BEAUTY AND BRAINS

The first time I saw Patricia, I was gladly on lunch break. Was I happy that hour, my boss was always on everyone’s neck. There she was, in a timeless, burgundy sleeveless dress her mother gave to her on her twenty-third birthday accompanied with the words, “Wear this clothe with dignity.” Indeed, Patricia wore the dress with dignity that day, or so I thought. She was radiant, and the sun was at its peak. It had rained the day before, but the sun shone for Patricia the next day. The roads were clear as well, and cars zoomed off as usual, nothing queer. I saw Patricia just after I strode out the company gate. She was across on the other side of the express about to cross. The zephyrs the speeding cars produced made her cotton dress flutter which also added to the appeal she effused. I was meant to go left because that was the way to the fast food joint I frequented during lunch, but not a chance in hell was I going to let go an opportunity as the one that glared me right in the face that afternoon; Patricia.

She crossed the two-lane expressway, and I walked up just at the right speed to meet her as she climbed my side of the road. I wonder how she was able to cross in all that glare without being hit by one of those perverted and high truck or tanker drivers. I imagined one of the truck drivers that sped down the express moping at her and pressing the accelerator involuntarily, and poor she crossing and confident he was still far away not knowing her beauty caused additional speed. What beautiful mess that’ll cause? I tugged myself back to reality. Alas she crossed safely! Whatever happened to the overhead bridge.

She had landed on the sidewalk, and I was right in time. The breezes flailed her dress once more in such a way it clamped her behind, limning her buxom shape. My heart ceased a bit at this discovery. I wondered why she was still facing the road, ‘Hadn’t she got enough of road-crossing, or did she really want to encounter that perverted truck driver I thought about?’ I thought.

“Hi,” I broke the scenery.

She turned abruptly and uttered a similar “Hi”.

“Are you lost, where are you going to? I saw you crossing the express. If there’s somewhere you’re looking for at this side I can show you, no need to cross back.”

“Thank you, I’m not lost,” she replied. I stepped up and I was on the curb with her.

“Do you want to cross back, to where you just crossed from?” I asked, sliding my hands into the pockets of my pants. The crease made me feel as urgent as my questions.

“Bosun and Sons Limited. Someone described the place to me, but it seems it’s not here. I’d cross back and ask again.”

The logic of Lagos women baffles me. She wanted to cross to the other side to ask again as if people were not on this side. Wow.

“I know BAS, and it’s on this side. You should have just asked. What’s you name?”

“Patricia.”

She looked at me with eyes of worry, and at that moment she looked even more beautiful. “You’re beautiful,” I said, and she smiled. Her smile reminded me of my sister; that same smile that made you forget the background and sink into the smiler’s lips. A moment to cherish indeed. I showed her where she wanted to go and I also got her number. I thought of having her right there on the sidewalk, in the open, but I thought of so many other impossible things that day.

On my couch the next day, dreaming up where and how we’d meet, I finally garnered the decorum to make a simple unthoughtful call.

“Hello, Patricia…”

We eventually chose to meet at Mr. Biggs the day after, perfect, being a Saturday. I missed her voice.

The engine revved for the last time and I killed it. She wore skinnies and a stripped short-sleeved collared blouse. I made sure I was behind her as we walked to the door, I wanted as much as possible to get a good view of her curves, you know, something to electrify the mood. And she flaunted it as well. She chose to order a meat pie, ice cream, sausage row, and after she was done with that she ordered a full plate of fried rice with half chicken, and so many other unnecessities. I was flummoxed by her cravings, and my bewilderment wasn’t money related, I just never imagined a peach her figure would be so rapacious.

We finished up and headed out. In my humble and almost ramshakled Toyota Camry, she began talking of how her future husband must own latest model Jeeps, and how my car won’t do, and how she had been picked up by men, and on she went. I knew all that food would do no good, but women always get what they want, somehow.

“Thank you for the outing sha, but I hope you know there’s nothing to it.” she said.

Guys, never expect much from a beautiful girl you meet in the open, no matter how endowed she is. And this is why.

We got to my place and she walked ahead as if in full control.

“So this is where you live?”

“Yea, the outside doesn’t look like much, but I manage. I have plans….”

“Open it.” She was the one giving the orders now. I didn’t mind, I just wanted to make quick work of her boobs and the ass I’ve been sizing throughout the day. We got inside, and after her belligerent ramblings I showed her my room.

“Look, you’re really beautiful, and I think we could really get to know each other more.” I said.

“Me, get to you know you more?” she guffawed, “So you think you’d catch me with that your keke and this tiny house? See, let me tell you, my real husband is waiting for me, a Lekki man, someone with so many Jeeps and marble floors and plenty houseboys. What do you think it is to maintain this skin, ehn? Money! Money! Shey you have seen beautiful woman and then just like that you want me to be loyal. The only man I’d be loyal to is my Lekki millionaire. You think I’m beautiful and you want to get to know me,” she guffawed some more and made for her handbag.

I don’t remember much after her derogatory speech, but I remember thinking, ‘Why are naturally endowed ladies this myopic and dumb?’ Then I blacked out.

I later found myself by my bed in my room, eating real brains that weren’t mine. There were scattered pieces in my mouth and handfuls in my palms. I regained consciousness, but I didn’t stop, I ate it all, bloody grey matter. I pictured myself an actual Z-zombie, but a more docile one. I licked after me.

And that’s how Chinenye, Priscilla,  Biola, and Dasola met the same bloody fate. I’m now chasing Kemi, she’s even more beautiful, and her brain should taste yummier, I’m sure.

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