Return of the ex

The persistent knock on the door had gone on for almost an hour, putting to bed my attempts to sleep in and sleep off the stresses and exhaustion of the past week. I rubbed my eyes, opened them to the dim light of early Saturday morning, then fumbled around the bed for my phone, and finding it, checked the time. It was barely 7.

The knocking continued unabated. I couldn't ignore it any longer.



Photo: Rolf meme from the Internets

"It must be really important," I thought to myself and grabbed a dressing gown and leso as I shuffled to my front door.

I didn't recognise the woman standing outside my door, but I suspected, with great irritation, that she was looking for a laundry job. "Hunikumbuki ...?" She implored, startling me out of my stupor. I shook my head. "Nilikuwa nakufulia manguo..." "Hmmm..." "Halafu nikaenda ushago nilikuwa na shida kidogo huko. Nimekuwa nikikuangalia lakini hukukuwa ..." "Eeeh." "Nataka kukufulia manguo ..."

Jeez! I thought to myself and swallowed a lump, how do you wake me up this early, without prior notice, to wash my clothes?

"Sina nguo za kufuliwa, na nilishapata mtu wa kunifulia nguo," I answered. Then a wave of empathy washed over me and I stood there listening to her tales which eventually reignited my memory.





Photo: Pexels.com
I remembered how rude her husband had been the last time I called to ask if she could come do my laundry (the number she had given me was always picked by the husband), then I took her number and promised to call her some day. And with that, she left to look for another client.
As I made my way back to the bedroom, my sleep long vanished, I thought to myself: didn't she know I had already moved on? Was I supposed to be waiting for her to come back to my laundry till now? Did she not realise that once I move on, I never look back?

Part 2 coming soon.