Reflections

Chapter 2 : Satisfactions

I'm not typical Zena. I've changed, very much so. I do not know how or when I stumbled onto the platform  of self-reflection, but ever since I did it's been food for thought.

I fidget, I wobble, I'm clumsy, I'm a walking accident. It's involuntary, it's not me. It's like I'm being consumed by an intangible force,  a force that's determined on knocking me down, a force that wants to prove a point, a force that uses my body as a medium to get to me, to get to the core of my being.

After the encounter with the kind lady in the bus this morning, I learned that I've been a gloomy person. I want to have friends but that means that I have to engage in conversation, that's not my repertoire,  I try to shy away from it.

People bore me, they bore me. I hate it when they try to make small talk especially those guys who think I'll hand my cell number over to them, it's never going to happen dude, just quit already.
 
It's almost five-thirty now, just five more minutes to go until I hit the road.

I glance at my watch again and deftly make my way towards the kitchen. I enter and hang my apron up on the hook, frantically keeping my mind on checking out immediately. I don't want to miss the quarter past five bus.

There's something gnawing on my mind that I'm forgetting something. Not knowing what it is, I easily sway it aside and leave it at that.

I advance towards my locker and rapidly spin the combination of the lock . I open the obsidian coloured metal door and my handbag succumbs to gravity as it comes crashing down and hits the tiled floor with a loud thud.
I jump away instantly shocked, adrenaline pumping furiously.  There were too many things cooped in there and my bag was on the edge.

Tired from the day's adversities, I slowly retreat from the locker and retrieve my handbag. I open the zipper and spill the contents on the floor, partly searching for my bus ticket and partly for my R200. The handbag is old so some coins disappear into the insides of the bag never to be seen again. I catch sight of a red and blue card and tuck it into the pockets of my skin-tight jeans. Now for that bank note.  I purse my lips and search into every nook and cranny and marvel at what has been hiding in that bag. 

My strawberry flavoured labello lipgloss which I had used only once is exposed, a phone number scribbled on a piece of paper which is barely readable now and my house keys which I had replaced,  thinking I had lost them. I delve deeper and feel a sharp poke on my index finger , I instantly remove my hand from the bag and inspect my finger which was now dripping in crimson blood.

What the hell !!!

I cautiously feel for the pointy object and retrieve it. I can't believe my eyes.

What the hell is a needle doing in my bag?

Afraid of being left behind by my bus, I simply stick my finger into my mouth and shove my phone and other belongings into the handbag  with my left hand.

I spot the R200 note and shove it in my other pocket. I impatiently stick my finger out and taste the bland concoction of blood fused with saliva and rush out onto the pavements flooded with people anxious on departing from the swarming business district.

I walk briskly towards the bus terminal and stop in my tracks as I realise I've been thinking of doing something but I can't place what it was exactly so I ponder over the matter as I'm about to board.

Right before I enter, something clicks and I remember. Aha,  the pizza and the ice-cream! How could I forget.
I decide on turning back and head straight for the supermarket. It's barely five minutes away anyway.

Reaching the dairy area, I toss the vanilla flavoured ice-cream into the basket and head straight towards the bakery, I scoop up some blueberry muffins and head towards the till counter.
 
*************

Post-shower and I'm feeling rejuvenated. After a regal buffet of muffins and scrumptious pizza, I lazily head for the freezer and pull out the ice-cream container. The grande finale.

That's the advantage of living alone you don't share. Not that I mind sharing, it's just that not sharing is better than sharing and it's convenient in so many ways. I can eat food straight from its packaging without handing out plates. Bonus advantage is that by doing that, dirty dishes are kept at bay. I've just moved in so a dishwasher is definitely a priority.

My feet are placed on the sofa as I moan on the spoon. The ice-cream was so good.

Three hours later I find that I had slept on the couch, spoon in mouth with the ice-cream container on my lap. Something had gotten me up. I place the delicacy and the spoon on the table as I mount up to check out the disturbance.

Craning my neck I look up on the wall opposite the kitchen counter to briefly glance at the clock. It was quarter to two am. What on earth had veered me off my sleep and steered me into waking in the early hours of dawn?

Maybe, just maybe it's a force. A force that's determined on knocking me down, a force that wants to prove a point by using my body as a medium to get to me, to get to my core.

Maybe.

Just maybe, it's an intangible force.