Wicked Girl (THE FIRE Book 1)

by Mcebo Michael Metfula

  However, a lone fly also amplified my problem. It kept irritating me, but I had no hand to smash it. It enjoyed landing on my mouth, nose – tickling it. It was all over my face. I rapidly twirled my lips and shook my head concurrently to remove it from my mouth. It moved to my neck. “Argh.”

  The bus was a bit far, but I continued running, banking on two things: the mirror and compassion. I hoped their combination would do me justice. I didn’t care anymore about those who thought I was crazy. Life and Elijah taught me the art of walking tall even if you feel tiny inside.

  Finally, compassion worked – not the mirror. It was the passengers and pedestrians who shouted, whistled, and motioned the driver to stop. One old lady, walking her dogs, screamed, “She is carrying a baby for Christ’s sake.”

  Risking a traffic ticket, the bus forced a roadside parking on the white line: left side on the road and the right on the concrete trench next to the pavement. But he kept revving the engine. The frequency of the revs screamed impatience and confirmed my suspicion that he had seen me but ignored me deliberately.

  I lifted the diaper bag hand and smashed the fly on my neck. It flew to my forehead. “My God!”

  Wheezing and dripping wet, irritated by the stickiness of my mouth and the fly on my forehead, I pushed for the last. Then I hopped in already feeling the weight of my debt. I owed the commuters, even the driver, a big “thank you,” but I feared addressing the masses of strangers. Not that I would prepare a speech to render, but I had to face them and say “thank you” before sitting down. And the bus was full.

  I ignored my suspicion and anger towards the driver and said, “Thanks a lot.” I was still panting like a dog. I held both bags with one hand and dipped my card, making my payment. The bags almost fell off. My hands were weary like the rest of my body.

  “You’re welcome, ma’am,” the driver said, overtaking an empty school bus. “What happened today? You’re always on time.”

  I glanced at him, smiling, loving his question. It soothed like a compliment. At least, he knew something must have happened for me to be late. He knew I wasn’t a crazy, disorganized woman. Promptly, I deleted my suspicion and convinced myself that he had not seen me. “Kids happened. When you have two kids and a job, life is…I don’t know.”

  My lungs slowed down. I jerked away my hair and glanced at the commuters at the corner of my eye. Oh my God! They were gazing at me, hungry for the appreciation. Even an apology.

  “Hell,” he said.

  Kimberly was still wailing, drawing me more attention, and irritating some people.

  “Not exactly, but it’s really crazy,” I said whilst drying my face with a Kleenex, delaying facing the people.

  Some measure of confidence formed in me and I took the dreaded turn to take a seat. They were still staring at me, demanding. And silent.

  I transferred the diaper bag to my right hand and balanced with the leather hand loops dangling from the ceilings to avoid falling when he made a turn or overtook a slow one. I was shivering. I hoped it wasn’t noticeable. I made a broad shy smile. “Thank you very much. Thanks.”

  Not a soul said a thing. I felt clumsy and embarrassed. I wished I could vanish. Balancing with the window frame, I turned towards the empty seat on my right.

  “You are welcome, dear,” a granny at the front seat said, smiling. A few others nodded. The satisfaction in the bus was obvious – some even began chatting, yet, before the appreciation, there was an uncomfortable silence. Only the engine revved and rumbled.

  Unfortunately, the bus was full. The only free seats were the ones for the handicapped. I had to sit facing the aisle and some eyes.

  I sat behind the driver and put the diaper bag and the handbag on my left, the storage rack above felt extremely far. Unsure of the health implications of the concoction created by everybody’s fragrance, I opened the window above my head. Unlike the stuffy, sweaty buses of the afternoon, it had a lovely, refreshing atmosphere, but it was too saturated for Kim’s little lungs.

  “Shhh…shhh…shhh. It’s okay, girl. We got the bus. It’s okay now, shhh…shhh…shhh,” I whispered to Kim whilst bumping her on my lap. She was the only pair of eyes I could look at with confidence; everybody else viewed me as an idiot who wanted to make them late for work or school. But I had no evil intention to spoil anybody’s morning. It was Elijah who had to take the blame for the whole thing. If we lived with our equals economically, I wouldn’t make an idiot of myself. The bus would come as close as possible to my house, and I would not need to walk stretches and stretches to the nearest bus stop. Clinton Hill was for the rich, they wouldn’t build a bus stop solely for me.

  I firmly pressed my wet back against the seat, realizing the nice cooling effect of the sweat on my back. It felt like a cold shower. Or a cold swim.

  Kim stopped crying and smiled, staring at my eyes. I kissed her until she giggled.

  Some man, a little older than me, in his late forties, grinned at me when our eyes met. Then he looked at Kim, then back to his newspaper. I grinned back just for being nice, otherwise, I didn’t trust anybody in that bus. Yes, they had helped me, but I wouldn’t be completely flattered by that. Some of the regulars were awful people. They reported me to Child Protection Services, claiming I was abusing a baby by taking her to work every day.

  Like they cared…No one cared for Kim like me. If they truly cared, why didn’t they approach me and ask if I took the baby to work every day or I dropped her at the day care center before rushing to work? It’s always annoying when somebody insults your love – your motherliness. They don’t even know what it’s like to be a mom – to create this bond inside your womb – to become this tiny person’s world for nine plus months. He breathes a share of the oxygen you inhale. You become his clothes, for he is naked inside you. You become his dining-room for he eats what you have eaten. You become his playground for he plays and kicks inside you. You become his bedroom for he sleeps and prays inside you. Most lovely, you become his bathroom where he pees and poops.

  The womb is such a powerful place. There is no place like it in all of the earth. All bonds that start inside the womb never end. They are not even divorceable. Midwives only cut the umbilical cord they see – they fail to cut the invisible one. The latter connects a mother to her baby forever. Even death fails to cut this powerful cord. That’s why on the deathbed, a mother cries and prays for her children – asking God to keep them under the power of His name and the blood of His Son.

  I loosened up as my grip on Kim had tightened and my face was serious. I sighed and smiled, staring at Kim’s tiny face, feeling great love for my innocent little thing.

  The bus joined the Interstate 278 Highway, heading to downtown Brooklyn.

  Two cheeky, ghetto-ish college girls at the back complained about being late for a test.

  The one closest to the window blew a gum and said, “Only if people don’t chase buses when they are late.”

  “Duh!” the other one screamed before they broke into loud, irritating laughter.

  Almost everybody stared at me, expecting anything, but I smiled. I knew people respect money and status. If you don’t have the dynamic duo you’re treated the exact way you deserve. Or worse. No calculated treatment for you. But of course, I suppressed a tsunami inside me. It’s only in my head where I smashed their heads against the window until it broke and they bled.

  Again, I loosened my grip around Kim. I wasn’t surprised that my hands were shuddering – they reflected what was happening inside. My temperature had risen again. I told myself I shouldn’t pay attention to those lowlifes; after all, I had a husband who truly loved me. I also had two lovely angels who loved me. Both Kim and Leon were the flesh of my flesh. They were a piece of me. They were me. When I had to be away from them for a few days, I would die somehow. My life would come back to me when I see their cute faces again.

  The driver must have heard the ghetto girls – he was constantly in the fast lane. And I felt tense since the o
ther passengers were silent. They went quiet when the students mocked me. I concluded they also shared the same sentiments. It’s just that they chose to act as civilized citizens. I felt awful and small. But probably, some were on my side.

  10:57 AM

  I lay my head on the warm desk and scribbled junk on the misty glass using my finger. Junk similar to the one on my office wall Leon crayoned for me claiming it was his mom and dad. Then I drew a little boy and a baby on the desk using the wet tip of my finger. Underneath the picture, I wrote LEON, KIM. I hoped Mila would not pop into my office. She would be disappointed I had not taken even a sip of the apple juice she brought me. But I wasn’t okay. I couldn’t even rise to close the blinds letting the sun flood my face brutally.

  I felt tiny and worthless. Not due to the angry folks in the bus. I was over with those. It was my colleagues. Some of the ladies were very junior to me but they led decent lives. In the morning, Diana came with a new iPhone her husband gave her for her birthday. Not that I was jealous but I also wanted my man to do such for me. Is that too much to ask?

  I stared at the framed photos of Kim and Leon on my desk and great love and sweetness engulfed me. But when my eyes proceeded to Elijah, shame, disgust, and regret filled my heart.

  I felt awful I couldn’t give my kids my own version of the American Dream. Elijah kept promising us a better tomorrow, and I was tired of it. I wanted him to give us the better tomorrow today. I wished I could drive to work like the other ladies. I wished I could wear expensive clothes and spoil my kids. Elijah had to forget about his little blogging company and get a real job – after all, he did have an IT degree. Who could support his family and spoil his wife with a blog anyway?

  But I was also to blame. I was stupid to believe in his dream. A blog! I wasn’t supposed to believe in it or take a huge loan for his company. I ought to tell him to come back to his senses and be realistic. He had been working on his small, pathetic company for ten years but no fruits – it never took off even once. He had to get a real job. I was tired of envying my girlfriends for all the great stuff they got from their husbands or boyfriends.

  On Mondays, they always came with stories of how their outings were or what labels they bought for them. But I always had to pretend I was busy and had no time to postmortem the weekend with the girls. Elijah had to wake up and be a man. I also wanted the other ladies to envy me – my looks and everything. I also wanted the best for my kids. Leon had started his teen years, but I couldn’t give him the dream life I had hoped for my kids. Elijah had to wake up, really.

  I gazed at the stickman version of Kim and Leon on my desk and smiled. I recalled one day, a decade ago, when Leon mimicked shooting me with his toy camera. A few minutes later, he came running with an ugly, fat woman he had drawn and said, “Mom. Here is your photo. It is out now.” I took it, laughed and said, “Wow! Thank you, my baby. It’s beautiful. Your camera takes beautiful photos.” But he ran away when I bent to kiss him on the cheek. I smiled again.

  The door flung open after two quick knocks.

  I sat upright hastily whilst grabbing the glass. I also erased Leon and Kim with my left hand.

  Mila’s long face shrunk. She clutched her long black hair with her hands – her mouth wide open. “Put it down. I wasted my time obviously.”

  She shut the door behind her and her high heels clicked, clacked as she aggressively carried her cute figure towards my desk. She threw a yellow file on my desk and dropped herself on the chair opposite mine. She rolled it closer to the table and closed the laptop in front of me. She glared at my eyes.

  “No friend, you didn’t waste your time. I’m thirsty, it’s just that… I…I…” I smiled.

  Mila sprang up her right hand. “Don’t even say it. Don’t even mention Elijah. Don’t even mention whatever fight you had last night. I’m not interested. I told you. I told you, you were making a big mistake marrying such a broke guy. What’s love with no cash?”

  “I told you yesterday. I don’t regret being with him. That man truly loves me. That man is dead honest. I know he will never cheat or lie to me. I love him too. I just wish he could earn more and spoil me. That’s all.”

  Mila sat at the edge of her seat. “Woman up, girl. Broke love! Pleeeeease. Don’t fool yourself baby girl. I told you then, I will tell you now. Broke love never works.”

  “So what should I do?”

  “Divorce him. Marry that tall guy in our marketing department. Marry Jude. The man digs you. He has shown you a thousand times but you’re blind.”

  “Jesus! Are you crazy,” I screamed unintentionally.

  “Yes, divorce him, get a real man. Simple.” She shoved the laptop aside, almost knocking off the coffee mug and the office supplies rack. “Well, if you don’t want Jude, we’ve dozens of other real men in the company you work for. Duh! Please wake up baby girl. The sun is setting, I’m telling you. But please, please, give Jude the first shot. The man loves you, he once told me how much he loves your lips and curves.”

  I shook my head. “I can’t believe you. I know you’re crazy, but I never thought you were that crazy, my friend.”

  “Ok, tell me since you’re sane. What good is your man to you if you’re the most miserable woman in this branch? Every day, I have to cheer you up. Just last week, you almost cried when I showed you this gem,” Mila said, lifting her necklace almost sitting on her orange blouse.

  My eyes bulged. “It’s not like I was –”

  Mila plastered my mouth with her hand. “You don’t have to justify yourself, friend. I know you. I know how good-hearted you are. I know you weren’t jealous. You were truly happy for me, but you just wished it could also rain for you.”

  I sighed and laughed. “You think you know me. Don’t you?”

  “I know you. Why are you laughing? I know you girl. I also know your broke man. You are a great woman; you only lack one thing.” She shook her head; her eyes fixed on mine. “O’girl, O’girl, I wish your life was as neat as your office. Look, even those magnets holding your reminders on the file cabinet have their share of decor. You just couldn’t stand them bare and ugly like that.”

  “What’s the one thing I lack? Don’t say a man.”

  “Yeah, it’s not a man. It’s a real man you lack.”

  “Ok. Since you got a real man, are you happy? Always.”

  “Oh, yes I am, baby.”

  “If you are happy, why did you come to my office crying – last month?”

  “It’s not like I said Max is perfect; he has his minor problems here and there. But he takes care of me. Baby, I don’t even use my salary for anything important, it’s just for snacks and pizza. Have you ever heard of a secretary who drives a BM – 5 Series?” She ogled at my blank eyes. “I thought so.”

  “You never cease to amaze me, friend. You call sleeping around with girls a minor thing. You know, I can’t, and I can’t take that. I’m glad El will never do it.”

  Mila smiled. “You know the other thing he will never do. He will never buy a car for you.”

  I frowned. “Today you are so mean.”

  The telephone rang.

  Mila jumped to her feet. “Don’t take it. Don’t. Please.”

  I gazed at her face.

  She pushed the yellow file towards me. “I think it’s Mr. Wright. Please go through the file, friend. He said to get back to him before lunch. It’s like this company wants the software finished in a month.”

  “That’s not possible.”

  “No. I mean the prototype.”

  The telephone rang again. Mila dashed out of my office like lightning. I hesitated to take the call but feared what I would say if it was, indeed, the CEO. I took a gulp of the apple juice and wiped off the water ring on the table with a tissue. I pushed the tissue box back to its place and rested my back on the chair. I sighed and shook my head, laughing. “Mila!”

  6:00 PM

  Surprisingly the food was marvelous. It was my first time to devour ribs that taste and
smell that great. They literally redeemed the night out – a disaster waiting to explode.

  As we waited for our order at the two-seat table I hesitated a hundred times to ask Elijah if I was too cheap for a more decent restaurant. A diner is what suited me? I deserved a place where people pay with change and never tip? A place saturated by the awful smell of old cooking oil boiling on a deep fryer and cheap spices that make you want to puke.

  At the counter, a beefy trucker in a grease-stained shirt and jeans drew everybody’s attention and scared me when he screamed. He grumbled over an absurd bill. Eighteen dollars seventy-five cents for a full meal was absurd to him. I ran my fingers through my hair. But I wasn’t sure whether I was angry at him or Elijah. Why did he take me to that place?

  I prayed the five guys sipping their drinks on stools around the counter wouldn’t fight him. Their body language suggested they wanted to gang up on him and teach him a lesson.

  Fortunately, the rowdy trucker let out a smoker’s cough, snatched his order, and paced to the door. His bushy hair and beard made my inside quiver when he passed next to our table. I pouched my lips and covered my nose with the upper one when he passed. The cigarette smoke odor was wafting off his clothes; the stale alcohol and the grease were horrendous.

  I turned and watched him grab and swing the door open to a blast of outside traffic on the street. For a moment, the radio belting out boring music suffocated.

  I sighed.

  Elijah shook his head. “Crazy guy.”

  I avoided saying anything because if I opened my mouth I would ask him why he brought me to such a pathetic place.

  I quickly looked back when the doorbell rang. I thought the trucker was back. Probably, with a rifle. Fortunately, it wasn’t him but a stressed mom with four uncultured and loud children. I was relieved they occupied a table close to the door. I swallowed some saliva and gazed at Elijah.

  “Our order is taking forever,” Elijah said.