Loving Me

Chapter 8

Thank God, we've arrived.

Slowly, the car cornered around the open gate and came to a stop in the mansion's driveway.

I don't know why Mrs Johnson, the woman who offered me accommodation had insisted on picking me up from Mama B's shop, it doubled my debt to her and it tripled when I couldn't even hold a conversation with her successfully. She commented at everything just to try to keep a conversation with me, but I couldn't bring myself to say something. I wasn't comfortable talking to adults. Heck, I wasn't comfortable talking to anyone. I wouldn't know the right words to use.

She had been looking at me as if I was crazy, I think that was because a smile was my reply to her every question and statement.
Even if I was going to start making relaxed conversation, I don't think it would be with an adult stranger.

I stole another quick glance at her again. Almost everything on her spelt  fake, especially her long lashes. Her light skin tone was just too awry that I was certain that creams would take all the credit for it. Her wrinkled face was over-caked with foundation, then a bright red lipstick highlighted her small lips.

I couldn't help but compare her to Maami. I imagined Maami dressed like this and I laughed internally. She  would look stupid and odd.

With the make-up, Mrs Johnson looked childish to me, she didn't look like a mother, just a mummy.

To me, the former meant a woman who is ready for motherhood, someone who had a sound training both from parents or guardians and experience, and wants to pass it down to an offspring, while the latter just meant a woman who has someone that calls her 'Mummy'. Their role was just to be the vessel that brought a child, they saw nothing wrong with most things as long as it suited them and their thinking faculty can be likened to that of their offspring.

I jumped to that conclusion about Mrs Johnson because the only thing that made me know she old was the wrinkles on her skin and the lines that etched on her face due to worries just like Maami's, but hers didn't vanish when she laughed.

Anyways, she was beautiful.

She was also flashy, but still beautiful.

She dropped from the car and I followed suit. She struggled with one of my bags that had a ripped out handle, and in that moment, I became conscious and ashamed of the bags.

Ghana must go bags.

She finally got a grip around it and hauled it out, I carried the remaining two and followed her in.

When I got inside, she was already sitting on a sofa, her fashion slippers flung a mile away from her feet.

I looked around the house and my jaw dropped open internally.

The house decorations, ranging from the large curtains down to the king sized chairs, flower vases, funitures, fashion rugs were all attention seekers.

What got the most of my attention was the house's walls, or should I say its painting. They were a spotless white. I don't think it was painted in white, it was as if the bricks were built as white because there there was no blunder, as tiny as it could be. Just smooth white walls.

My heart fluttered at the thought of me living here.

"Welcome to my abode." She said, pride glinting in her eyes.

Of course, it's something to be proud of.

She looked around the house and I pretended to do the same until my eyes got stuck to a large painting on the wall.