A perfect marriage/home is possible as this story depicts.
I sat at the comfort of my home. A four bedrooms’ duplex, crowned with black asbestos on its head, clothed in butter and chocolate colour on the exterior, flanked by a mini - football pitch and garage where my F1 Turbo Sports car felt completely at home, basking in the shadows of the setting sun, crawling down the steeply horizon, shedding it’s proud and lofty golden yellow splendor with the peacock’s pride. The birds danced around its glow, as they flowed with the wind, northwards to their forestry paradise. Bats called their mates to mate. Owls screeched and scowled, their largely lit eyes putting the ensuing darkness to the test. The cold wind smooched the trees, which let out whistling moans of pleasure. I looked at the fountains surrounding the soccer lawn. It spewed silvery shades of water, hugging the shape of the spiral crevices. My seven-year-old son – Jack, took utmost delight in the wind like they were best friends.
He ran in spirals of tingling astonishment, as his rainbow coloured kite soared in the air, high and proud. Bruno, my best friendly greyhound couldn’t keep his cool at the intimate partners of the night in their romantic whistling foreplay – the wind and the trees. He growled and howled against the ever increasing moans. In disappointment, he sat close to me, salivary tongue out, platinum eyes fiercely goggled at the coconut tree which peeped secretly into my compound. Thick black clouds overpowered the white glow of the moon like my black suit over my white shirt. I looked on in bewilderment as the white giver of light and life into the night flared and raged against the black ninjas of the sky, pummelling it’s torso with fists of rage, as it struggles to rise to her glory again.
The wind came to her aid, rid the thin sheets of dome off the silky predators. The stars smiled and cheered. The smiles of a victory. I felt a grip on my arm. It was tender, I couldn’t tell it wasn’t the wind that caressed my skin. It was smooth, sending cold chills down my spine. It was Jasmine – the mother of my seven-year-old identical son. Blue eyed, flickering lashes like a bonfire, streams of blonde hair flowed down to her waist like the Niagara Falls. An interbreed Nigerian – American descent. She is the cynosure of all eyes. Heads had swollen in the course of one added look at her beauty. Teens ran into swamps at the sight of her blue, shady eyes. Waist flared and converged on solid legs and small feet. A decade had gone by, but her college physique had to stay put. Two slices of bread and a cup of coffee is good to go with for the day as far as she is concerned. We had a tug of war on her dieting, and just like Bruno the vicious dog I cowered from convincing that I loved her soul and not her body. She had gained an ounce of fat when she gave Jack birth. I had only marvelled at how beautiful it made her. She had transformed from malnourished looking teenager to a slightly chubby woman I had loved. And now she’d work her ‘fat ass out’ so she called it. “Come to table my love, dinner is ready.” Her mellow voice coupled with the paws of the stew’s aroma pulled me into my large dinning room.
I moaned at the sweet savour that wetted my nostrils. Bruno wagged his tail in affirmation of my sumptuous dreams and let out barks of wet hunger. My ruddy son tugged at my sleeve, “Dad you are eating too fast. You can get choked.” Alright buddy, I affirmed. “Dad did you watch the match today?” He said, chin ready for a tussle. “No son wasn’t opportune for that.” I took a glimpse at his mother, scooping small spoonfuls of rice into her oval lips, red with fruity lipstick. My son’s voice came again. “You really...” “Son talking while eating can get you choked.” I killed his vocal tracks for the rest of the night. I helped clear the dishes. Helped little jack to bed with his favourite lullaby. A thought about his assignment at school hit me like a bombshell. A pang of relief clings to my flesh.
The morrow was a weekend. I had reserved the worried look on my wife’s round face for scrutiny later. We had a cold shower together. Her hair drapped into jelly curls, her bosoms stood still at alert her nuts puckered at the caress of the vehement wind behind the silk of her PJ. We said our prayers, and launched deep into our midnight conversations. I had made it a routine, to always have a chat with my best friend, sister, wife and mother of my child. Now was the time to listen to her heart. Count every beat that comes from without missing one. No sitting at the laptop. Work home assignments. All had been executed at the office. It was just the two of us.
With her head on my chest, fingers poking fun at my chest hairs and her warm skin against my relaxed flesh sent tingling sensations down my belly. Her silence spoke volumes. I could hear it. I could see her soul muttering those words. “when are going to have another child. Mother wants another child.” I shattered the silence in pieces, like the tumbling and rumbling of glass tumblers which hampered our discussion. “Not again!” bottles clattered, cups shattered, shutters screeched. “Damn you woman. How dare you screen me or my movements? I talk with whoever I want to talk with and I don’t care what the hell you think about that.” Another heavy thud, followed by the shrill cry of a female voice, ripped through Jasmine’s heart. Her eyes glistened, illuminating the moon’s rays. Those romps every night, were good pointers of time for me. Whenever the glasses began to clatter, I knew exactly what time it was – 12:00am. That was the earliest possible time James, the neighbour next door arrived from work.
There was never a moment of piece in that marriage. Made me wonder what made ours heaven and theirs hell. Julia could be an extremist. When the Almighty installed trust in the others, her hardware seemed nowhere to be found.
For the past decade, since I and Jasmine had learned to co-ordinate ourselves, settled all rifts successfully without third parties, enjoyed all moments of pleasure together, and bore our grieves together, the Matthews next door appeared to have gotten the wrong mark. The only happy moment in their matrimony, was the day it all began, and that same day it ended all together. James – a useless drunkard and wayward man had enticed the greedy and selfish Julia to him with affluence. I knew Julia from the college days. A young and beautiful brunette everyone simply tagged a dummy for her faith. She was a good girl gone bad by the second trimester. She had been unfortunate to have fallen among the bad eggs in college and the once frail Julia who couldn’t hurt a fly in her grade one at college became feared, even by tigers. Montgomery College was and still remains an institution that gave you the exact niche you can carve out of it. If you wanted to be good, it was up to you and vice versa. No doubt, Julia had chosen the wrong socket to have her plugged fixed into. She was the one who had pushed Leah of the cliff, leaving the poor girl graduating from college with almost no thoracic vertebral to hold her neck. At third degree, she had torn my scripts at the examination because I refused her a dubbing opportunity.
Jasmine had not been left out in her evil schemes. She had her drugged and almost gang raped because she stood in her way into my heart. What a man who wouldn’t want a decent lady for a partner. Julia was a desperate evil. The glowing sun in her heart had been eclipsed with filth and wickedness. I remember getting the idea of knocking an engine with just salt from her. Miss Trunchbull – the dormitory mistress who endeavoured to enforce discipline till this particular night can’t still walk on her feet. The brakes of her car were dismembered by the only one who could use Miss Trunchbull’s affinity for high speeds to her own peril. Julia’s parents absconding to New Zealand had a nostalgic feeling on my soul. It was the only way her father could be free from being inflicted by stroke. Her diabetic mother needn’t worry about having a thorn-in-the-flesh daughter who treated her to nothing but daily weeping doses. College days were over. She turned a new leaf. But karma was waiting to take vengeance on her for all her misdeeds. And it all started from a batterer, drunkard and Casanova as a husband, a carelessly murdered son. “Baby what are we going to do now. How long are we going to keep holding Julia against her past? We have to do something before the devil snuffs the life out of her.
“Look Julia made me lose whole year at college, got you almost gang raped, is responsible for the death of my best friend Coleman whose dog now lives with me in his stead and you want me to help such a person?” I flared in frustration. “My love that was in the past. Besides if you can forgive me for having an affair with your boss all because you needed this job and I also could forgive you for having sex with that useless bitch who calls herself a maid right on my matrimonial bed, then why should Julia’s case be a difficult one. We have to do something baby please.” She capitalised on one of my weaknesses for her. She knew I couldn’t bear to see her cry. The first two years of our marriage had been similar to what it was with Julia and James Matthew. I never had time for Jasmine and it drove her crazy. She was starved in and out of bed. I pummelled her day and night for always demanding details of my movements throughout the day. Often I left her at home all alone for three days and I came home drunk and infuriated. The maid had suddenly become sexier than my wife whom I once couldn’t wait to have. I will forever be grateful to that man of blessed memory now. He was an angel in disguise – Pastor Donald. He had also conquered a twelve – year marital violence and helped others including ourselves out of it.
“Alright sweetheart, I promise I will do something about it when its daybreak.” I patted her softly on the back, and kissed her blonde fountain of massive hair. The morning came faster than I thought it should. Probably it was because she had anticipated it. Julia needed help and the earlier the better. I went to her house and rapped on the door, still steps moved at the other side and opened the door without any enquiries as to who was at the door. A swollen faced Julia, contorted lines and a shifted jaw, fines lacerations trailed her arms, her thighs. Her hair a heap of rubble. Seeing me and Jasmine for the very first time at her doorstep in a decade was more than a weeping moment for us all. The rift had been too deep and though were closely far away from each other. Tears flooded my eyes too for the first time in a long while and we all settled down in the living room. Flashes of my now dead marriage coach – taking the enemy of my marriage down step by step flooded my mind like a stream. “Hey pal good to have you here.” My hands and James clacked thunderously. “I am sorry for last night. I can imagine how terrified you guys must have been.” I was shocked to have James remorseful of whatever actions he might have made. “You seem to have forgotten that last night has been ongoing for about a decade now I quipped.
The laughter from James wasn’t a heartened one. It was tainted with and regret. Jasmine quickly interrupted before we got carried with our mission and said the briefest prayers of all time. The peace and calm of the atmosphere that day was and still remains strange to me. Their daughter’s eyes roamed all over us. Her eyes flickering with hope. I could see it in her eyes that she had the feeling this gathering would spark off a new era in her home that was torn apart with jealousy, hate, flirtatiousness and violence. “James, to be candid here I have been holding my grieve for years concerning what happens every night in your marriage, and I would love this night to be the most beautiful one ever for the both of you. Even beautiful than your honey moon.” I waited for my words to have that inducing effect.
“But before we move on, I quickly put these questions straight to you guys. Do you want a perfect marriage? Are you willing to start all over again?” Jasmine alternating looks between, man and wife, Bruno following every move. “Yes Jasmine I want a fresh start I want a peaceful home. Am sick and tired of being a demon I murdered my own son with my own hands due to carelessness. Please we need help.” Heads turning to Julia only brought out sobs. That was an approval.
“Now that’s a good start. Your willingness to have this hitched violence buried, is all that matters. And we need to get to the roots. Being born again. You need to believe in the Lord Jesus Christ and Accept him as your Lord and saviour and you need to forsake all your wrong doings.” Casting a reassuring look at them. “Where Christ is there is always love because He is Love.” Jasmine buttressed. “We want to accept Jesus.” They both looked at each other in approval and they were prayed for. “Now James, you are the head of the family, so we are starting with you. You need to understand some principles about marriage.” Bruno scowled in interest. “You have to love your wife. And you don’t beat someone you love do you?” “of course not” James replied with delight. Now there are languages in a marriage. They are simply love languages. Five of them. Find the one your wife speaks and set yourself to understand it. For instance, I love acts of service. She loves foreplay, which is affirmation of love. So you have gifting” “That’s what my wife likes. Her eyes rattle when a gift comes her way.” “that’s good so engage in what makes her happy. Get her good gifts periodically.” “And you Julia what do you observe as your husband’s language of love?” Jasmine asked. “He loves sex.” Julia twitched. “so to keep your marriage, you need to engage him in what he loves. And if you don’t want to have kids, simply go on the pills. It’s all about agreement.”
“so speaking each other’s love languages will enhance communication of love and keep you together happy as ever. Then you must learn to dialogue with your husband Julia. You must respect him and surely you won’t nag someone you respect would you? No so dialogue peaceably with him. Let him have his shower, food and even sex before you dialogue and you’d see this would get better. I and Jasmine spent two good hours unveiling the secrets that had bound our marriage together. And that night for the first time in a decade, I heard soft orgasmic moans, not cracking glasses, thudding blows, screeching shutters, smashing plates and shrill cries.
These song lyrics and art are tales, tides and twinkling lights - tunes telling stories of warmth and sun, city and sand, paths that lead, and the coins we can keep in the Karma Bank. Spirit's been bypassed for sorrow, dreaming of a better tomorrow .
