#16 Letho noKhayone
In my dreams my emotions manifest
There they awaken and gallop
In there I know that you smell like rose petals and summer rain
In there I’ve held your hand and know that the side of your neck is warmer than your finger tips
We’ve also cooked together,
I chopped the onions and you poured the wine
In my dreams my emotions may as well thrive
For in my reality there is no space for them to come alive
“Is it about me?” “Yes, it’s one of the old ones.” It’s quiet, all I can hear is the fountain in the back ground. “Do you still feel the same?” “Ha?” “Yini? I’m asking because we’ve been like two magnets with wandering poles,” the look on her face is more serious than it was yesterday. I want to apologise for any mixed messages but I don’t. “That’s fair, let’s do better,” “Okay, let’s start by going for a walk,” she lifts her feet out of the pool and we make our way to the foyer. Khayone is at a spa treatment. I remember that my profile is always on vibrate, so I delete the text I was composing and leave her a message at reception instead.
She makes fun of me the entire time we’re walking down the street. It’s my fault for telling her the truth about my thumb. That I bit my nail down to the flesh with the nail-polish still on. Now I have a plaster on it. She knows that I haven’t bitten my nails in years because the gel nail-polish was a strong deterrent. We eventually find ourselves outside one of the cafés in the botanical garden. She leads us inside and exclaims, “This is one of my faves in this city, they have the best savoury muffins.” I suggest that we buy a snack and go sit outside. “We can hire a blanket and sit under that tree,” she points and I agree. She orders two muffins, one being a chocolate muffin for me. She insists on paying so I add a bottle of water. “Hayi, then you pay,” she jokes and goes to get a bottle of Chardonnay. They’re thoughtful enough to offer us an ice-bucket. I can see why she likes this place.
“I wasn’t sure when I’d see you again, that’s why I came to Vilakazi street yesterday,” she admits. Her skin is warm and I can feel her heart beating. I didn’t think it could beat faster than it was yesterday. But her breathes are steady and deep. Before letting go of my hand, she moves it slowly across her left breast. And I can’t help but laugh. The smile on her face remains steady, she seldom laughs at her own jokes or silliness. “Why London? There were opportunities before that,” “I know. I was waiting for you,” she exhales, “but on the flight to London, I started to wonder if I was making it all up,” “Is that why you left that first morning?” “Yeah,” she says in a whisper. My stomach flutters and sends goosebumps rippling down my entire body. My breathing becomes audible. She raises her head slightly and I lean in. We close our eyes and our lips touch but she hesitate. “Why didn’t you?” she asks. “Fear…” I reply, “I hoped my feelings would subside with time,” “And they haven’t,” “No, they haven’t.”
I dreamt that our first kiss would be at a music festival. My voice would be hoarse from all the singing so she’d suggest that we drive out. And with the music fading in the distance, I’d begin to explain the meaning of my tattoos. She’d stop the car, come to the passengers side and ask me to give her my hand. While sitting side-ways in the passengers seat, she’d be standing in front of me and wave my arm around, trying to match the tattoo on my wrist with one of the constellations . I dreamt that I’d eventually have to stand up so that we get the right angle. And it would be there, in that cliche moment under the stars where she’d lean in. But this is better because I didn’t come close to imagining it. Her head on my shoulder and her one hand under my shirt. It took a while but it’s warm now. We’re looking up into the tree at the sun being refracted between the leaves. “I wonder how many snakes there are in this garden,” I say interrupting the stillness. “Your breath smells like cheesy bacon and chocolate, I’m sure we’re safe,” “Ha ha mcim, you just kissed me remember, so nawe you are a serpent repellent,” I chuckle and she tries tried to poke my rib in protest.
Noma the writer 