not into the name calling just because it sounds good to the ear or people will look at me in a different light. I always try to remain true to myself. I’d rather be an honest sinner than a sinning saint. You get me?

I hope you aren’t tired of reading my letter. I try to maintain my etiquette every time I’m addressing you or anyone I hold in high regard. So every question I’m raising is because I see a reason to believe. But what good is belief if I can’t convince anyone why I believe? People continuously tell me I shouldn’t do it for other people, but if it wasn’t for other people, would I be doing it now? Everything I do is because I want to have an impact, especially if it’s something I believe. So when a group that was formed on the basis of followership claims individuality I get more confused.

I’m not sure if this is what you had envisioned during creation but as my mum always says, “God also changed. He doesn’t wear the robes he used to any more, he now rocks shorts.” Religion is becoming too dynamic for me so when I sit out some of these changes at least you understand I’d rather be principled in my misery that give myself hope on another person’s riches. I hope you won’t be pissed at me and you’ll help me better understand why I am who I am.

 

Yours Sincerely,

Son of a rant