Friday

Never give up, it’s a phrase often spoken and engraved in us, well maybe in me. It is usually served with no terms and conditions. We have things close to our hearts but nothing makes one more eager to hold on, like love. Love is a catalyst for all that already exists within us, a drop of love can set even the most latent of characters to fire. In a moment, you realise your strengths and beauty. You have faith that may move mountains, well maybe just enough to endure a distance between two hearts.

Friday represents that end of a time, working time and unveils more time to rest. I dread Fridays, they represent time I would spend not showing you my love. I wave goodbye to  my friends and classmates knowing I face an emptiness so heavy. It waited in my room, ready to face me, while I plucked up the courage to face it, walking slowly towards my building. The greeting is cold as I open my room but there is a subtle hope that you will come in and change my fate. Loneliness caresses me as I watch my phone hoping to be pleasantly surprised. Every moment you spend not arriving feels like a fresh disappointment. I writhe in bed, fighting to keep the hope alive. I touch my phone to check if it might be on silent; it isn't. You hadn’t called and it is was not the phone's fault. I stare at it longer, hoping somehow it would transfigure into you. I take a nap, but fail to sleep and think maybe I will take a pain killer or two to help me.

Hours later, I am worn out with disappointment.  I am exhausted from hope and loneliness whispers “I told you so”. This cannot be love, a constant cycle of disappointment; I wait for sleep to rescue me from my anguish.  Asleep I feel no pain, you are too rude to visit my dreams too, but this way my pain is numbed for a few hours.

I wake up early the next morning, I carry on with life doing what I do : shopping, working, thinking about you. Suddenly I hear the phone ring and jump to the phone.

 “Is it Thandi?” I heard the guard through the receiver.

 “Yes”

“You have a visitor here”

“Ok, I’m coming”.

Suddenly I’m smiling, but I’m so angry. You late on your promise, but you here, you here to see me. I run down the stairs, as much as I want to slow down, my eagerness to see your face forces me to sprint down the flight of stairs.

 You sitting on the couch, you rise as you see me and I break out into a smile. I can feel how wide it is, but it doesn’t matter, I have been raw with you too many times before. I cannot hide my excitement, I am overcome with joy and want to enjoy you, all of you.

My brain remembers this is the umpteenth time you have broken a promise or been late on a promise, yet you continue to make more.

“Never again Babe”

“You know I hate making you feel that way”

“This is the last time, from now on…”

“I promise.”

 You make them in all sizes. Promises. All of a sudden the joy of seeing you is reduced to the pain that preceded it. Your refusal to share yourself with me fully minimises your aura. Your kiss turns stale on my tongue and you lips feel hard.

The idea of you is diminished by your presence; you are the opposite of your word. Your words slide so smoothly as you try to convince me yet again that your tardiness is no reflection on your affections for me. I fear my love is not making you a better man.

I listen to you drone, I shut it out, pleading with my heart to not believe what my ears were hearing.  My heart gives in and I crack a smile. I will believe one more time that you tried. I know it's not true, but no one watches me like you do and see me as a wonder. I’d say my beauty is quite ordinary but you see my features as though God took a little more time putting me together. In your arms I still feel like a goddess and fragile, at the same time. You reveal patience in me that has been lurking for so long, and release a sensual side of me that I have just discovered. I would happily die in our stillness, in your eyes and in my joy.

Those moments cost me a lot of Fridays. Loneliness and disappointment  became your best accomplice. The element of surprise grew faint as your words began to lack lustre. “I cannot come this weekend” I hear the words tumble through the phone. I believe nothing you speak, I hear you. I used to listen to you, now I hear you. Another promise of your arrival on Friday and my phone becomes my phone again, its guilt free, I do not suspect it of malfunction. I know your promises of you coming on Friday have no substance. A man of his word is trustworthy. You stole my Fridays; you stole the joy of seeing you. You waved the bliss of having you in my face like a mean kid on the playground and fate snatched it in my face.

So I left you, and got my Friday back along with all the other days I spent crying and wondering, sacrificing and organising. I took back Friday and sent you off with love.