Lost & Found Innocence

LOST & FOUND INNOCENCE

  By Agnes Musa

  Copyright Agnes Musa 2012

  Chapter 1

  My name is Lisa. I don’t like to bathe. Basically, this is all because, were it not for time taking pity and begging on my behalf, I would have no skin left from mother’s body scrubbing as we speak.

  We grew up with fathers and mothers in homes.

  Then, people took matrimonial vows and meant every word.

  David grew up with both parents but, does he think enough to do what is right by his own child?

  No.

  Not only does David abandon a child. He deserts a woman. Me. And, take this from me, a man leaving doesn’t give you, patience. Or flair. Or panache.

  You get time. All the time in the world.

  Comes from building your lives around each other. One goes and you’re left, not hanging mind, as most people say, but hung.

  Hanging implies being supported, which means you could be rescued. Now hung, that’s really making sure that you’re done for.

  He left, meaning there was something wrong with my clothes, profession, hairstyle, mother, body odor, face, cooking, star, nails, aura, shoes, laugh, breath, performance in bed.

  Or choice of domestic help, genes, pet, hands, friends, brain, voice, underwear etcetera.

  My friends say so. They’re quite knowledgeable about such things.

  Please do excuse me. In my mind, preference is currently highly placed in favor of mopping, weeping, self-pity, over-eating or related activities.

  That’s why I’m looking at myself in the mirror. Nothing like the mirror in telling the truth.

  Don’t let your eyes take in more than the lingerie I’m wearing.

  People who venture out farther than they’re supposed to sometimes end up losing their way, even though they thought they were smarter and it probably looked like it at the time.

  My friends say so and one should listen to one’s friends. That’s why one has them.

  Incidentally, I recommend that you try the mirror thing; I mean you, the still loved and you too, the abandoned. The experience gives a pick up.

  Best one I’ve had in a while after adjusting to the shock of the flab that’s posing as my body.

  No matter, tomorrow is tea day! Tea is at Fournos on a Saturday.

  Please allow me to present my friends, Hope, Ruth and Trish. Thank you.

  After the embraces, kisses, brief update on children, we start off with new material acquisitions obtained between the last and current tea.

  It’s not a woman’s duty to worry about timing of purchases or finance.

  It also pays to remember that the very people we squander our lives striving to save money and care for, satisfy, satiate and pleasure, are the ones who leave marriage without a backward glance.

  Tea is served.

  As I’m sipping this delicious cuppa, allow me to pay tribute to culinary aces everywhere who create tarts, cakes, scones, soufflés, meringues, and tortes.

  There. I’m glad you afforded me time to do that, thank you.

  The usual concluding topic is ‘Men’.

  With our own excluded, this undoubtedly used to be the liveliest topic, that’s, before David left.

  We talked about married, single, younger, older, tall, short, thin, bald, big shoe-sized men, men with big hands, men who work in offices, factories, men with calluses on their hands, and those whose hands are manicured.

  We also spoke about men with throaty voices, with deep baritones, men with laugh lines, frightening biceps, mail, milk, postal and delivery men.

  Presidents, generals, directors, governors, - men with own livelihoods, on farms, in boats, crossing the Adriatic, the Atlantic.

  Men walking to the Arctic, deep sea divers, dessert riders, aviators, sportsmen, grounds men, big and small minded men, the accomplishing, the accomplished, the envied, the hated, the fancied, the dreaded, the fantasized about, the real and the ideal.

  David came home early each time he knew I was going to tea.

  He would hide behind a newspaper and raise a hand signaling he didn’t want to hear news of my day. You do know David, or you surely met before he left?

  Excuse me a minute. I’m told there’s a visitor to see me.

  It’s Natalie, my sister.

  Look at her!

  Doesn’t she look just fabulous?

  Unlike the last time we spent together. Then, Nat was drinking and irritable.

  Don’t be shocked that Natalie drinks beer. Women do.

  It was when Natalie saw a fly in the beer and decided to make an issue of it that things got out of hand.

  They don’t take kindly to drunken women who make noisy complains about flies in their beer at gambling complexes.

  After our unceremonious way out from the casino, we walked slowly to the taxi rank.

  I didn’t have a car then. David’s overzealous lawyer, the first one to deal with the divorce case, had seized my car.

  David fired him.

  This was after Ruth mentioned the shame of the car being taken. Mentioned it when they met, Ruth and David, when David was with his mates.

  Of course, David was livid and he did go on about it. Still, he did the right thing. The car was returned, the lawyer was fired; someone’s face was saved.

  That’s what counts.

  That day at the Casino, Natalie looked a bit on the ruffian side with her combination of beautiful Indian dress, earthy colors - brown, gold and green, and the man’s shoes she wore.

  Me? I was the usual.

  So we went home to the incomplete, huge, sprawling partially roofed simplex in a very choice neighborhood.

  Sitting on battered wicker chairs, we enjoyed a big roaring fire in the roofless kitchen bellowing out song, story or quarrel with vigor.

  A word here about the kitchen furniture. One doesn’t put designer fittings in a roofless kitchen.

  That came later, again thanks to David having prepaid the contractors before he left.

  Wow, good on you David!

  The routine was simple. I arrived home from work at five. Natalie and I went for a walk.

  On our return, there would be a fire, thanks to Mr. Alexander.

  Mr. Simon took care of the cooking.

  Do you know that some of the best dinners in life are enjoyed by accident?

  You can find yourself homeless once thrown out by a divorce motion, which becomes an accidental way of enjoying dinner by candle or moonlight.

  Here, we’ve to assume that you possess the mental stamina necessary to see homelessness as a temporary accident.

  It can happen.

  If one saw the lighter side to disagreeable situations, one could be pleasantly surprised by the lesson there’s in any predicament.

  It’s a matter of perception.

  I suppose that now is just about the right time to let you know that everything sensible I’ve and will say concerning human behavior is courtesy of my friend Trish.

  The heat came in gusts through the uncovered portions of the roof rendering sleep impossible. Did I mention that this was the period just after David left?

  The man didn’t waste time when it came to moving out.

  They never do, the ones who leave.

  Yet they waste so much of their time and yours in marriage, years and years of it. Only to decide they want out at some point.

  At which point it usually is not agreeable or convenient for you, but, do they care?

  Natalie refused to sleep alone so we shared the master bedroom. The woman adores me and I adore her for the intervals it’s possible to do so between two siblings who come one after the other, even when they’re mature
adults.

  Me: “You left your brain with Gift.”

  Natalie: “Really Lisa! Children live what they see. There happened to be plenty to see in that first house we lived in.”

  Me: “I remember the rows of brown structures, the sameness. Tiny yards. No fence. No electricity. No telephone, but dust! Loads and loads of it.” (Pause).

  Natalie: “Then there was the outside toilet.”

  Me: “How could I forget? It was scary to go to that toilet, especially at night.”

  Natalie: “You’re telling me? Why do you think I wet the blankets?”

  Me: “Mother believed you had a genuine medical condition.”

  Natalie: “If you call imagining the disappearing children that time a medical condition.”

  There was one boy who disappeared, a teenager. One boy.

  Natalie and I, all of our family and friends, their families and friends and the families and friends of the last mentioned group didn’t know the boy, his parents, his friends, or the families and friends of the boy’s friends, or the families and friends of the last mentioned lot.

  One boy disappeared, not all those children as Natalie put it.

  Now you know how legends are made.

  So, Natalie becomes my self-appointed advisor, cheerleader, counselor and confidante.

  People do that, self-appoint roles they imagine you need filled in your life.

  No one asks or takes hints that you don’t require the service. As long as you appear more advantageously positioned education wise, money wise, confidence wise or just look it, they hang around.

  Or marry you.

  In time, you believe in that person’s indispensability until they make you, a dependent, and then, they abandon you, like David did.

  But Natalie meant well. People who come to bother you after a man leaves do.

  Natalie: “I feel alone, not lonely. It must be the young things we saw hand in hand telling each other sweet little nothings when we went out for a walk. Did you see their expressions Lisa?”

  Me: “Where did we see them?”

  Natalie: “Don’t tell me you were brooding again! Lisa, it’s not healthy, not healthy at all. Those young things made me, miss, KMP”.

  Me: “Who or what is KMP?”

  Natalie: “Surely you remember KMP? You must Lisa, you know KMP.”

  Natalie looks at my face expectantly. I’m not in a good mood.

  You get to be like that when you play hostess to self- invited guests.

  Let me be nice. It costs nothing.

  KMP?

  I’m trying hard to put the initials to a face. Knowing Natalie, it’s a man. KMP?

  I don’t remember though I’m trying hard. Honestly.

  Observing Natalie’s face, I put on an expression that encourages a person to go on saying or believing what they want to, without your conceding absolute ignorance of the subject being discussed.

  Some people talk to you with the intention of getting their mind off their own troubles, trouble about other people’s lives. Mine.

  Natalie wants to have an audience, to clear me in her mind.

  People whose spouses left become good observers and listeners. My friends say so.

  Natalie: “KMP knew about fruit. He took time selecting what to harvest.”

  Me: “How come you made the grade?”

  Natalie: “What is it with you today? Lisa, David is old news. Best thing for you to do is get a move on with your life.”

  Me: “For a minute there I thought it was mother speaking.”

  Natalie: “Sweetheart, you need mothering.”

  Me: “Then put in an application for consideration. The position is filled by an incumbent with highly debatable efficacy.”

  Natalie: “It’s mean to talk like that about mother.”

  Me: “I’m surprised you defend her, you who doesn’t give a hoot about the woman.”

  Natalie: “My war with mother has nothing to do with you.”

  Me: “Then I strongly suggest we drop the subject.”

  Natalie: “Agreed. (Pause) KMP. You’re right about the grade Lisa. I’m nothing like his normal circle.”

  Me: “You’re any circle you chose to place yourself Nat. The next person is trying as hard to make an impression. Only the smart set barricades.”

  Natalie: “Ah, but there are decent and genuinely good people in this world Lisa. KMP happens to be one.”

  Me: “Those who harvest the cream of the crop come with faultless but oftentimes fake credentials.”

  Natalie: “Lisa, Lisa. Such bitterness! Love, nothing takes of another’s essence unwillingly. You hurt now because you allow it.”

  Me: “You think I would purposefully and knowingly invite pain Nat?”

  Natalie: “I’m not saying you do, just that you should move on with your life, that’s all.”

  Me: “You make it sound like it’s easy. Well, its not."

  Natalie: "I know."

  (Changing subjects abruptly)

  Me: "Tell me about KMP.”

  Natalie: “Him, yes. KMP knew the art of savoring. He took his time picking, never too ripe, nor soft. Said it’s foolish to pluck fruit if one didn’t have time to enjoy.

  Strawberries were his favorite, the way he kneaded the coarse bits until they became pliable, gently pressing the juice to come out.

  Sometimes he licked, to get the flavor.

  Other times, it was the fork.

  KMP’s chewing was never hurried. For him, strawberries could be eaten many, many, times with varying accompaniments.

  His only flaw, he was a connoisseur without a heart.”

  KMP? KMP? The initials don’t ring the slightest tinkle of the recognition bell they’re supposed to.

  Thus Natalie and I spent a lot of time together, the first in years.

  A man leaving gives you entertaining options.

  No spouse to rush to go and share the room with the bed with. I suppose I could move the bed to any of the other rooms or the lounge?

  Best not. People talk.

  Not that they’re not doing so already, but feeding every microscope within the surrounding grapevine route is not my idea of a productive life.

  And so, we sat by the fire, Natalie and I.

  Night sounds, the cold beautiful moon.

  Birds, crickets, an occasional dog bark.

  Far off sound of passing cars. Silhouettes. Outstretched hands. Fascinating shadows. Fire on our faces.

  Silence.

  It’s possible to abandon life’s cares for a while.

  Reminds me of my New Year resolutions; to own a couple of hammocks, make time to read, be a better person, caring parent, good woman and worthwhile friend.

  One has to start the year on a positive note especially if the ground under one’s feet has been literally swept off by no other than David.

  To think how differently, honorably and gallantly he did it the first time!

  We had a whirlwind romance, David and I.

  Did the rounds of theaters, matinees, festivals, cultural galas, the lot. Marriage, a son - father’s carbon, work promotions, late nights.

  The more materially endowed we became, the busier our lives seemed.

  We slowly drifted.

  You don’t notice such things when they happen. It sort of creeps upon you.

  I mean, honestly, if you’re busy living your life, how can you’ve time to evaluate it?

  We looked happy enough.

  David had approached intimacy terms with the ultimate symbol of success. Our lifestyle was testimony to this.

  Ten years together. I never knew how much money David had, where it was or exactly how he made it.

  It was a bleeding point with David that I chose to work.

  True, he provided everything but there’s this thing about wanting to make and hold your own earned cash, and then spend without sanction.

  I couldn’t make David understand the feeling.
Nonetheless, he accepted it.

  The lukewarm bedroom scenario was no different from the norm and my mood swings were usual.

  Still, David left.

  Brings to mind a courtship time conversations we had, David and I.

  Please understand that I’m not thinking about David. I simply remember conversations, verbatim.

  It happens.

  You remember words spoken fourteen years ago, what David wore, the expression on his face, the tilt of his head.

  Me: “What would you do if I hurt you badly?”

  David: “Depends on whether or not you do it on purpose.”

  Me: “Would you hurt me on purpose?”

  David: “No. If I ever hurt you, it will never ever be intentional.”

  Another one.

  Me: “Would you tell me if you knew you no longer love me?”

  David: “That day will never come.”

  Me: “It could come.”

  David: “To you maybe, not me. I want you to know that, always.”

  And yet another.

  Me: “What is it that you want in a woman David?”

  David: “A person who takes time to know, understand, value, and appreciate me.”

  ***************