Harare Review of Books

This story was submitted in response to an invitation from shonareads to unpublished Zimbabwean authors. Readers will be asked to vote for their favourite story in a Twitter poll on the shonareads Twitter account; the author of the winning story will receive a USD 100 Amazon voucher.

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Author: Miss L
About the author: I write to find or lose myself.
Story title: The One That Got Away…
About the story: I almost gave up on a once-in-a-lifetime type of love and this is how I imagine life would have turned out if I was the boy.

I had known she was my soul mate the moment I saw her. She looked tired, but the smile that cut her face into two held.
‘Long day?’ I asked, handing her a crisp $10 note. Her skin brushed against mine as she took the bill out of my hand, I expected to feel a surge of current from the contact.

‘Does it show?’, her voice was smooth, velvety, I wanted her to say my name.

I watched as she rang up my order. I let my eyes follow the arch of her neck, the soft curve of her chest and her elegant movements, the way her fingers only lightly brushed the keyboard.

She placed my order on the counter and smiled in dismissal. I couldn’t come up with anything else to delay my departure so I left, with a lump in my throat.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

‘Babe,’ my wife’s voice brings me back to reality, ‘are you done with that?’ I haven’t touched my dinner.

‘Yes, that was lovely. I’m going to catch up on some work.’ I say, kissing her on the cheek before heading for my makeshift office, I need the space.

My hands shake as I pour myself 2 shots of vodka. I could not have expected that seeing Dadiso again would have had this effect on me, 12 years later. She looked older but just as elegant in a red coat and black pumps.

She had never been the prettiest in any room, but I had loved her more than I had loved any other woman, even my wife, who was much more beautiful.

That afternoon, I recognized her first. ‘Dadiso!’ I exclaimed. Already feeling the pull she always had on me.

She looked up from her phone, tilted her head and looked me dead in the eyes.

‘Ben.’ It sounded like an accusation.

I remained silent for a while, not in the essence of not knowing what to say. On the contrary, we both knew exactly what to say. I could see her chest moving as she breathed, my breath instinctively synchronized with hers, like a soft, mellow Shostakovich waltz.

“I missed you”, I could not stop the words from coming out of my mouth. I had resigned to faith to do my part and reveal to her all the things I could not dare to tell her that afternoon when I let her walk away from me.

“You ended things,” she responded, unimpressed.

“I know, I am sorry. That was the biggest mistake of my life.”

She smiled, “I am sorry for you.” The words got me like a fist punch in my stomach, it was the way she made it sound. Like she was consoling me for a small mishap in which she was uninvolved – a broken plate perhaps. I hated to admit to myself as I stood there that the pain of her words was more intense than anything I had felt since she left. I felt alive again. Every feeling with Dadiso was euphoric, I felt everything, intensely.

“Can we sit and talk please?”, I pleaded, she had already turned to go.

“Buy me lunch tomorrow, FatFish,” she did not look back.

For a couple more minutes, I stood there, anger bubbling inside me. Why was she acting like we had not had our worlds so intimately entwined at a point that I had known when she was not okay even when she was not near me?

I finish my drink and head to our bedroom. Terry, my wife, is in the bathroom. I get into my side of the bed and turn off my lamp. When she joins me in bed, I pretend to be asleep already.

The next morning, she does not lay my clothes on the bed, between me and her, this is a signal that she is not happy with me about something. I feel an unreasonable annoyance with her for acting like a child instead of using her words to communicate. Dadiso had a tongue that refused the weight of any word, never one for performative silence.

The first time after we had sex, she got up, poured us both some water and casually quipped, “We are going to have to do that again, this time follow my lead. Leaving me unsatisfied will never be an option darling.’

At the time, I thought her rude and yet pulled to everything that was her. I wanted to experience her. I enjoyed watching her prepare dinner while she swayed to a jazz song, I wanted to take away her pain when her father died, settling instead for crying with her and cuddling her until she fell asleep. I loved the way she laughed loudly at 2 am, not caring that we lived on the 4th floor of an apartment building. She drove me crazy with desire every time she was wine-drunk and gave me a strip tease. I appreciated every time she held me in silence and gave me the gift of patience when I didn’t have the energy to share my stress in words.

I reach for the nearest t-shirt in my closet, hesitate and put it back. I settle instead for a white Armani button-down and Levi’s dark jeans. Satisfied with how I look and smell, I leave, relieved that my wife and kids have already left when I walk through the kitchen.

The mornings’ meetings drag, I cannot stop thinking about my lunch date later on. When finally, I am free a little after midday, I leave the office. At the restaurant, I get a table that has a full view of the entrance, I don’t want to miss her. I am a ball of nerves, what if she is a no-show? We did not exchange numbers; I just have to wait. I am looking over the menu when I feel the hairs at the back of my head stand, I look up and she is standing at the table, taking off her coat. She looks like a vision. I clumsily get up and go in for a hug before pulling her chair for her.

We silently go through the menu, our silences have always been comfortable, it feels like we never said goodbye. After our drinks come, I ask her how she has been. She gives me one of her stunner smiles and replies “Good, I have to go back to work at 2:30 pm.” The message is loud.

“Look, when I saw you yesterday, all these feelings and memories came back to me. I wish things had…I wish I had made a different decision. I am sorry, I should have just paid child maintenance to Terry instead of ending things between us.”

I pause, giving her a chance to say something, my arms are recklessly longing to embrace her. She keeps quiet so I continue.

“I love my family; I love Terry but I miss being in love. I miss being passionate about someone, about you. I feel dead inside, my life is routine.” My words are scaring me, why am I telling her this? What am I asking of her?

“Why are you telling me this Ben?” just like old times, she reads my mind.

“I am not sure,’ I scratch my head, “Maybe…I…I just terribly miss you.”

I don’t say what I want to ask her, I don’t see a wedding ring on her finger. She has not mentioned any husband. I am sure my head is not screwed on right now but I don’t care. That is the effect she always had on me, to live fully, to live recklessly, to live unafraid.

“I miss you too Ben,” for the first time since yesterday, I recognize the tenderness in her voice, “But you made a decision and hurt me deeply in the process. I was numb for months, then I started looking for you in every man I got with – and there were a lot of those.” She chuckles, and I wince.

H.E.R, Every kind of way, wafts into the air from the restaurant’s sound system. I feel my resolve to remain calm breaking.

“Dadiso”, I whisper. She holds up her hand to silence me.

“What we had was magic Ben, the 3 years with you were a fairytale until you decided you wanted to play the field and got someone pregnant. Then you chose her over me. Just like that, you undid my whole world. Dammit. I never wanted to forgive you. But looking at you now, I don’t feel anything, Ben. Nothing”.

I bite my lip until I can taste blood. I stare at my hands. Shaking. She finishes her drink and excuses herself. I know deep in my heart, that this woman is the woman I had been dreaming of when I was still a teenager secretly listening to Michael Bolton in my room.
‘When a man loves a woman, can’t keep his mind on nothin’ else, He’d trade the world, for a good thing he’s found.”