“She looks familiar”
I did not look away from her, but I knew he would frown- a pull of muscles that would draw vertical lines between his eyebrows. I also knew he would ask the next question:
“Who? Who does she remind you of?”
Really, who did she remind me of? …
Dressed in white and red, she was witness to the season; a walking Valentine’s Day advert.
Her white top was two sizes too small, so it parted the folds of her love handles, and stayed tucked in them; making burger-like flesh-in-cloth. Her pants were a bright red, and delineated the crumple of folds that were the lines of the lace pants she wore beneath. It also concaved at the indentation on the lower half of her left buttock. The red boots on her feet were loud, and they were supposed to be out of place. On her body that day though, it looked like the best part of her February 14 ensemble. I had been berating myself for that unkind thought when she turned to look at something behind her, and I felt an unpleasant sickening in the pit of my stomach. I think my heart dropped somewhere there, and blood got uncomfortably mixed with bile; there was this almost-instinctual urge to puke my insides out.
It wasn’t about the upper halves of her breasts which were exposed to the melanin-bronzing sun. Neither was it about the blood-red lipstick on her dark face that made me think vampires are always sexy even with blood on their lips due to their relatively whiter ‘pigmentation’. It was everything really. The obviously fake ghetto queen too-long lashes, the reddish pigment painted on her eyelids, the blushed cheeks looking fragmented drowned in sweat beads… the hands of the man pressing some pieces of the new hundred Naira note into her palm as he fingered her crotch.
Yes, she had been familiar. She was the shadow of indignities borne for the pleasure of “Valentine’s gift”.