His house was cozy, neat and warm. I stood there, embarrassed to stain his white cushion with my wet clothes. He locked the door after me, dropped his keys, kicked off his shoes and went into his room. For a moment, I was dumbfounded. This guy hadn’t spoken a word to me. A few minutes later, he came out with a big towel, a clean T-shirt and short. He handed it over to me and pointed to a bathroom, where I could change. I tried hard not to blush, that was really a warm friendly gesture or so I thought.
I stepped out in his T-shirt, that seemed like a gown on me. I wrung my clothes and left it to dry. I met him in the kitchen, preparing dinner, looking all responsible, he was even wearing an apron. What black man wears a flowery apron to cook? Was he trying to impress me or was this his routine?
“Do you eat your noodles with carrot” he asked interrupting my thoughts. “Oh well sure” even though I’d never eaten my noodles with carrot and I detest vegetables. I offered to help him cook but he took me by the hand and dragged me to the living room. Like a father, he sat me down on the couch and placed the TV remote in my hands. “You’re a guest here, lemme make you feel special for the night”.
I was wowed but then I began to have doubts. Things were happening too fast. I had met this guy a while ago. I didn’t even know his name, yet there I was, in his house, wearing his T-shirt, in his short, anticipating to eat his food. It all seemed wrong, too sudden.
I picked up my phone to charge it, good thing I already sent my mum a text before it went off. I switched through channels, a lot of great shows to relax to, but I couldn’t. My mind wasn’t at rest, even though the A.C cooled my skin and the fan blew across my face. I couldn’t feel at home even though my taste buds watered to the aroma of the food coming from the kitchen. Then it was 8:32, when there was still time for me to get out.