Musing; A Dose of Love
She had lost steam. She was exhausted. She wanted to sleep. All that venting had drained her. She didn't know she had so much bottled inside her. Could that be responsible for the headaches she had been having?
She had been insomniac in the past number of months. The doctor tried sedating her. She went through three cycles of sedating but every night, her eyes were adamant not to close in sleep. It was affecting everything about her. Her body functioning was not optimal.
What could she do to please him? She decided to cook something special. Someone had told her that if you lovingly cooked a meal, those that partook of it could taste the love in the food. So, she put herself in a good head space and went to the market. She knew he likes snails, so she bought live snails. She disliked snails. Disliked their sliminess, but she would cook snails for him from the scratch. She got plaintain, the soft type he liked, vegetables, she spared no cost in gathering the ingredients. Then she headed home.
Four hours later, she was done. She had cooked stew and two different soups. The poor snails had lost their lives in a pot of sauce. They were her propitiation for whatever she might have done wrong. She was sweating. She looked at the time, she had a few minutes to dash into the bathroom and make herself ready for him. She was going the whole hog. By the time she heard his characteristic bang on the door, she was ready. That special scent she reserved for him alone was now sweetly hanging over her. She peeked in the mirror and smiled. She liked the end result.
She opened the door, he walked in, nodded at her and grumbled a greeting. She refused to be deterred. She gave him the warmest smile she could muster at that time and asked how his day had been. He replied in one word and proceeded to the bedroom. She left him. She had learnt to give him some room to unwind and settle into the change of environment after work. She was dancing around the kitchen, making sure everything was fine. When she asked to serve him, he nodded. She had gotten a tray, just for him, from the market. She dished out the food and took it to him. Just as she was setting it down, she looked at his face. Wrong move.
He had a scowl on his face. He had not even touched the food and he was scowling? What could have gone wrong? He picked up the spoon, scattered a portion of the food, then took a little and hesitantly put it to his mouth. She waited. He looked at her then told her she tried but . . . She didn't hear the remaining. She blanked out. What but? But what? She had cooked that food with an overdose of love, as the main ingredient. She had served him with plates she didn't use for any other person. She had even got a special tray for him. Carefully, she had measured the salt, tasting for quantity at different points. She wasn't an award winning chef, but she knew she cooked well above average. He just seemed not to like anything she did. He didn't talk to her. He just carried the tray back to the kitchen. He came out and told he had rice for lunch. She saw red! But she had called to ask what he would like to eat. He said he would eat whatever she prepared. Was it too much for him to have mentioned at that time that he had rice for lunch?
She wasn't one that cried easily. But her life with him had unlocked her tear ducts. And they generously opened up at that moment. The next time he emerged from the kitchen, he had a bowl of soaked cassava granules in one hand and a saucer with the snail in the other. He said he liked the snail. She got up and went as far away from him as she could, the bedroom. Why did he hate her so much? What had she done that she was now paying for? Whatever she might have done, his coldness was breaking her. It was killing her.
She turned to Guy. "Please, hold me", she begged him. She was shivering. Guy lowered the level of the air conditioner. She looked like a little girl. This was not his babe, this was a beaten and defeated little girl. He was moved to tears but he knew his tears would not do her any good in that situation. So he moved close to her, as close as the space in the car would allow and pulled her close. She laid her head on his shoulder and wet his t-shirt with a steady flow of tears.
She had been insomniac in the past number of months. The doctor tried sedating her. She went through three cycles of sedating but every night, her eyes were adamant not to close in sleep. It was affecting everything about her. Her body functioning was not optimal.
What could she do to please him? She decided to cook something special. Someone had told her that if you lovingly cooked a meal, those that partook of it could taste the love in the food. So, she put herself in a good head space and went to the market. She knew he likes snails, so she bought live snails. She disliked snails. Disliked their sliminess, but she would cook snails for him from the scratch. She got plaintain, the soft type he liked, vegetables, she spared no cost in gathering the ingredients. Then she headed home.
Four hours later, she was done. She had cooked stew and two different soups. The poor snails had lost their lives in a pot of sauce. They were her propitiation for whatever she might have done wrong. She was sweating. She looked at the time, she had a few minutes to dash into the bathroom and make herself ready for him. She was going the whole hog. By the time she heard his characteristic bang on the door, she was ready. That special scent she reserved for him alone was now sweetly hanging over her. She peeked in the mirror and smiled. She liked the end result.
She opened the door, he walked in, nodded at her and grumbled a greeting. She refused to be deterred. She gave him the warmest smile she could muster at that time and asked how his day had been. He replied in one word and proceeded to the bedroom. She left him. She had learnt to give him some room to unwind and settle into the change of environment after work. She was dancing around the kitchen, making sure everything was fine. When she asked to serve him, he nodded. She had gotten a tray, just for him, from the market. She dished out the food and took it to him. Just as she was setting it down, she looked at his face. Wrong move.
He had a scowl on his face. He had not even touched the food and he was scowling? What could have gone wrong? He picked up the spoon, scattered a portion of the food, then took a little and hesitantly put it to his mouth. She waited. He looked at her then told her she tried but . . . She didn't hear the remaining. She blanked out. What but? But what? She had cooked that food with an overdose of love, as the main ingredient. She had served him with plates she didn't use for any other person. She had even got a special tray for him. Carefully, she had measured the salt, tasting for quantity at different points. She wasn't an award winning chef, but she knew she cooked well above average. He just seemed not to like anything she did. He didn't talk to her. He just carried the tray back to the kitchen. He came out and told he had rice for lunch. She saw red! But she had called to ask what he would like to eat. He said he would eat whatever she prepared. Was it too much for him to have mentioned at that time that he had rice for lunch?
She wasn't one that cried easily. But her life with him had unlocked her tear ducts. And they generously opened up at that moment. The next time he emerged from the kitchen, he had a bowl of soaked cassava granules in one hand and a saucer with the snail in the other. He said he liked the snail. She got up and went as far away from him as she could, the bedroom. Why did he hate her so much? What had she done that she was now paying for? Whatever she might have done, his coldness was breaking her. It was killing her.
She turned to Guy. "Please, hold me", she begged him. She was shivering. Guy lowered the level of the air conditioner. She looked like a little girl. This was not his babe, this was a beaten and defeated little girl. He was moved to tears but he knew his tears would not do her any good in that situation. So he moved close to her, as close as the space in the car would allow and pulled her close. She laid her head on his shoulder and wet his t-shirt with a steady flow of tears.
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