You heard it from the grapevine, caught word on the streets.
You are excited, but also worried because of the mixed reviews you heard, read online.
“You know she’s got a string of ex-lovers right? They say she’s insane!”
But you’ve got to try. You owe it to yourself to at the very least, try.
You are nervous. You stand in front of your mirror tucking, untucking your dress shirt – unable to decide if casual or formal is better.
What does one wear to such things anyway?
But then, it is an interview after all, isn’t it?
You decide to lose the tie.
It was already dark out when you got to the right street, but you weren’t late.
You turn the corner and see the entrance, the flickering Vacancy sign with the No dimmed.
The door is unlocked, you walk in.
The room is unfurnished, its walls bare. There are some chairs along one wall, a desk up front. You see an unassuming door to the side.
It wasn’t crowded but the few who were there turned to stare.
Is it animosity that you see in their eyes? It must be, but you understand – everyone in this room is a threat.
You pay the others no heed, walk up to the desk. A woman with too many chins, concentrated on filing her florescent pink nails sits behind it.
“Fill up the form and put it on the tray.” She cuts you off.
“Can you tell her that I’m…”
“Nobody cares who you are. Fill up the form and put it on the tray.”
She doesn’t look up from her nails.
You grab a form, find a chair and sit down.
Name, Age, Race, Religion. Okay easy so far.
Annual gross income, List of assets and liabilities. Should I be honest? I should be.
Height. Does she like them tall? Okay I am going to round up, just in case.
Weight. Oh, I heard she’s pretty lax. That’s good.
Length. For you to find out! Heh.
Casual or Committed.
The tip of your pen hover over the former; but no, you respect her too much. The latter it is.
“Is anyone sitting here?” a voice interrupts your thoughts, inquiring about the empty seat beside you.
You look at the owner’s ebony skin, his perfectly tailored suit. The ease in how he carries himself, that almost cocky smile on his face.
You shook your head.
“Thanks, man.” He is cheerful, confident. Too confident? Or is you who’s too nervous?
You turn back to your form.
“I am really glad to be here. I never knew she opened applications for our race as well. I guess once you go black, you never go back!”
The man laughs at his own joke. You do not join him.
You are done filling up your form. You leave it on the tray, as per the instructions of the woman with too many chins.
And you wait.
You hear shouts from the room, through that door opposite the chairs along the wall.
“I have been applying for three years! What do you mean it’s rejected again? What the fuck!”
A string of expletives followed a man as he walked out the room, slamming the door behind him.
“Ah, he’s all talk. He’ll be back next year.” The woman behind the counter offered to no one in particular.
You heard your name being called.
Inhale. Exhale. Go through the door, opposite the chairs along the wall.
There she is.
T shirt and jeans; unassuming and plain. But her smile, always her smile. The way it goes all the way up to her eyes, making them disappear.
“Hello, I’m Munyee.”
You scrape together every ounce of courage you can possibly muster, clear your throat and begin,
I promise you now and forever, this lifetime and the next.
I promise to be your best friend, lover and pillar of strength. I promise to stay faithful and true, to always come back to you. I want to share your laughter, your joy and pain. I want to be the reason behind that smile. I want to be all this and more. I want to be your everything.
Did she snicker? No, she can’t possibly. I am pouring my heart out here.
“Thank you. Could you write your name in that blank space?” She pushes a piece of paper towards you.
Will you say yes?
She smiles, all teeth and no eyes, giving away nothing.
“Thank you for your time. I’ll text you soon.”