I saw him again through the window. He was walking past my house with his head slightly bowed as usual and looking so cute in his jersey. *sigh* I wish I could just have gone to him and hugged his pain away but there was nothing I could do. I watched him every day waiting for the perfect moment but before I get ahead of myself, let’s go back to the beginning.
His name – Ife, meaning love. He was ‘my Ife’. I met him at the supermarket. I had an accident and he was nice to me. Nobody was ever nice to me. You see I’m that kid in class that everyone loves to hate – the teacher’s pet. Maybe if I was a little – scratch that – a lot skinnier, I would have had the guys’ attention but I had to weigh 70kg at 14 years old. Back at home, my sister who I looked up to was the perfect child – Straight A’s (I guess it runs in the family), the perfect boyfriend and the perfect figure so she couldn’t be caught dead with me. My father kept on telling me how fat I was and that I won’t fetch him any money in bride price. My mum hated me. I was everything she wasn’t – in a bad way. She was prom queen, most popular and one of the hottest girls of her time – still is – and so she hid me from everyone and displayed my sister as a work of art. That was how I grew up.
Now back to Ife. The next time I heard anything about him was two months later. My dad came in from a burial and the program had my Ife on it. His dad died a short while after we met. My heart broke for him but there was nothing I could do. As a result of the excess time I usually had to myself I had taken to reading a lot of novels. A typical day had me reading about 3pm but that day because of the pain my Ife must have been feeling, my heart wouldn’t let me concentrate so I took to staring out of the window. That was first day of my stalking. Ife went for a stroll everyday at about 3.30pm and I was waiting faithfully everyday by the window to watch him.
This Saturday – after 3 long months – I gathered the courage and went out to watch him play football with the guys in the neighborhood. He walked up to me and I was overjoyed! We talked about school and then he asked me what post I wanted as a prefect in my school and I said head girl proudly. He laughed and said ‘You sure you don’t want sports prefect?’. I turned and ran away refusing to let him see my tears. I was always the big fat kid to him. My first love, the first heartbreak!
That was just a random short story. I’m writing a post titled ‘Technical Virgin’ next so what are your thoughts on purity vs virginity? Are they the same? Are they different? And how? Please leave your comments. Thanks. Bye guys 🙂