My collection of sad stories

Secret Santa

Jane sat for the three hour drive from Portharcourt to Warri, a bag of plantain chips stuffed in her leather hand bag, a brand new headset hanging around her neck, and a Mario Puzo novel opened on her lap. She looked out the freshly cleaned window of the mini bus, inhaling the chilly harmattan air. A brief smile tugged her glossy lips as she spotted a short bald man by the busy roadside, his shouts for people to patronize him, rising far above other clothes vendors.

He held up a jiggling Christmas bell, a red satchel wrapped about his broad shoulder as he danced and did a few acrobatic displays to attract passersby to his new in seasonal collectibles. Jane silently watched him, chuckling as he unbuckled his crazy jean and pulled it down, showing the world his tight red boxers. Her belly rumbled as she tried to hold in her laughter, the man was indeed crazy, parading the bustling streets in just a white singlet and pants pulled down to his ankle.

Other passengers in the half full bus that had been leaning or stretching their necks to watch the comic show openly laughed, the corners of their eyes crinkling. No one could fathom why the guy was acting the way he was. Pinning it on good cheer, Jane pressed her back onto her seat, heaving a deep sigh. Thinking she heard a loud cry some distance away, she turned but saw nothing. The minute her head bent to catch some sleep, a loud bang sounded on the window, startling her.

It was the mad man. Or the crazy one, whichever one chose to believe. Jane took a quick look at the crazed expression on his pimpled face, her brows creased. He slapped a white cardboard paper on the window, his breathing noisy. She inched back to read the red cursive, blood drained from her face, her jaw slackened. The bus driver frantically ordered for his door to be closed, letting no one in. The passengers fell silent, speaking only in hushed tones.

Mr Ola, the aged driver, started the car, pushing it into drive. Jane was shaking visibly, her palms clammy with sweat and her heart thudding against her ribcage. She could hear subdued voices in the background, thick bile clogged her throat. Cold sweat had broken out on her forehead, her lips trembling ever so softly. Someone tapped her arm, galvanizing her from her deep reverie.

"Hey, are you okay?" He asked worriedly, his light skin glowing like the yellow sun. Jane gave a curt nod, swallowing hard. The guy offered a polite smile, settling the frame of his medicated glass on the bridge of his slim nose. "Never mind that, the dude is bat shit crazy. People's madness these days," he mitigated, reflecting over something before holding out a hand.

"I'm Mark." The corners of his lips twitched, his brows rose suggestively. The moment Jane shook his hand, a slight shiver ran through her. She retracted so fast, Mark frowned.

"Are you alright?" He inquired, concern lacing his tone.

"I think so," she muttered, wedging herself between two seats to pick her novel from the floor. She was still shaken up, anxious knots tightening in her stomach. Mark breathed, turning to face the police barricade ahead. Jane brushed dust from the front cover, slipping the book into her bag.

"Merry Christmas in advance," Mark resumed, making her chortle.

"Merry Christmas to you too." She cracked a nervous smile, her heart stopped, thudding away like the ferocity of jungle drums. "I'm sorry but that got to me. I'm Jane. Are you ummm, traveling for the holidays?"

Mark considered a flimsy thought, grabbing his cherry red backpack. "Hey, the seat next to you isn't taken right?" He seemed queasy, judging from a slight crack in his deep booming voice.

"Of course not," Jane drawled, making room for him as he resumed the empty space, getting comfortable. Despite the space between them, she could feel his warmth wrap her in an embarrassing cocoon.