My instagram Love - Season 1 - Episode 63

4 years ago

My instagram Love - Season 1 - Episode 63

08:39 PM.

I arrived at the front gate of a big house. After honking three consecutive times, I picked up the official phone I’d been given for the taxi business, placed a call through to the customer and informed him that I was already outside, waiting for him. He said: “Hold on. I’ll be at your spot in a jiffy.”

After a formal response of “Alright.”, and a soft mumble of “No problem, sir!”, I terminated the call and dropped the phone back in the compartment of the dashboard. I turned off the car radio, turned on the air conditioning and relaxed on the comfy seat, expecting the arrival of the last passenger. I was still waiting like a patient dog when I felt a rapid vibration in my pocket, followed by the sound of a notification. I dipped my right hand into the exact pocket the buzz came from, took out the phone and realized that it was an SMS from Coco. Smiling like a contented father and mother who had both been blessed with a child after so many years of barrenness, I clicked on the text message icon and read its content in a whisper:
“Hey, apple-head. Time’s ticking. Don’t be late, man!”

I read it the exact way she would’ve said it if we were face to face, and the thought of her mature voice addressing me as ‘apple-head’ made me giggle and wag my head funnily.

However, I texted back: “I won’t be late. One more passenger to go and I’ll be at your doorstep in the twinkling of an eye. Do you miss me already?”
I assumed she’d reply after a decade, but she proved me wrong by answering with another SMS under 35 seconds: “Rest your thumbs and drive, dude. I’ll see you around. Take care of yourself for me, Apple.”
“You too, Coco.” I texted back, giggling. “Happy birthday once again. May happiness, strength and laughter never run dry in your life.”

“AMEN, AMEN AND A BIGGER AMEN!” Her third message came in — all words in the first sentence written in caps — making a reference to the same words I had said on the day I first visited her at home. “I receive it, Prophet Kennedy! Fire, fire, fire!”
I started to type another message amid laughter: “You this woman – I doubt if you’ll ever change. Honestly texting, you are such a weird character, Lola. A clown dat’s even more clever than I am. Dat’s one of the reasons why I love you the same way G–”
All of a sudden a distant noise from the gate startled me. I flinched and stopped laughing at once, peering to see what it was. At last, someone walked out of the gate. I saw the same person coming towards the car. Hurriedly, I continued typing from where I stopped: “…God loves us all. Oh, well, I see someone coming. I’ve got to go, Coco. We’ll vibe better when we get to see each other soon enough. Have some more patience. You know I won’t let you down.”
“Nor will I.” Her final message came in with the second sentence in caps this time around. “DRIVE SAFE! DON’T DRINK AND DRIVE! LIFE HAS NO DUPLICATE!”
Undoubtedly, Lola was a woman of substance and a big-time joker—a competent one at that. I laughed it off, sighed, and dropped the phone on the surface of the dash. When I took another look out the car window, I saw the man standing close to the car already, pulling the car door handle by my right. Right then and there, the passenger got into the car and took the back seat, breathing fast and heavily. I could see his reflection through the mirror. He was brown-skinned and bearded; wearing a black cap, a green jacket, a black sleeved shirt under the jacket, and a pair of deep blue shorts and white flip-flops. He was a good-looking man for sure, but he didn’t look too good at the moment. He looked angry, frustrated and tired.

For a start, I greeted him: “Good evening, sir.”

“Evening.” He languidly answered, looking out the window. “Sorry I kept you waiting. I had to patch things up before coming.”
“That’s not a problem. It’s okay.” I said and turned on the ignition, still looking at his reflection in the mirror. “Is everything alright with you, sir?”
He wagged his head to indicate ‘no.’
“Would you care to share your thoughts, sir?”

He wagged his head again in the non-affirmative.

“There’s a saying that two heads are better than one, sir.” I tried to convince him, harboring a lot of empathy for the sad stranger. “A problem shared is a problem half solved. Don’t you think so?”
“I don’t think so.” His voice was so low I could hardly hear what he was saying. “Can you just drive?”

It was crystal clear that he wasn’t willing to discuss about his troubling thoughts with me, and I had no intention of aggravating his worries either, so I decided to let him be. I was about to place both hands on the steering wheel when I saw the reflection of the passenger taking off his customized cap and his wristwatch; thereafter he took off the sleek green jacket and that was when it dawned on me that the man had a disability—a missing arm.