EXCERPT There was the rushing sound of cold air pulling past her face and ears and
nothing more. Her ears paid attention only to the music of her heart beating
fast, felt the throb in her arms and thigh muscles as she jogged along the
gardened pathway of the park in the suburban neighbourhood of Coaster Grove.
Her name was Tamia Ronan, and this was her doing her every day morning
jog through her usual early morning route. She was in her early thirties, tall,
with striking good looks, with high cheeks bones and blue eyes. Her body shape
was supple, not too thin and not too fat as well, and everything about her was
well proportioned.
It was a little past six in the morning. The sky was the colour of deep
purple, though it was slowly dissipating. A cold, mist hung over the earth, even
on the leaves of the tree branches. The full moon shimmered like an old coin
above her head. In the next few minutes, the sun will be showing its face, by
which time the neighbourhood will be starting to come alive. But all of this was
the least of Tamia’s concern as her Reebok trainers bounded along the circular
route of the cobbled ground that was the park’s walkway, past the water fountain
with the statue of a baby elephant spewing water off its trunk, up a flight of
cobbled steps, and then she was out unto Main Street. From here it was a mere
two blocks from where she lived and she took it in unhurried stride as she went
on with her jogging. She waved a hand at Mr. Rawlins who’s been running his
bakery shop and café for the past thirty years, way before she’d ever dreamed of
settling down here which was only a couple of years ago. He was sweeping off
dead leaves from his front stoop when she went past him, but he managed to catch
her wave and returned one to her before resuming his sweeping.
Her legs were starting to wear her out by the time she got into her
street. She had worked up quite a sweat – she felt it in her armpits and over
her brow – trying hard to control her breathing. She was just in time to receive
the mail man as he alighted from his bus with a bunch of letters he was about
inserting into her letter box. He turned his head in time to see her approach
and smiled at her.
“Hi there, Tamia,” he gave her a brimful of smile, knowing she wasn’t
mindful about him calling her by her first name. The mail man was in his
mid-forties. He’d been delivering mails to the neighbourhood for more than three
years now and was totally familiar with much of the families whom he delivered
mails to on a near daily basis. “Out jogging this early as usual?”
“It seems like a fine time to be doing it,” she panted while coming to a
stop beside him, collecting her letters from his hands. “Thanks, Mitch.”
“Anytime, lovely lady,” he replied courteously. He stood there for a
moment, watching her walk away from him into the driveway of her home, admiring
the shape and outline of her body, most especially the smoothness of her legs
jutting under her gym shorts. She sure was an amazing-looking woman, he thought
to himself, and then he shook his head as he recalled what had transpired
between her and her former husband. Coaster Groove was a small and quiet
neighbourhood, and in such places any news, aside from talk about the weather
and whatever’s happening in some faraway country, is most grabbing to listen to.
Folks here tended to prefer minding their neighbour’s business. Especially their
neighbour’s business. “Such a sad thing,” he muttered to himself before turning
to his mail truck and driving further down the street. Got plenty of letters to
delivery, he whistled to himself. Plenty of time to reminisce on that later.
Lots and lots of time was all the stuff he had at his age, he shrugged as he
went on with his morning ride.
Tamia held the letters in her left arm while she unlocked her door and
stepped into the comfort of her home.
She walked into the den that was her living room, flipping through each
envelope of letters while she did. Two were receipt payments of her utility
bills, three others were subscribed editions from Variety, Vanity Fair, and
Cosmopolitan; one was a picturesque post card from a good friend of hers who got
married last week, for whom Tamia had been part of her bridal train and was
currently enjoying her honeymoon in Hawaii, telling her what a fun time she was
having. Tamia sighed at the irony in it – barely one month had gone past since
the final proceedings in her divorce settlement had taken place and she was
still recuperating from it while here was her childhood friend having the time
of her life being a newlywed. She wondered how bitter her friend might end up
being if a few years from now she wakes up one morning to the realisation that
the man whom she’d taken a vow to love and to cherish all her life had all this
time been cherishing someone else ... just as her Jerry had done to her.
The thought died away as her eyes fell on the last letter envelope. It
was this one that caught her attention. She turned it over, took in the sender’s
name and address on the other side.
Calvin Brown, the envelope stated in bold, slanting letters; the letter
was post-dated the day before. She left the others on a coffee table, tore
through the envelope and unearthed the letter which was short and brief.
Dear Mrs. Rolan,
My name is Calvin Brown. I am writing to you in response to the advert I
saw in the Guardian Times classified section a couple of days ago, regarding
your subletting B.Q. apartment. I am very much in agreement with the amount
you’re offering and would very much like to express interest in renting it for a
limited duration of perhaps a year or two. At the moment, I am putting up at the
city, but would like to come down as soon as possible sit with you as well as to
take good look at the property
Included in this letter is a photocopy of my driver’s license, along with
my phone number through which you can reach me anytime of the day. I’m looking
forward to hearing from you.
Yours truly,
Calvin Brown
She glanced at her watch – it said 6:42 a.m. She would put off calling
him later in the day. She ought to be in her office by the next hour – a good
thing her bosses had seen fit to give her a well deserved promotion. Fifteen
years of worthy hard work overseeing the marketing section of Joyce & Glow
Beauty House … even when things between her and her husband had taken a turn for
the worse, she’d still pushed onward, entrenching herself deeply into her job
when she ought to have been feeling her loss. And now, just two days ago, the
powers-that-be had appointed her section chief, with pay-package increase and
lots of time-off benefits to herself. She should be happy with herself – after
all, it was something that was long overdue.
Except what a large chunk of her had really felt on that day when her
boss shook her hand inside the conference room while the rest of the staff gave
her a cheering ovation was sadness … and utter helplessness. Sad at the
realisation that presently there was absolutely no one in her life to partake in
the glory with her. Not even a by-the-side lover.
She folded the letter back into its envelope and left it along with the
other ones on the centre table, and then went into the kitchen to make herself a
cup of coffee. While she filled the kettle halfway with water and then kept it
on the gas cooker to heat up, she glanced out the kitchen window and stared at
the bungalow building that served as the Boys Quarter, situated across her
swimming pool, at the north end of the large compound where the fence met with a
clump of cypress trees. The building had stood empty since they’d moved into the
neighbourhood, and it was out of spiteful indulgence that had made her decide to
put the place up for rent; it sure would be nice having someone around the house
other than her and her lonely self.
Jerry and she had moved into this neighbourhood five years ago, when
they’d gotten married. Things had seemed rosy and tranquil for her – the
cosiness and serenity of the place just seemed to match with her spirit. And
though they’d put off having children for the immediate future, their life
together had been absolute fun. They’d always gotten well with their neighbours,
and they’d both been as ambitious about their married life as they were with
their respective jobs. But all that had come to an end some months ago when
she’d realised her husband’s secret unfaithfulness to her. The fact that Jerry,
her supposed husband, had had another wife in the city, who already bore him
three kids, and the fact that he was even more dedicated to the other than to
her had made things quite unbearable for her to hold unto. She’d gotten a
reasonable settlement from him, including the house, but even all that wasn’t
enough to stem down the massive throb of hurt she still carried within
herself.
The steaming sound of the kettle startled her out of her thoughts. She
turned off the cooker, and made herself a hot cup of tea. While she sat there by
the kitchen table, her eyes turned to the letter. Vaguely, she imagined what her
tenant would look like (depending on if he decided to take the flat. Ever since
she and Jerry moved into the neighbourhood, she had only been in there a handful
of times). She pictured him to be middle-aged, tall, with a shaggy beard. He’d
probably be some college teacher … or even a mail man. She chuckled at her
humour as her had once again fished out the letter from its envelope. She read
through the words, still trying to unearth an image of what Calvin Brown would
look like, or might be in person.
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Children`s Fiction
Erotica Fiction
