We started as friends. Actually, we met as friends because we met on Facebook. On Facebook, everyone there is a friend even before you say a word to them. We were friends on Facebook for years until something happened and we started chatting through the inbox. I don’t remember saying hello to him so he might have been the one who did. But I remember enjoying his conversation. I remember saying yes to everything he asked of me; “Can I have your number?” Yes! Can you call me after work? Yes! Can we meet this weekend?” “This weekend? This weekend? hmm No. Why don’t we do it the next weekend?”
So, for the first time, we sat face to face after years or so talking on Facebook. He looked taller than I expected. That was a good thing. He acted shy and barely looked me in the eye. That was not a bad thing. He looked way younger than I anticipated. That was where I started having issues. We didn’t meet to discuss age so I let that one slide. We talked about everything. We talked about upbringing, our interests, our jobs, and where we see ourselves in the next many years. When a gentleman walked by with a weird-looking shoe, our eyes went to the shoe and then came back to look at each other and instantly burst out laughing.
To me, that was a great connection. We didn’t have to say anything to each other about the shoe and how weird it looked. Our spirits identified what was funny and our lips did justice to it without saying a word. I liked him. He acted like I was a goddess in front of him. We ate. We drunk. We departed from each other’s presence.
In the evening, he was the first to send a message, “Thanks for making me see you today. You made my day.” I responded, “The feeling is mutual.” He asked when we were going to do it again. I asked when he would have the time to do it again. He said, “Tomorrow?” I laughed because tomorrow felt too soon. I asked, “Are you serious about tomorrow?” He answered, “Yeah, we have only two days in our lives; today and tomorrow. We met today. the next day is tomorrow.”
We met again. His eyes were on the floor when he said, “Nice to meet you again, what should I offer you?” He was the one to offer me something because I was in his house. I asked him to give me water first before anything else. When we settled, I called out his name, “Denis.” He responded without looking at me. I said, “Denis, it’s either you are a shy person or I’m ugly that’s why you don’t want to look at me when you talk. Which is the truth here?” He burst out laughing. He said slowly, “I’m not a shy person and you’re not ugly too. It takes time to get used to things and people. When we get to that stage, the stage I’m comfortable in your presence, I swear you’ll run and hide whenever I’m around.”
“So until that stage is reached, I will take it as you’re a shy person.”
He started acting bold, looking at my face every now and then but each time he looked at me, I got concerned about how young he looked. I asked him, “Denis, how old are you?” He answered, “I will be twenty-seven next month.” I said in my head, “Shit! Problem don come” He asked me, “How about you?” I said, “Guess.” He said, “Twenty-four?” I laughed. In my head, I said, “I was your age seven years ago but you look at me and all you see is twenty-four?”
We had built some sort of connection that I felt was leading us somewhere but once I got to know his age, I decided to let everything go before it gets to the “I love you” moments. I didn’t want to be accused of robbing the cradle.
I stopped texting and stopped calling. He was the one doing the calling and texting. When he texted, I ignored him until he texted again asking if everything was alright. The texture of our conversation changed. He was more worried about the change. He kept asking if he did something wrong. I told him he did nothing wrong and should stop worrying because everything was alright.
He called one day asking us to meet. He didn’t like the way things were going and he felt we needed to meet and talk about it. That day when we met he looked at me. His eyes were on me when he said, “Just when I’d come to love you and want to start a life with you, you decided to pull away. What did I not do or what did I not say? Everything looks weird now. Let me ask again, “Did I say something wrong?” I answered, “Yes you said something wrong, Denis. Your age. Your age is the wrong number. Seven years ago I was your age. Seven more years on a lady’s side makes the whole thing someway.”
“You mean you’re thirty-four?”
“You see the surprise in your voice? That’s how everyone is going to react when they see us together.
“But age is just a number? Who will know if we don’t tell them?”
“No, age is not just a number. Age is how long you’ve lived. The experience you’ve gathered. The scars on your skin. The reason we do what we do. The reason why you want to date me is that you’re of age. Four-year-old boys don’t date. Age is important, especially at this side of our world where the man is supposed to have all the advantage.”
I told him we could be friends. He told me we could be lovers. The world won’t know and even if they get to know, they won’t care.
The first day I introduced him to Akosua, she said, “No he’s too young. This is not the time to play around with boys. Remember, I won’t be that friend who will write #FreeMabel when you get arrested for defilement.” She said it as a joke but I got the essence of the joke. The second time my senior brother saw me with Denis, he asked me, “Is he the one? This is the second time I’m seeing him in your house.” I answered, “Oh he’s just a friend.” He said, “Then he’s getting too close. People may think you’re ‘awingaa’ or you’re too desperate for love.
The ‘awingaa’ part didn’t get to me like the ‘desperate’ part. It got to me because it sounded like what people may say. Because what will drive a thirty-four-year-old woman to go after a guy who’s seven years younger? But Denis thinks we should ignore all that and be together. Honestly, I love him. I’ve stuck around him for a long time to appreciate his maturity and care for me. He doesn’t make promises. He does it before he talks about it. People say it’s because I haven’t accepted his proposal that’s why he’s putting up a good show. I don’t see it that way. It’s his being. He’s just who he is.
I’ve started again. I make excuses just to avoid seeing him. I don’t respond to his text often. When he asks why, I tell him I need space to think the whole thing over. He doesn’t stop. He keeps coming at me. These days when I hear a knock on my door, I shudder to answer because it could be him. When I hear my phone ringing, 99% of the time it’s him. My last relationship was three years ago. Within these three years, Denis is the only one who had come along. No. I’m not scared of the future. Whether or not I will get a man to love me isn’t my problem now. The problem is Denis. How do I keep what can’t be kept? How do I let go of what isn’t ready to be let go?
That’s my dilemma now.
–Mabel
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