Trust Issues

I walked into the room and I could tell that they had been talking about me.

The tension told me that it was not good things.

One of the girls was my friend. The rest of the people I hardly knew.  Someone said “So, how was your weekend?”

The spotlight was on me. 

I saw a few shoes shuffling, heard a few throats being cleared.  The anticipation of my response was causing shifts in the room’s energy.

I said “It was relaxed. I did a bit of reading.” 

The next day, my friend called me up and told me that she was “concerned”.

She had been hearing rumours. Over tea, my friend began to unpack her concerns.  She started with my account of my weekend.  The truth is, I had donated some money to a charity and they had published a picture of me in the local newsletter. I did not know this.  She did and the fact that I did not see it fit to tell a group of strangers how charitable and wonderful I was, was a clear red flag for her.  She ended off by sharing with me that she had spent “some more” time counselling my boyfriend. They were near a breakthrough and hopefully he would “change”.

 

I was stunned. 

Firstly, I believed in my right to privacy, especially around philanthropy. I also knew nothing of my friend and boyfriend’s Dr Phil meetings and I most certainly knew nothing of MY hand in “pushing him over the edge”.

I was seriously stunned.

Fortunately for me, that chapter ended many years ago and I was both friendless and boyfriendless at the end of it, by no proactive choice of my own.

But who knew that in my middle-aged days of nappies and botox considerations that I would have to revisit the story.

You see, last week I sat in a room where everyone was talking about someone else’s husband and she walked in.

Someone asked her a leading question. The spotlight shone brightly. The energy in the room became greyish brown. There was shuffling and throat clearing. The tension made me start peeling the gel off my nails.

I was stunned.

Although they were all complete strangers to me and I was merely an observer sitting at the next table, I was seriously stunned.

So I closed and eyes and said “Thank you” for every weed that removed itself from my garden.  And then I continued to watch the dear woman proceed to answer to her audience.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and http://www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.

The Cupboard & The Horny Old Man

My brother built a cupboard.

It was horrible. I walked into my mother’s home and it was the first thing I saw.  All tact flew out of the window and I said “That thing must go! It is terrrrible! God, it must go. Today!” 

He was lying sleeping on the couch. He threw his cover off and flew into a mad rage! A silent one.

I had NO idea he had built the cupboard. I also had NO idea my words had caused the commotion.

I was still focused on the cupboard. God, it was ugly.

My mother knew it was ugly too but she did not have the heart to say so. When she saw the explosion of feelings in her kitchen, her eyes met mine. They begged me to retreat. I ignored their silent plea.

I proceeded to contract my younger brother (read bribe) to tear down the ugly cupboard for me. We hatched a plan that as soon as the builder was out of sight, the plan would be executed.

The plan went well. The cupboard was torn down.

Very pleased with myself, I jumped into my car and planned to speed off before the cupboard artist returned. I turned on the ignition and there was the familiar sound from my young days. The damn car would not start. I tried again. It was stuck.

It was getting dark. I was annoyed.  My son helped my blood pressure rise by crying to get out of his car seat. His moaning was driving me insane.

That’s when I heard a call. A high pitched sort of voice. I looked out of my window and saw a man. A horny old man.

He was standing on his balcony, with just a towel around his waist. He said “Are you okay?” and I said “Yes, I am! My brother is just 5 minutes away, thank you”.

My son upped his volume. He seriously wanted out of that seat.

Next thing, there was a knock on my window. Yes, who else but the towel guy?

He peeked into the car. I was kneeling on the front seat with my bum in the air trying to reach my son in the backseat and calm him down. Yes, you can imagine the old man’s pleasure seeing that bum up close.

He said “Do you know what you can do with 5 minutes?”  and I replied “Call the cops and let them know that I am being attacked?”

“Attacked?” he said.

That’s when my brother showed up and we forgot alllllll about the cupboard.

© A Heart Full of Stories, 2015. Unauthorized use and/or duplication of this material without express and written permission from this blog’s author and/or owner is strictly prohibited. Excerpts and links may be used, provided that full and clear credit is given to Lee-Ann Mayimele and www.aheartfullofstories.wordpress.com with appropriate and specific direction to the original content.