African Short Stories: Working Relationship

...3...

Thursday morning, time for morning service.

I am the official Assistant Head Girl, meaning I am officially the service supervisor of the entire upstairs floor of the school building.

Lucky me.

That should be the irony of the year.

The entire corridor spanning in front of all the laboratories upstairs is one long, wide mess. Why? Because I'm the luckiest supervisor around, it just had to rain last night and half of my workers are late for their services now.

"Go and call Sylvia Abaemeka and Geoffrey Africa-Eshogba for me," I beckon another JS2 class worker to send her and read the names of the corridor workers off a list. "Tell them to get here immediately."

As I impatiently await their arrival, I survey the level of untidiness of the corridor. I just happen to be standing in front of the open Atelier door at that point in time and my eyes also just happen to look straight into the lab and come to settle on Mr Royce, perched on a swivel stool with his back turned to me, sitted under a fluorescent bulb like it's his spotlight.

From where I'm stood, I can see he's so concentrated, apparently working on a painting. With light footsteps, I enter into the atelier, edging closer, curious to see what could have someone like him so focused.

I discover that it's an astonishingly detailed landscape painting of a tree. The window next to him is wide open- I realize that his muse is actually the giant oak tree rooted just a few yards away from the atelier window.

"Wow," I say breathily without even thinking about it, "That is breathtaking."

He doesn't look back at me and doesn't seem bothered that I sort of sneaked up on him, intruder style. "It looked so much prettier at night." Then he completely swivels the stool around to face me. "Just like you."

I can't even find it in me to be offended. His normal voice is still so deep and smooth, like a hummed base melody. I can tell he'd be amazing in a choir.

"Because I'm dark-skinned?"  I ask softly.

"Because you glow."✨

I try very hard not to start glowing right now at the compliment. I bite my lip and look away. Focus on something else. The painting. That must've been why he was here last night. He must've been working on-

"You don't like being complimented?"

My head snaps back to look him in the eye once more and I gasp, "No. It's not that..." I give a sigh, "It's flattery I don't like. "

With that, we just stare at each other awhile, not assessing, more like contemplating who the other person really could be without being told.

If I were to describe myself, there'd be nothing glowing about all that. I've probably told myself that my whole life. But somehow, as I say it to myself this time around, I suddenly don't quite believe it.

Maybe Mr Royce has bionic eyes and sees everything with a sparkle to it. But then eyes that deep and that brown can't be anything other than God's design, so maybe not.

Mr Royce eventually breaks our stare, a small, lopsided grin on his face as he sets his palette and paintbrush aside. When he stands up and takes the step that puts him directly in front of me, I really realize how tall and lean he is, like a runway model.

"Then trust me- I flatter you not."

I am momentarily distracted by his body frame, the same way I was when I saw Kabir for the first time after we resumed in SS1, so I'm taken fully by surprise when Mr Royce tugs my tie off and starts working on opening my shirt buttons.