There she was. Strolling along the lonely street with no sense of direction. Her mind was occupied with deep thought and the desperation to find answers to the cause of her disgruntled state. After an hour of dread walking, she decides to walk into The Small Italian Cafe, finds a table for one, and signals the waitress for a menu. Decisions to make, if only she had the liberty to make her own. 'Coffee please, strong, black, no sugar' she says, blankly staring at the young woman standing in front of her, with an apron neatly tied around her waist and a little notebook in her hand. She looks young, mid-20s, short-hair, brown eyes, fair skin, round face, average height and moderate size. She's beautiful. 'Excuse me mam, is that all?', she's been staring at the girl all along, analyzing her appearance. She nods and Lethy, the new waitress, scurries away. Her eyes shift to the window. Little droplets of rain are racing along the glass. The street lights come on, its getting dark. She then gazes at the her Minx watch, its only 17:13 pm, she still has an hour left before the pensioners come for her. Lethy the waitress is back. She places a napkin next to the small cup and saucer, asks if that will all again, and scurries to the kitchen again. Not many people dine in this cafe, but it's always been her favorite spot. The serene and warm atmosphere, makes it an ideal spot for the anti-social. The walls are pale-grey, standard mix of small glass tables, a good mix of green and white chairs. Bob Acri's classics are on the play list this evening. The owner, Signore Rossi, died two-years ago and left the business to his eldest son, Romeo. He's never around, its his younger sister, Anne, who runs the business. Had it not been for her, the business would have gone beneath the rafts a month after their father passed on. Romeo was reckless- a highschool drop-out, who spent most of his days on the couch, playing video games or drinking away his sister's hard work. A thirty-five year old boy, that's what they all called him. No dreams, no hope.
Its 17:50. Time flies when one is contemplating. She signals Lethy again, this time for the bill. The coffee mug is still half full. Strolling towards the door, head-down, shoulders slumped. Stepping out, she bumps into a young man, a familiar face. 'I knew I would find you here', he says with a slight grin on his face. Sam and Mpho had been friends since toddler-hood. They did almost everything together growing up such as sneaking into Mrs Albert's backyard garden to pick her juicy, orange peaches. She would find them climbing down the tree, and chase them out of her yard with a broom-stick. They didn't care. Those days were less complicated, filled with life and laughter. They both attended the same primary and secondary schools, and when it was time to explore the big bad world, they were both accepted into the University of Cape Town. Mpho the psychologist and Sam the medical doctor. 'What's wrong", grin suddenly changes to concern. 'Nothing, the pensioners are coming today, I'm going home', she says as they both head south towards Greenway Apartments. Mpho never understood how, whenever she felt like her world was tumbling down, it was her best friend who was always there to pick up the pieces. He was always there in perfect timing, as if he watched over her and knew every moment that she needed a shoulder to cry on. She trusted him, but not with this as she didn't know how he would react to her truth.
They stop at the gate, his eyes pierce through her soul, "You're lying, I know you too well. You're biting your upper lip and you only do that when you're deep in thought. Out with it". Mpho sighs heavily and as she was about to pour out her frustrations, a black MercedeS-Benz M-Class ML 400 BE, pulls up in front of them. Her father steps out and greets Sam. He's alone, the other passenger seat is empty. No Mother. "Samkelo mfana wami, kuyaphileka?", he asks with a handshake. Her father was a very strict man, especially when it came to his 'little princess' having male friends but there was always an exception for Samkelo, he was like the son he never had, mostly because he had none. It was just Mpho, Refilwe and Dineo. The Dinangwe sisters: flawless, attractive and silver spooned. "Kuyaphileka Dinangwe", Sam replies. Her father seems excited to see her, I guess the Mother hasn't disclosed anything yet. She's has it planned out, Mpho's thoughts are on a rampage. "My baby, ziphi izimpahla zakho? We must get going. Samkelo awuzong' siza ndodana", says her father, walking past her toward the entrance door. He loved her dearly, simply because they had a lot in common, too much in common. They were both born in the same month, equally musically gifted, an eye for fine literature and were both born leaders. Mpho was an authoritarian, - always the girl in charge, in control. The commander in all situations- well, at least that's the life she tried to live out in school and with her friends. At home, things were different. They all walk into her apartment, bags are next to the door, she was ready to go home. Home, they say, is where the heart is, but for her, home was just another nightmare. Her father grabs her leapard-print Dolce and Gabbana suitcase, Sam gives her the 'Really now' look before taking her gym bag. She knows she's over packed for five days, but she's not bothered. The men walk out. She gazes around her living room, analyzing every nook and inch of the room, and walks towards the door. Before she locks up, the answering machine makes a shrieking sound and a voice comes through, "You can't just betray me like this, not after what happened, there's no escaping the truth!!!". Her head starts spinning. Her father's voice echo's from the lower stairs "Mpho, hurry up it's time to go!". She slams the door, locks and rushes down the steps towards the entrance. She hesitates before opening the door, he father isn't watching but Sam's eyes are narrowed. He's examing her until she shuts the front passenger door. "Usuyosala kahle Samkelo mfan'wami", he says. Sam nods his head and waves goodbye to the Dinangwes.
-TBC, Stay Liberal.
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