LOVE BINDS. PART THREE: COINS HAVE MORE THAN TWO SIDES 2

“May I sit with you?” a voice pitched up out of nowhere and took me out of my misery. “I don’t sit with strangers” was my only response, a rude one, but a response all the same. I was trying to figure out if her voice took me out of my misery or just added to it. I just had a fight with my long-time best friend, one I wasn’t sure we would recover from, and then I had to deal with unwanted attention. She deserved the rudeness.

“Oh! I apologise.” she spoke up again. Nothing about her tone was apologetic. Deep breath, stay calm. I looked up at her and she was smiling, a gorgeous smile. It was contagious. I smiled back.

“I knew there was some happy in you” she continued. “My name is Kundabene.”

“Ish…mael” I stated slowly, not sure if I was pleased or speaking out of irritation, no- actually I was confused. I felt warm and fuzzy like a grammar nerd at some well-written prose. My butterflies got butterflies. I was delighted at her name. It was different, I was curious. I wanted to ask its origin, and meaning and etymology and nomenclature and…

“See, we aren’t strangers anymore” her voice, again. Yup! I was definitely irritated. Her voice had this pitch to it that was hardly pleasant to hear. Unlike her smile. Her smile drew me in, it demanded me to look at her and get sucked in. I stared.

The bartender kept the rounds coming while Kundabene and I kept talking, oblivious to how drunk we were both getting. We spoke about everything and nothing. Her smile kept sucking me in, and boy did she smile a lot and she asked a lot of questions too. She was like an attorney during cross examination, just kept going and going and going on with the questions.  

A pair of red and black heels appeared, not stiletto high but heels all the same, the feet sat in them comfortably and walking towards us was a woman who knew how to walk in heels. She was gliding towards us, making it look effortless. Her dark blue jeans made her look like she was the mannequin in the factory they made them in. Pink jacket, also well fitted with sleeves just the right length, leading down to the well-manicured nails and…no ring, yes I noticed the bare ring finger. The screaming of the women had me swirling slightly in my seat. Suddenly it felt like I was in the middle of a college reunion but a clear look revealed- just two women. How could two women scream so loudly that bar noise and music was drowned out? My quiet night out plans were trashed but at least I was drunk. Was it a sign, a sign that one shouldn’t fight with their best-friend?

“Oh! My! Wow! Mwila-An, somebody spilled gorgeous all over you girl. Look at you!” Kundabene squealed. Mini model walk, three-sixty degrees turn, double sided hugs and flying invisible kisses were exchanged and more screaming. I sat there awkwardly transfixed. She said Mwila-An. I was confused. The body shape looked like Bison but, no way! In a pink jacket? It didn’t add up. Maybe I am drunk. I thought. They looked around for a table and Kundabene made an attempt at introducing us. Funny situation. What do you do when someone introduces you to someone who has been your best friend for a lifetime? I decided to optimise the awkward exchange.

“Hello Mwila-An, I am Ishmael and I was a jerk earlier today.” I said and extended my hand.

 Kundabene’s face showed confusion but the story was too good for her too interrupt. Bison looked like she was trying to decide if she’d forgiven me or not. She refused to shake my hand. I couldn’t take chances. In that moment I decided I wasn’t ready for reconciliation.

“I should go.” I said, not giving Bison a chance to make her decision. I staggered out and they never stopped me.

Silence reigned as the two ladies sat facing each other.

“Mwila, and that?” Kundabene finally said. “Are we done pretending that didn’t happen?”

“Remember I mentioned a friend in Kenya?” Bison started to explain.

“Childhood friend? The one who dated the white chick Samantha?” Kundabene was starting to get excited. The story seemed juicy already.

“Ladies and gentlemen…. my friend Ishmael.” Mwila-An added dramatically, “We had a fight this afternoon.”

“So your fight was about her, huh?” Kundabene wore a smirk as she asked.

Bison shifted in her seat, a little uncomfortable. They had been friends for a while but sometimes she hardly knew how to express herself to 'Bene. She wondered if she'd be misunderstood if she attempted to be entirely honest, as honest as she was with Ishmael. Kundabene knew a side of her but not the side that Ishmael knew.

“You know”, Mwila-An began, “I think the shock of his existence is that I'm capable of all that girly randomness we just pulled off, and that I have a female friend as close as you.”

“And because you look gorgeous and there's not a hint of sneakers on you.” Kundabene cut in.

Mwila-An chuckled. “Yup. Especially that, he has been absent through my transformation...”she paused, thoughtfully. “And we didn't fight about her, we fought…” She got a familiar piercing feeling in her chest. She'd only felt emotional hurt translate into physical pain with two people- her father, when she threw soil onto his casket and Ishmael.

“We fought as a result of her. Because of her, he was uncomfortable and I was persistent. He hated it so he turned it around. He refused to tell me the story. Honesty is our thing but he flat out refused. I doubt that he's over her entirely. Someone should tell him to swallow his pride, it's fat-free.” She stopped again as she was starting to get worked up about the whole episode that afternoon. “I just wish he'd given me the chance to...”