First Impressions

3. Rayo

"What nonsense!" I mutter, still standing stupefied, staring at the door.

Did that guy just slam the door in my face? With the way he was carrying on, giving a monotonous response. . . like I am the girl in his DM begging for snippets of his attention, commenting on every of his posts.

Covering the distance to my apartment in the speed of light, I lean on the door after shutting it.

"Gosh," The staccato beating of my heart is deafening.

Did I even make sense with all the stuff spouting from my lips? Immediately the door opened, and my eyes fell on the man that was causing such ruckus early in the morning, my train of thought came to a standstill. I was gasping like a dog exhausted from chasing a chicken.

I turn with my face on the door, my forehead absorbing the coolness of the wooden panel.

I wish I could see into his apartment from here. Why do assholes like him have to be that cute and organized? Lord why?

"I'm sorry," I mimic his deep voice. "Argh!"

He is not as dark as I love my men to be and neither is he all that fair. Well, my hot dark chocolate dream man has been put to shame. Those arms alone, damn, I can keep fainting forever so they could hold me up each and every time and... "Why am I thinking like a bimbo? The clout had no manners" I say aloud trying to reign in my thoughts.

His chest, hmmm, it was so defined, with hair lightly sprinkled all over. Just the way I like it.

"What is wrong with me?" I cry.

A sharp pain tear through my lower abdomen and I bite back a grunt. Could this be butterflies in my belly?

You are tripping again babe like you always do whenever you set your eyes on an irresistible tall, dark and handsome bloke. Fine boys will be the death of you.

I pause a bit to think about the two 'people' in my life. I call them C and S. Those are the initials for Crazy and Sane, they are my alter egos, and as I like to call them, the voices in my head. We talk a lot, like a whole lot.

The tripping part came from S. She always has a way of shoving the truth right down my throat whether or not I care to listen.

"Hmm, he is not even that handsome if you think about it. I mean, I have met far more handsome dudes," I mutter under my breath.

Come on now girl, we both know you find him sexually attractive and all this pep talk about him not being so handsome is just a cover-up. You want him, just admit it and don't rain on my parade. I'm so glad we're neighbors!

C and S wage wars in my head at times, no, all the time. I still wonder how I can deal with these two all at once and still retain my sanity. I decide to ignore the two bullies in my head and focus on the real me now, we are the real you, they both say. "Well, I'm glad you two can finally agree on something,'' I tell myself.

My mother taught me about men and even if I did not initially follow her teachings diligently, from my experience, I am just wasting my time thinking about that ignoramus fool. I am just getting angry over a nobody.

Dragging myself away from the door, I set out to put myself to better use.

I begin washing and arranging the dishes. Scrubbing the dirt off forcefully, punishing the dishes for something they did wrong.

I had had a glimpse into his semi scattered living room, that was when I was able to take my eyes off his sweaty chest. He probably just moved in. Maybe during the week.

I don't want that fool to think I am one dirty human being. Ah! Like he would ever enter my apartment, or we would even talk again.

The music blares loudly again. I raise my eyes upwards and curse him.

He thinks he knows everything yeah. I dislike men like that, those that feel like they know everything. I am going to call the caretaker to make my complaint since he cannot be neighborly and turn off his music player or tune the volume to his hearing.

The sound of music gradually becomes inaudible and I smile.

I rinse the last cutlery, then moved on to sweeping and arranging. Taking a step backward, I proudly stare at my sparkling kitchen.

"I am so proud of you babe,'' I mutter to myself.

You should get angry more often. It releases so much energy in you, enough to sweep Nigeria clean.

I don't know which one of them thought that, but I think they are right.

With this newfound zeal, I walk majestically into my bedroom. "It is time to deal with you. You scare me no more. . ." I giggle at this.

"Dear wardrobe of mine," I say as I diligently move pieces of clothing from one space to another, "I promise never to scatter you again, if you promise not to hide things from me."

Fold into the wardrobe, toss into the laundry bag, toss into the laundry bag, fold into the wardrobe, toss into the laundry bag.

I pause as the pain in my lower abdomen sears through again. I don't think this is a romantic feeling.

To congratulate myself for a job well done, even though I had promised myself not to lift a finger today - no thanks to that annoyingly intimidating individual who is now my neighbor - I would take my bath and head to the cinema or maybe invite friends over. Having Tricia and Mabel over would involve Mabel talking non-stop. There's also the food preparation part to consider, then they would progress to talking about guys. Urmm, I am sticking with the cinema, thank you.

Stepping into my temple within the apartment, I absentmindedly open my medicine cabinet to check if my menstrual pad is remaining. On closing the cabinet, I stare at my reflection, no no-no-no.

Sure it is!

The woman staring at me is a character from my niece's comic book who never combed her afro and cried when she finally did. Is this really who that guy met? My shoulders sag under the weight of my disappointment. Our first meeting and he didn't even get to see my real face. What a shame.

On second thoughts though, maybe the chores added to this look. Diary of a team natural hair chic. I touch my cheek and observe the dark circles beneath my eyes. I need more sleep.

"Change of plans!" I announce to myself. I march into my bedroom to remove my manicure and pedicure bag as well as a novel. "I am going to be treating myself to spa time."

I take everything into my spacious bathroom which had a bathtub.

Oops, music.

I race back into my fresh smelling room to glance at the clock, 2:13 p.m. Not bad, I can still catch a movie in the evening. Picking my little music player, I head back to the bathroom.

Beware, I am not doing all of this primping for that jerk next door, this is something I usually do which I call 'me time'. I have just let my busy entrepreneurial life ruin my personal life.

And unlike some mindless neighbors, I turn on my music player with the volume on low. Wurld's rich voice begins singing Mad to me.