The Shopping List

"Aki Sue call me in 2 minutes. It's mayday!" I am hysterical and sweating bullets. It's 6:45 p.m during this pandemic. I am too far but I must go home. I hate it here. I loathe this man. 

My girlfriend knows the drill and calls back sounding very fierce. My call volume is intentionally high so the man can overhear how impatient my "cousin waiting by my door" is. He now drives a little fast and my heart races even faster, it's winning I can tell. My veins are almost popping out of my skin in dire attempt to guise my disgust. I would cry but Fergie says big girls don't do that. 

I know, I know, I should get an Uber but it's actually late. I am a scaredy cat and he's my safest bet home I swear, which hella sucks at this point. He's an authorized medic so I guess we won't be landing into any trouble with the hungry and blood thirsty night crawlers. My bad, I meant to say cops. 

There's some serious traffic but in an hour we pull up at my place. I leap out of the car leaving the man to grapple his steering wheel because he's not getting a hug from me. A second later I am in the shower with all my clothes I had on piled at the door. I am scrubbing every inch of my skin and I hope to clear off all the debris I feel clogged beneath my skin. I scrub and scrub some more... 

But how did we get here...?

A past client called me a week ago and asked to meet to discuss on me selling for him a car on his behalf. We had also bumped at the mall a fortnight earlier and he figured me out surprisingly with the mask on. It was a pleasure actually and he drove me home after I was done with my shopping. 

I was ready. I could use some commission after being laid off out of the blue by a cowardly boss. Suspended at first then days after we were removed from work whatsapp groups, sleek like that. We are left to knack on that high and dry but anyway we march on. Ugh, that little drama is like comic relief now because 5 days and a couple of applications later I have another job, that I am reporting to in a week's time. 

Anyway he picks me up and off we go into the unknown, at the heart of kiambu or something. There's a curious cut-out paper lying on the dashboard but whatever. We get to a chill spot, hideous although graced with all the big machines. I am greeted with drunken laughs from the aunties wa harriers who are eating life with a spade like all of us staying indoors have nothing better to do, oh and are broke too. And we are, well I am. That's the least of my concerns though for how I am feeling out of context. I wanna bury my face in the ground but this is a business meeting so let's walk on, no? 

We settle for a mid row, and the breeze is cold and therapeutic. He begins to tell me about himself. Divorced and single at the moment. He's a typical educated English speaking Kikuyu man whose accent makes normal words sound so distorted, adorned with a twist of pride. He takes his phone out to show me pictures of his extended family; looks like they are all elite and they made it, good for them. He goes on and on about politics and his academic achievements and I'm sick of it. I'm trying to be patient because we're probably getting acquainted before we dive into business. 

The chicken we ordered comes in and I wouldn't be more relieved. It's my all time favorite meal and this one here is savory. The kind that you close your eyes, sigh and almost moan to. That one. He orders another takeaway nyamachoma for his sister or so he says. We eat up modestly and once we are through we get back to our dealings. He goes round and round about it, a small detail here, a longer story there. He loves stories but he needs his age mates to talk to not me. It's getting late and I need to go home, telling him to send me more details later because nothing much came of this meeting. 

He's talking about going to a club sometime and now I cringe. With all his 40 years? With a ring on his finger? And what's with the reaching for my arms from across the table and asking me to relax? I make haste towards the parking and signal that I need to go. He complies and and we take off but he says he needs to stop by a shop to purchase a mouse before it's closed. Is it that urgent? I mean he lives alone and he can always buy it the next day. I don't understand. He stops and goes out to buy anyway and the little paper on the dashboard is calling for me. Curiosity killed the cat whose nine lives were over and my itchy fingers go on to pick it only to find a shopping list. The paper is carelessly ripped and on there is bread, vegetables, paper towels, maize flour, yogurt and a mouse. Flipping on the other side was a patch of crayon coloring. 

Hmmmph! There's shopping at the back seat, a mouse that cannot wait because I'm getting late and a list from a kid's book. Screams like a senior bachelor vibe to me and I totally get it. The takeaway nyamachoma for his sister, who at first he told me is married? I was born two decades later so what do I know people, what should I possibly know? I take his word for the gospel truth because we don't question the wisdom of our seniors back here.

He returns with a mouse and relieved he actually got it before the store closed. I sigh for him too because maybe the ghosts in his house wouldn't let him sleep that night without a damn mouse. We drive off and on my way I ponder a lot about the shopping list. 

For what it's worth the handwriting was pretty and maybe the writer deserves more than that, but again, what do I know?