“Yes, I’m pregnant, and the baby ain’t yours!”
Came the stern response from the other end of the line, where Becca held the phone to her ear, sneering over the phone convo, like I meant nothing to her. She had some sort of an ambiguous degenerate ego embedded in her throat. She spoke as though we were not equals but foes, who made truce for a short while. There was something about her voice that relinquished my hopes, made everything about love and making love sound so sarcastic like a sheer mockery of illusion. Things that we tend to regret, are the things we are bound never to forget.
“What!? What do you mean? Can’t you hear yourself speak?”
“Yes Phill, you heard me right..”
“Baibe, Come on, when are you coming back home??”
“Never!!!”
(Tuuuut. ..tuuut. ..) the phone clicked and the connection broke off.
“Hello, baibe. ..baibe…. hello Becca.. (shouting) Beeeeccaaaa…! !!! ?”
Came no response. Dial the number twice, thrice,or maybe four times, can’t remember, she never picked up.
“Yes, I’m pregnant, and the baby ain’t yours.” It kept on resounding in my head. If it’s not mine then whose? When and where? The pregnancy test kit rested on the table, and even an amateur in getting women pregnant would know how it read. Positive. And Becca wasn’t that type of a girl who lies in pretense. She was Becca for heaven’s sake, she was my girl, she was the woman I murderously fell in love with without hesitation. I loved her for who she was. She’s never the type who made fun over a serious issue, she’s never that cunning. She says it and she means it. Right now I felt like I never knew her.
I was brooding over my couch staring at my phone, wondering when and what I did to set my girl loose, to let someone else pop her cherries out. Did she like it? I was brooding over the issue, contemplating what Becca did, where did she do it? Who did she do it with? I kept on staring at my image, wondering what did I lack as a man, to send my girl out to the wolves who feasted on her soul, devoured her flesh in unending woes. Maybe I did nothing, only loved her right in ways that I could, wasn’t it not enough? Maybe she enjoyed it doing it with him, the way he sweated on her, and she moaned like he held paradise beneath his shaft. And she breathed in spasms as he kept on going and going deeply, till his cherries popped and she took one last thrust, as he let loose his fluids into her womb. And now, yes, she’s pregnant and the baby ain’t mine. As the images unfolded, I vexed, I became livid, took my phone and bursted it on to the television screen. In that same insanely moment, I recalled one of her colleagues telling me something about Becca attending her own wedding. I had to be there. I had to see it for myself. I felt the need to cock up a shot gun and fire it on anyone.
But do not accuse me of murder yet. I’m too thin and skinny for a prison cell. I’m too juicy for the other inmates. Do not accuse me of murder yet. I did what I had to do. So took the car keys and drove to the other town, to find Becca. I drove passed the Lakeside, the beaming fragrance of the sun set, passed the tea plantation, and the scenes of birds flopping and the forests. I drove to the other town to find my girl. I needed to see the man who got her away from me. For I miss her. I’m driving alone, in my car I’m all like, baby come we stay for the nights have been so cold without you. I’m driving, while lighting up a cigar, puffing out smoke through the windscreen, staring at the road I left behind through the rear view, heart beating to the rhythm of, baby come we stay, if you do come back I promise to love you right. Baby come we stay, for I’m nothing without you, for you I let down my guard, I did the impossible, for you I became an open book, I learnt to love someone like I did me. Baby come we stay, make me whole again. But it all doesn’t make sense, right? Every creepy crappy stuffs we did in the name of love is nothing more than a charade, a game fools play. I don’t get it. I never do get, I hit on the accelerator and I speed some more. Wind brazing through my hair, what the fuck does this bitch think she is ??
So I get to town. I hardly know this town, but I know of two places to look. Some sort of a big church where there’s a wedding. That’s always been her Dream, to have a wedding in a big church. Whether it’s an Anglican church or a Catholic church, she doesn’t care, as long as it’s a big one. I ask around, and kind hearts shows me where, so I drive not knowing what to expect. There are convoys, laced with red, purple, yellow and white balloons and ribbons. It’s someone’s wedding, someone who has just dug my own grave, let them Bury me. There’s a tall building, with a cross on its door, as I get close, hymns reverberates from within, some sort of wedding bells, and happy moods. I park my car outside the Compound, I jet in like I own the place. Hymns becoming louder and louder, they get infuriatingly annoying. But I move on to the cathedral, ignoring the receptionist.
I swung open the cathedral door, and no one notices, for they are lost into their hymns, thinking that all is well, perhaps it’s all well. The first sight that my gaze sets upon is Becca, looking like a peacock ready to mate, in her white wedding gown, and a perfectly knitted smile, she’s so elegantly good looking, pretty and beautiful, and all other appraisal that I wouldn’t Fathom. In that moment I feel weak, I feel proud to see her dreams coming true, but pissed off its not with me. As I make steps towards the altar, she notices me and stares back at me. The congregation and a bunch of creepy idiots who let her have this charade of a wedding turns to look at me. I ignore them. The choir stops, the soloists turns to look at me, I ignore them. My stare is fixated on Becca, how beautiful she is, how I’m almost losing her. The instrumentals stops, the wedding bells stops for a moment, and everything resonates in eerie, except for my footsteps as they echo across, as I make my way toward Becca. I open my mouth to say something, but can’t find the right words, I’m almost embarrassing her if not me in front of all these people, I care not, I’m fighting for the woman I love.
“Becca, please don’t do this…” I say as I move closer, and in that moment she’s staring at me with a ‘please stop’ kind of a facial expression. I feel like running to her, hug and hold her, carry her and elope with her, I can do it, I really can do it, if that would be a true manifestation of love.
” Baibe, please don’t leave me…”
“It’s late honey, it’s too late…”
She stares ardently at me, sympathetically tears almost brewing in her eyes.
“Becca, please don’t do this, come we stay..”
My voice fades, and it’s replaced with a teary shrugging soft voice, a voice almost breaking. She moves towards me to bade me goodbye, she says,
“It’s late honey, I have to go”
She plants a kiss on my forehead, I lose all my senses, the kiss is the last thing I feel, I can’t hear a thing, in that moment, I’m peaceful.
“Honey. …?”
I hear echoes of a voice.
“Honey wake up, I’m leaving for work…”
Slowly, I open my eyes, to find Becca stroking my head on her laps.
“Baibe,” I call her, “I thought you left me..”
“Actually I’m late because of you..” She says,
“What..!?”
“Yess, you’ve been talking in your sleep, you scared me”
“Oooh Meeehn, I have!? So sorry love, it happens when I’m starving.”
“Which reminds me, I’ve made you breakfast already, you have any plans today?”
“Thank you so much, I think I’ll drive to town around noon, is it okay when I pick you up for lunch?”
“It’s okay, just don’t keep me waiting, okay??”
“I promise I won’t. ”
“Good. Now get your lazy ass off the bed, see you at lunch,”
Before she leaves for work, she kisses me on the lips, I kiss her back. I wait till she almost locks the door, then I call her,
“Becca,”
“Yes Phill, ” She peeps through the door so it’s only her face that I see.
“I love you so much” I say.
“I love you more.” She says.
Deep inside, I feel like putting a ring on this woman and flowering her with kids, before someone else does so. But I guess that’s what they often say, if you love it, put a ring on it.
But if Becca reads this, and finds out this the dream I had two weeks ago, she’ll kill me. So don’t tell on me.
******THE END******
As written by Phill Ibsen
( Master of Descriptions )
A Heart_Art_Poetics productions
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