The Deal

Fifteen-Bernadette

With great stealth, comes great invisibility. So I spider-walk myself through the darkened street of the neighborhood with the motto in mind. I spot two police vehicles parked outside, but I tell myself not to panic. I wait, hiding around quiet corner to watch. Officer Baduza, the man Thabo told me about, talks to his partner for sometime. When his partner leaves, Baduza follows, and I make my move.

The stroll to Jabar's apartment is vibrant in a weird way. Beeping noises emitting from the evening traffic jam take me back in time. In some other life, I used to drive a blurry faced man, and I would watch him while he slept in the passenger seat. We would be stuck in traffic jams every Friday night. There were times he would force me to drive and times where he would take the wheel. I smile at the memory. The only problem is that I wish I could know who the faceless man is.

Jabar's scanty apartment towers over me, and a tiny ray of music vibrates in my ears. I ring the doorbell and wait. When there's no reply, I ring it again. Nothing. For the love of....I ring the doorbell for the third effing time, before someone opens it halfway. A young woman with spiked, afro hair pops up in the doorway, a pantsuit hugging her slender, sweaty body. The stench of alcohol and cigarette smoke spiral into my nostrils. Tiny giggles echo from behind her. How many women does Jabar sleep with in a day, I wonder.

"Can I help you?" the lady inquires, eyeballing me.

"I'm...Jabar's friend." The lady lifts one eyebrow, and I'm guessing she still doesn't recognize me. So, I lift my hoodie off. The girl's face lightens up.

"Oh! Bernadette frickin' Amara! I'm sorry I couldn't recognize you with the wig." Immediately, she gestures for me to step in. I scrunch my face when the whiskey stench grows stronger. Still, the smell of cigarettes burn my nostrils, making me lurch and cough. Another young lady laughs along with a buffy, bare-chested guy.

"Hey, look who's finally come back for the booty call!" the afro-haired lady exclaims.

The second lady, with braided ponytail and yellow skirt dress hugging her body walks over to me, her face ignited. She gasps. "Is that you, Bernie? My God, the news was right. She does look different."

"Ofcourse she does," Afro-Girl says. "The plastic surgery, remember?"

"Love the pink wig, by the way," the guy says, giggling. "I swear to God I thought you were some dancer in an early-two thousands music video."

I roll my eyes, and flick my gaze to the stairs. "Is Jabar home?" I ask, not wanting to be around the stench of drunk young adult coeds.

"Oh, yeah," Guy says. "He's upstairs. I'll alert him that you've arrived." Snickering, he races upstairs with his beer bottle.

"Bernie," Afro-hair girl continues. "I just want to say we have been huge fans of you since your Soapy days. You were my childhood crush."

"Indeed," the yellow skirt dress says, waving the bottle around as she talks. "The accident must have been a terrible experience for you. When she and I heard the news, we so freaked out."

"Yes," Afro-Girl says. "We were so scared. But then the good news came that you were alive but lost your memories. I mean, imagine a world without Bernadette Amara. Our fantasies would be completely destroyed. The whole world would be fucking depressing."

"Definitely." Yellow skirt dress girl shifts closer to my space. "You know, we've been watching you walk in Jabar's bedroom for quite a while now. Please, don't think we're judging you. We understand and fully support your decision."

"Yeah," Afro-Girl purrs, moving towards me as well, and I back a step away.

"Uh.." I have no idea hoe to diffuse the situation.