I was going to make payment at the bank when my friend Erica told me, “When you go there and there’s a queue, ask of Raymond. He’s a very good friend of mine. He would help you skip the queue and get served quickly.” The reason I hated going to the bank was because of the queues. Sometimes you’ll sit for an hour and the line wouldn’t move. So when Erica told me about Raymond, I was eager to get to the bank, make the payment and leave for other equally important errands. It was around 4pm when I got there. The Bank was almost closing but the queue there was still thick. I went to the inquiry desk and asked of Raymond. She picked her receiver and dialed some digits. “Raymond, a certain lady is here looking for you.” 

When he got to where I was sitting, though he didn’t know I was the one looking for him, he smiled at me. I didn’t know he was the one but I smiled back. There was something about that smile. Very assuring. Very positive. It was the kind of smile that says, “You’re welcome to be a friend. I don’t bite.” And the lady at the desk pointed at me and said, “There. She’s the one looking for you.” He said jokingly, “Am I under arrest here?” I laughed. I mentioned Erica. He said, “Oh ok, Erica. Please come in with me.” 

I followed him to his office. I told him the reason I was there. He helped. In fact, he overhelped. When I was leaving he asked me, “Do you mind if we talk some other time?” He took my number and gave me his number. “Some other time” became every day and night. He would call in the morning, afternoon, and evening. He would text to ask about my day. We had a video call once. He was shirtless. He looked like a special man. An Art carved out of a special tree by an artist who knows how to create beautiful things. He proposed to me and I asked, “How about Erica? Why not her but me?” He answered, “I met Erica just the way I met you. I don’t even have her number. We talk only when she comes to the bank. You can ask her.”

So I called Erica; “Raymond. The guy you introduced me to at the bank. We’ve been talking since. A moment ago he proposed to me. You think he’s a good idea?” Erica responded, “Go and make transactions, you’ve gone and attracted the man I sent you to? What kind of breed are you?” We both laughed about it. She said, “I don’t know him that much. Apart from the bank and the series of transactions he helps me to complete, I don’t know much about him. But he looks like a great guy. I mean he talks well. He sounds respectful. He looks at you when talking to you. All those qualities but guys at the bank can be very deadly, especially good-looking guys like him. If you’ll say yes to him, make sure you know he’s truly single. I mean single-single. Not the kind of single that has two other girlfriends in his pocket.”

So I called Raymond back and said, “Yes, I will be your girlfriend.” He asked, “Just like that?” I responded, “Yeah, just like that. I’m that cheap. I don’t play hard to get.” He burst out laughing. “Your sense of humor always gets to me. I’ve never met a woman who makes me laugh.”

So it started. I’m a girl of special beliefs. I don’t go about suspecting the men I date. I believe that in love, nothing stays hidden forever. If you accept to be with a man—a man you’ll call often and be with often, whatever he’s hiding will soon come to light because you’re often with him and whatever is following him would also love to be with him. One day you’ll crash. The pot would break and everything inside of it would spill. So I don’t rush. I don’t snoop. I don’t suspect. The truth will always come to you when you’re in the position to deserve the truth. Erica sounded the alarm but I didn’t think it was a problem so I went all in—loving him the best way I could and hoping good things would come out of the love.

A few months later, he started making fun of the stretch marks on my thighs. My sense of humor means I’m able to take humor from other people. So I laughed about it anytime he brought it up. But it came up consistently that I began to worry. “Raymond, do my stretch marks worry you?” He answered, “It doesn’t worry me. It’s not on my skin so why would it worry me?” I said, “You make jokes about it. They are other things about me you can joke about. For example my head. It’s big. My ass competes with the plates in the sink. But you don’t make jokes about them. Why always those stretch marks? He answered, “Maybe you should find a way to fix them.”

As he said, it’s on my own skin and not his skin so I wasn’t going to kill myself fixing something for someone who doesn’t suffer the burden of what needs to be fixed. I tried from the beginning to fix them but it didn’t work. That was long before I met Raymond. When I got tired, I made peace with them and they didn’t bother me again. We fought about it often. We made love in the dark because he didn’t want to see those stretch marks. He made it look like it’s the worse thing a woman can have on her skin. Mentally, I felt abused but I hoped he’ll get tired and stop it. He didn’t.

One day after sex, he stuck his legs at my back and pushed me off the bed until I fell down. My head hit the side of the bed and it hurt that bad. I screamed, “Why did you do that for? What sort of play is that?” He said, “You’re always lying there like a log when making love. Don’t you know how to moan? If you don’t, go and learn it. You’re too boring.” It was around 11pm when he did that. I dressed up and left his house. When I got home, I sent him a message. “It’s over. You look like a sensible man but up there, you’re empty. Fix yourself before you try to fix another.” He texted back, “See the pot calling the kettle black. What sense have you brought to the table since we started dating? You think I will cry because you said it’s over? Laughing emojis.”

He didn’t call for days and I didn’t call him too. A week later he was at my door knocking. He came with an apology; “I accept my fault. I acted like a fool, forgive me. I would be a better man going forward.” I believe in second chances so I forgave him and we came back together. He was careful with the way he spoke to me and was very careful with the way he acted around me. I realized he was doing things to please me than doing things to build the relationship. I said, “Young man, ease off. It doesn’t mean you can’t make mistakes. We are people—people with mistakes so be real with me.”

Everything was fine for about three months. We never fought or quarreled. I spent the night with him one Friday. Early morning around 6am I rushed to the toilet. Immediately my butt touched the WC he came knocking on the door. “What are you doing, pooing or pissing?” I said, “Both.” He screamed, “Hurry up then.” I could feel he was standing at the door so I wasn’t comfortable. Seconds later he knocked again, “Haven’t you finished?” Before I could answer, he opened the door, held my hands, pulled me off the WC, and pushed me out. He pressed the flash button and sat on it. He said, “This is not a place you sit for comfort. It’s not a restaurant where you sit and relax.” I stood there and watched him. I said, “Raymond, was there no other way you could have told me to hurry up?” He chuckled and slammed the door shut. I used the tissues in my bag, dressed up, and left.

That was the end of our relationship. 

It’s been a year and a half. Everything has been calm in my life. I found someone who doesn’t laugh at my stretch marks. He rather laughs at my humor and tries his best to make life fun for me. Not too long ago I had a call on my phone. I picked it up and it was a lady. She asked, “Am I talking to Genevieve?” I said yes. She continued, “This may sound weird but pardon me. When you’re in critical times, you have no option but do weird things. Do you know Raymond?”

“Raymond? Which Raymond. I know a lot of them. Can you be specific?”

“This Raymond works at the bank. He tells me you were once his girlfriend.”

“Please who am I speaking with and why do you ask of Raymond?”

She had been dating Raymond for about five months now and Raymond is rushing to marry her in the next few months. According to the girl, Raymond looks too good to be true with the way he carries himself in the relationship. The girl told him no shuperu before marriage and he accepted. Apart from that, whatever she says Raymond agrees to it and that makes her wonder why I would let a good man like Raymond go. She said, “I want to know a little bit of his past. He doesn’t mention anyone as his ex apart from you. It’s the reason I called.”

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The whole thing felt like a prank in my ears. I wasn’t sure what to tell her so I asked her, “Does he know you’re calling me?” She answered, “No he doesn’t.” I asked again, “So according to Raymond, what was the reason why we broke up?” “According to him, you suspected him of cheating and again your parents didn’t really accept him so you both agreed to part ways. It’s the main reason why I’m calling you, knowing that bath of you parted ways in a good way.” 

I said, “Wow. Anyway, I can’t say much about him since he’s not aware that you’re calling me. You’re the new woman in his life now. I’m past and gone. If I tell you he was good or bad to me, it wouldn’t matter because people change. Find whatever you want to find yourself and be the judge.”

I was expecting the conversation to end there but this lady keeps calling me, wanting to know what happened between the two of us. She tells me, “I’m marrying him very soon but I know very little of him. He doesn’t get angry. He says yes to things easily. Whatever I tell him, he does it. It makes me feel uncomfortable. I can be your sister. At least help me small. It wouldn’t change anything. I just want to know. If you can promise me that you’ll talk, I don’t mind putting him on a conference call so the three of us talk.”

To tell or not to tell her is my dilemma now.  As I indicated earlier, I don’t want to have anything to do with their relationship. I’ve moved on. I’m enjoying a burst of new sunshine in my life but that girl sounds genuinely worried. To the extent that she is ready to have a conference call with the two of us makes me want to reconsider my decision. I spoke to a friend about it and she said I should call my ex and make him aware of what his girlfriend is asking from me. To me, that sounds like betraying someone who had come to me with a genuine heart.

What do you think is the best way to deal with an issue of this nature? I should tell her how he treated me or I should continue playing the ostrich?

—Genevieve

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