Kuchu

Lesbifriends

21st July, 2008

"Not lovers, not friends, not friends with benefits... Lesbifriends."

"Yes," Sydney replied. Amused.

"So... Is that even a thing?" Naima raised one thick dubious eyebrow.

"Yes. Our little thing."

"Does that..."

"Stop talking," and she muffled the next words that were about to come out of her mouth with a possessive kiss.

Naima smiled nostalgically as the image of two seventeen year olds, cuddling on the narrow upper bunk of a creaky metal bed, formed in her mind. Their only source of light in the pitch black dormitory - occupied by a hundred other girls most of whom had been threatening to snore the iron sheet roof above them away - had been a small flashlight.

Her smile disappeared in an instant. The compelling dark eyes across the room still held her gaze unabashedly, between a black fedora hat that had seen better days, and horn-rimmed glasses that hung precariously on the bridge of his bulbous nose. Naima was appalled by the young man's audacity. The whole point of her gaze was to make him drop his out of shame for being caught staring, not to start a staredown! But maybe he wanted to make it clear that he was watching her, her every move.

"You can never get away from me," she could hear her husband hissing slyly like a snake. It sent chills down her spine. "I'm always watching you. I'm everywhere."

Eventually, she found herself dropping her gaze, pretending to be looking at the time on her wristwatch.
She was a beautiful woman, average in height and voluptuous with soft, brown eyes set wide apart on her lighter brown heart-shaped face. Nevertheless, she had forgotten what it felt like to be stared at by a man other than her husband, ever since she had started wearing "respectably" in demure kaftans and headdresses. They made her look a lot more serious and older than her twenty three years.

She fidgeted under the stranger's unnerving stare. He had to be one of the men her husband had watching her. Why else would he be looking at her that way? Her face suddenly wore a grimace as a sharp pain riddled her ribs. Damn! She should have seen her doctor the morning after the night she had "slipped and fell". Unconsciously, her hand went up to the tender spot at the back of her head. The fall had been so bad that she had also hit her head.

"Oh, I'm such a clutz!" She had told that story so many times that she was actually starting to believe it.

Where the hell was Sydney? She was an hour late, but then, when had she ever been on time? Maybe she had changed over the years. Naima tried to imagine what she might look like. She conjured various incarnations of Sydney in her mind, from The Joker to the Ghost of Christmas Past. Nothing was over the top when it came to Sydney. Don't be too harsh! Maybe she now works at her father's company and wears tailored power suits and Brazilian weaves. Naima smiled at the thought.

"Still take your coffee black, I see."

Startled, Naima's head jerked up. Gripping the edges of the mahogany table, she slowly rose. In protest, the table creaked under her weight. A little of the dark brown liquid in her cup spilt, tainting the blinding white of the tablecloth. The coffee shop and everyone in it had ceased to exist, except for the tall, gorgeous woman that stood before her. Her teary eyes slowly took her in. She was no Joker or ghost alright, but she did not have a power suit on either. She was just good old Sydney, comfortable in an old black ensemble. A studded leather jacket over a Siouxie and the Banshees tee, a pair of jeans and Dr Marten boots. Her dreadlocks were a little different though - Longer and purple.

Naima walked into Sydney's open arms. It was like coming back home from a long stay out in the cold. Warm. Peaceful. It was a feeling she had yearned for for so long and she let herself revel in it.