The Room Next Door

I have seen her one too many nights at around 10pm as she saunters past my room and into the next room. She is every campus bloke’s idea of what God originally intended women to look like. A pretty face, light skinned complexion, and her eyes are always able to lower my guard every time we meet. But what fancies my attention every time we meet is the fact that she looks astonishingly beautiful even though she seldom smiles. I do not exactly know why, because I have seen her teeth on several occasions in the washrooms, and believe me, they are nothing to be ashamed of.

And no, I am not stalking her. As a matter of fact, we just happen to bump into each other on an unpremeditated manner. Her hair is extra black, and seems to glow against the backdrop of early morning light…and long. They sway firmly but gently to the rhythm of her steps. If TV adverts are anything to go by, then she must be using Venus hair products. I would love to get into the details of her curves, but then nowadays I am not sure who reads my blog. The guy next door is a huge motherfucker; and I still like my head on top of my shoulders, not on a plate.

Thus, I also tend to look the other way when we meet. Especially when we run into each other just outside the room. The furthest I can manage to go is whisper a curt Hi with my focus fixed on the horizon of my destination. So imagine how fast my pulse raced when she stopped me by the hallway for the first time in two months.

‘Excuse me,Have you seen B?’

I took it that that is how she liked to call him, Brian I mean. The mesomorph above mentioned. Of course I had not seen him. But I knew he was still in his room. I always knew when he was in his room because the cranky whimpers from his bed made it so obvious…and impossible to sleep. But I could not tell her this.

Not because she couldn’t take it. In fact she had taken it for quite a number of times when she found him pants down (literally) doing anything or anyone he thought he was big and bad enough to do. Yet I bit my tongue, shook my head and walked away. Well, she might have taken that to mean a response to her question, but what she failed to realize was that I shook my head in pittance. Plus I did not want to be the one to soak my shirt when she starts crying in the name of making my shoulder a haven of comfort. That shirt had cost me the proverbial arm and leg. plus everything in between.

That is how it has always been; between B, her and I. It’s like we had a thing going on amongst us. Like a relationship in which all of us had a role to play. B crawling on top of her stinking of barley and methanol to do what he does the little way he can, and in the process, robbing me of sleep. Her (lets call her Annie) faking for the few minutes that he lasted. And I, being asked the most stupid questions like the whereabouts of a lover who does not give two shits about her.

I do not exactly know what kept her going back. Maybe that is how love goes, sometimes you share it. She does not mind being the one exiled out of the warmth of her boyfriend’s arms even if for a night or two. And it is disheartening to see her holding on to a broken perception of romance regardless of the many blokes who are eagerly wishing that she would give them just half of what she gives him. The ones who would not mind feeding off the crumbles of Brian’s bread.

Yet she had been so blinded by a misguided illusion that someday he would come around and be the man that she had met a couple of months ago. While the brutal reality is that her swine of man will never see anything past the lips and hips. And it is amazing that in her head they are so much in love, yet never once can she remember ever changing vows of matrimony with him. So none of the love, sex and money that she willingly tithes to B obligates him to her. The sex is nothing more than an everyday one night stand. The money is nothing more than a gratuity. And the love, well, that is nothing more than his excuse to keep her thighs and purse open. Who said it is only God who loves a cheerful giver?

Ten minutes later, on my way back to my room, I meet him seeing off some chic with too much makeup and not so much dignity. Her dressing had left nothing to be desired given that her boobs were all out. Which makes me wonder if it was a man or a baby she was seeking to attract. I instantly concluded she was the one who believes that she could fit into the gaps of their relationship.

Minutes later, Annie passes by and gets into the next room. She is putting on a see through red nightdress. And evidently black drawers as well. She is dutifully carrying a box with the inscription ‘Debonairs’.

I presume she is another victim of the old adage that lies about the way to a man’s heart. Damn this girl! Damn cupid and his stupid arrow! What the hell is wrong with her? She makes me start to believe in reincarnation, because with resilience like this, I think there is a whole load of old bollocks living in her. There has never been a shortage of clowns in campus chasing an impossible dream of happily ever after. Chasing after a man who already got himself a dozen of women on speed dial; in a chase that she also has to compete with Embassy Lights, EABL, Super Sport and PS2.

Well, shit is complicated. I think she knows what a douche she has for a lover. Because from my side, I can hear her getting into bed. Perhaps readying herself for him. She knows, but chooses not to pay it any attention. Surely nobody can be too demented to ignore empty condom wrappers in the dustbin, the two used wine glasses on his side of the room, the uncomfortable warmth in the sheets and the licentious musty after-odour of a sexcapade.

Perhaps she is only scared of letting him go because another woman might get him. Or perhaps she enjoys being the freak who is struggling to gain yet gaining nothing but confusion, frustration and emptiness. Because in that room next door, there is not a single speck of love. Just another condom packet waiting to be misused like her. But then again there is the other possible explication that when Brian hit it, he wrote his name on it. He was committed when he put his brain on it.

A few minutes later, B shows up. And then it begins all over again…the bed starts shaking, Annie starts faking and my sleep starts fading.

‘Damn that lucky bastard!’ I curse underneath my cold sheets and amidst choking rage as I reach for the earmuffs.