African Short Stories: Working Relationship

...6...

Ugh.

That's my mood every Monday morning. But that was before.

Now, whenever it's time for morning service, it has become routine, more or less, for me to just pop into the atelier for a bit while I'm supervising.

I either meet Zar working on something new or turning the art lab into the set for the British Food Star Network with one of his more than extravagant, untraditional, Brit breakfasts that he buys from expensive, upscale hotel restaurant in town.

Today it is the former. He's picked up from where he stopped working on the painting of the giant oak tree.

"What are you writing?" He's left his canvas and is now peering over my shoulder; his warm breath tickles my ear. That's definitely a more welcome form of tickling.

"Making a diary entry for today," I reply a corner of my mouth tilted upwards.

My birthday is next month and traditionally, I have to finish off the pages I have left in my diary and complete them exactly on the night before my birthday. Then I get to launch a new one on that day.

"Weirdo," he sneers at me good-humouredly.

"Perv," I retort good-naturedly and he grins.

"Lemme see," he gestures towards my book with a nod.

I guess he has a right to it since he's my best friend now. So I give him my diary. It's grey- my favourite colour, with an array of white stencil flowers on the cover. It comes complete with a latch and lock like a real diary should.

"What's the lock code?" Zar asks, thumb poised over the combo lock ready to key the code in, even though the book is already open.

"5, 7. 5 plus 7."

"5, 7, 1, 2," Zar decodes sharper than lightning. I grin. He speaks my language.

"What does it mean?" His eyes are on his thumb turning the dials in the lock to make the combination.

"5th of July, 2012. The day I met Kabir."

Zar pauses, slowly looks up at me, his face- eyes especially- void of expression. Then he returns back to what he was doing with a startling suddenness.

I stare off into space for a little while, on a mind trip down memory lane. I never have forgetten that day- the day of the supplementary interviews for the second round of successful JS1 candidates into Lois City College for that year. We were all here with our parents that day and the school- then still very young- was surprisingly everything to write home about. Every other candidate was fascinated. I hated it.

Still 10 years old at the time, I so disliked boarding school because I never wanted to leave home. I wanted to be a day student because my primary school friends always described boarding school as secondary hell.

While Mum, Dad and I waited my turn, I took style to ask to use the toilet just to get a chance to wonder around a bit. I wanted to find a lot of faults in this place, enough to convince my parents not to bring me here.

Except for the fact that most of the students I saw looked as unhappy as I did, I didn't find much.

That was when I saw him. A boy about my age then.

He seemed lost, shuffling backwards as he moved, but he didn't look like he minded being lost. In truth, he looked like he'd rather be lost than anything else.

Then he sensed my eyes on him and turned around.

Instantly, I thought he looked like Porky the pig.