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Literature, Short Stories

Hi-Tec!

 

‘Referee Miriam Mashangu stopped the bout, 27 hours and 38 minutes in the first round, and the winner, by way of knock-out, in the red corner, Judas “The Bastard” Baloyi’. That’s my feel good morning monologue; it’s a big day today. Most people never understood how I had it in me to memorize such a monologue and recited it at will, seeing that it’s a metaphor of my birth and of my mom dying right after giving birth to me through some ‘medical complication’. ‘By way of knock-out’ is what they all find unsettling and disturbing. They can’t seem to figure out the mockery in all of it, how could I be so heartless and speak so vigorously about my dead mom.

Well, it’s quite simple; I was born in a private hospital in Sandton to a 19 year old mother in 1987. My deceased mother hitch hiked to the nearest hospital by herself as she couldn’t be aided by anyone because it was a week day and anyone who could help was at work. I’d tell you where my father was if I knew, but that’s highly unlikely in any case, because not even my mom knew who he was. Now isn’t that something? But that is nothing. My mom spent 27 hours in labour, that’s roughly 13 hours of the day she got to the hospital and a further 14 hours of the next. After giving birth and dying in the process, I was only picked up later on in the day at around 10:30 pm. You probably wondering how I know all of this seeing that I merely weighed 3.8kg when I was born and that… for Pete’s sakes, I was a ‘BABY’, okay?! Well, I have one of those aunts that always come over, act all loving, eat a well prepared meal then ask for money from my grandma then leave. Once, while she was over, I made a joke out of it and she threw a tantrum then told me about the 72 hours that occurred of my birth. Quite chilling if I remember clearly, I didn’t know at age 11 that one could feel so much pain which was not inflicted by a stick at the hands of my grand’s. Furthermore, when I was picked up, my uneducated grand decided to name me Judas, a Biblical name. Of all the names inscribed in there, she chose the traitor that betrayed Jesus, now, isn’t THAT something? Worse, growing up, all I ever heard from my friends and associates was how my mom was a whore in her days; they were told this by the middle aged uncles that were teens during her time. My childhood was a nightmare. Only now does it hit me that my father may not really be ‘absent’, but around, I just don’t know it, and he does, but just chooses to stay away because he’s got a good thing going for him at this point in time; which makes total sense, but sickens me every time I think of it.

I grew anti-social; I read a lot and kept to myself during my last years of secondary schooling. I lost my virginity to my 3rd cousin who happened to be a real life wench. I always thought she felt sorry for me, but that didn’t make sense. If she actually felt sorry for me, then why would she sleep with me knowing well I’d never speak about it, seeing that we cousins or only that it’s just plain disgusting. Not that anyone would believe me, but everyone would co-relate my character with incest and see no fault in it all simply because I was ‘weird’ and that it probably suited people like me. Word came out, after she told a friend, who then told the helper at home, and so on and so on. I haven’t been to my uncle’s ever since, it’s been 4 years straight now, yes, 4 years of celibacy. 4 years of celibacy is probably nothing compared to the constant reminder of a joke doing rounds around the neighbourhood that I lost my virginity to my modern day mother. I swear on my life, as sadistic as this may sound after that joke, that was the greatest 8 minutes of my life, mother or cousin, it was heavenly.

So here I am today, aged 27, and my online girlfriend finally wants to meet and celebrate my 3 year anniversary of completing my A Level’s from the FET College I went to. I’m a clerk at a huge firm in town and live an average life; too average of a life to even mention. I bet drinking wine in the comfort of my cyber girlfriend speaking to me is the greatest pleasures of life before my pay cheque.

A year ago, I met up with an inquisitive young lady over the internet, she would pry on everything little thing I say, question all my intentions at something or just find a way to catch my attention. I let in one day, decided to take her on. If asking out a girl and making one your girlfriend was this easy all along, then I probably would have committed suicide before losing my virginity to my cousin. Not that she was my cousin, but I was 23 at the time and she was 17. I honestly cannot put it in more simpler words than that… Online relationships were new to me, how would I date someone and not kiss them regularly? Not touch and feel their presence? How do I not force a meet so early that she doesn’t lose interest? I wasn’t planning on leaving to be frank, she once told me of her sex fantasies, and what she had done before with other partners. What she had hated and what she had loved and wouldn’t mind doing them now. Although the fabricated sex life that I gave her of my experiences brought me to the realisation that she probably would have lied to me about hers too. The thought that we thought alike probably meant that she was dying to have sex just as much as I was. It was a match made in desperation.

For over a year now, we kept it online. On the eve of the 3rd anniversary of my graduation, she decided to surprise me with a meet offering – to me, it sounded like a ‘meat’ offering – so a date where meat was offered sounded just about right, Nandos it was.

‘Referee Miriam Mashangu stopped the bout, 27 hours and 38 minutes in the first round, and the winner, by way of knock-out, in the red corner, Judas “The Bastard” Baloyi’. That’s my feel good morning monologue; it’s now time to meet Pamela96.

I had seen her pictures before, so obviously I knew what I was getting myself into. Most of them were close ups, some she was in shorts or leggings or stockings, not quite sure what they were but I wasn’t expecting her to have either of both on tonight. I was 10 minutes late, when I got there, she was seated already. She was facing the door so I could get a clear view of how tall she was sitting or how big she was, but she looked proper slim when I got closer. She had her jacket over her chair seat and a white tight top on that gave shape to her 36CC boobs, I was in awe. Her beauty was the same, her pictures didn’t lie. I looked around the restaurant and saw several couples present so I guess I had got something right. Everything was perfect, Jesus had answered my prayers. Food was great, conversation was on point. This was magical; the weirdo bastard from the whore mom was finally making it.

She then excused herself to go to the bathroom. She stood up and slowly walked towards the bathroom. That. One. Second. That one second she moved across the room I glanced at her and back at her chair and made up my mind. I quickly paid the bill, left over R60 worth of a tip, ran out the restaurant knocking down a chair on the way, whistled the nearest taxi and headed back home. I never spoke to her ever again.

She had left her Uzzi brown & orange jacket on the chair. As she moved across the room, I spotted how she was dressed in her white tight top, blue colourless not to tight nameless jeans and white and navy blue Hi-Tec tekkies. Jeans and trainers, bloody hell!!


Written by @ZainahJag01 in 2014


Image source: etsy.com

 
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