The Present Past.

Who are good guys, and what criteria are used to award the "good or bad" person medals?  Perhaps there are no good or bad people, we are just different. A question of how the shore handles whatever the waves bring and the end justifies the means.

Kendy was early today, ooh it's Wendy. I call her that sometimes to prompt a chat or a smile that pleases and surprises me at the same time. A gentle; it's Wendy Sunny whenever she's not in the mood.

Every time I Look at her, I always notice something different, but there's an uncomfortable core sense of herself, torn by emotions of loyalty, guilt, and perhaps love, but what's hidden in the chest is in a cave, sealed deep beneath the skin no one can ever know.

She's never a topic of discussion. Sometimes I question her ancestral origin, her Aussies vibe, never telling you what you want to know, rather leaving it to you to figure out with her answers;

Hey Wendy, how are you she responds not bad; 

How old are you? Not quite, 

Where are you going? Not far. 

Perhaps she's grasped the fact that good fences make good neighbors.

She's been around for a relatively long time, in her mid-forties with a fine wine beauty, cheekbone high and pointed with a sharp nose. Her hair and hands are utterly different, black except on some days when the sun rays whiff her, and suddenly they are silver_grey. Her hands, an emerald mixture of a caregiver and a soldier. Wrinkled, scattered with lines and sun spots, veins running on the back.

I explicitly gave her a strong gaze, the one I have in my mind's handbook, to spur conversation. Yes, please tell me what's on your mind. She smiled back.

Today you are not reading? she asked. I don't read on Wednesday. Furthermore, the book I'm currently reading isn't my type it’s just that the girl I have a crush on finds the book beautiful and always talks about it. 

She was my first female office friend, a picky one ever minding her own business, the kind that has no time to be happy, too busy being strong, so by default, she's into people who give her space and mind their businesses. The ones she never has to talk to or smile at or even share what's on her mind yet feels so connected with.

Sitting next to me, the morning sun was tempting, calling for an intimate moment, skin-to-skin. For a minute, we had an awkward silence before I broke it with a joke; not supposed to be funny, but rather more of the question. She was cracking, widening her lips letting her whiter-than-white teeth, get a taste of the rays.

I have a son, she began, and I knew I had somehow opened a scar. Maybe she was comfortable sharing and I hoped it was a good one. People love scars; they are fascinating. Some scars tell of what we've been through, some are what we are. 

The battle with the past is a tragic business, and hiding it away is by no means a saving touch. Guilt is a multi-headed beast, and the concept of it determines its degree of evil. I could see it, I've seen it in many I talk to or tell me about their scars. The gift is a curse, maybe not.

I have a son your age; she continued, and a young daughter. My son is quite like you, curious but reserved. I wish I could be spending or had spent more time with him, but I'm nursing my pains. With time, things will be okay. You know life is more manageable when thought of as a scavenger hunt than a surprise party. Sometimes the consistency of karma in your life can be so laudable, and all you can do is let the waves carry you.

Sometimes I ask myself to what extent can one benefit from someone else disadvantages. Sometimes I pity my husband he is gentle and caring. 

I had my boy back in secondary school. I was young and naive and energetic as well. I gave birth and returned to finish my studies. My parents were disappointed but still gave me another chance. So, I left him in the village as I joined campus. He was barely three years old when I left, and I only spent time with him during my long holiday. He was baggage I wasn't ready to deal with then. I still wanted to explore the world, sexuality, and everything. So, I used to disappear a lot. 

When I started working, I sent him little upkeep through my parents. We got so disconnected, he'd known his grandmother as his actual mother, and I was just Wendy. His father disappeared when he learned I was pregnant, never to be seen. I had my time traveling and exploring, I worked abroad for some time, in the middle-east but my lifestyle wasn't being met, they have a strict culture. I got back and got engaged with some smart guy who helped me squander all my savings and in no time he was gone as well as my money.

Age caught up with me, also the consistency of karma, things weren't moving that well for me. I started getting tired of the impulsive life. I wanted someone to settle with, benefit from, and start a family; of course, I had already started one, in denial. 

It's hard to find a man ready to settle with an already mother, so my son was a story I had to erase from my life anthology, and how unfortunate I even managed to convince myself about it.

I met my now husband at my workstation, a real gentleman. We had our daughter a few years later, a small happy family. I never told him I had a son back home, a fully-grown boy almost joining high school. I wasn’t ready to face it. I alienated my son, he knew I was his mother now, and he had a small sister whom he never saw. A family he was part of by proxy.

Things heated up when it was time for my husband to meet up with my family for marriage negotiation. He had been insisting for a long time, and I knew that eventually, the life I was trying so hard to hide would catch up, and it won’t be lovely. But isn't that the reason for time? So that all things don't happen at once. 

I had a small beauty shop in the city and a few others in the hood and village. He supported my dreams, and every time I felt like maybe loyalty was the best reward or it would have been kinder to hide my ugly self from him forever, but it wasn't possible anymore. 

He also had his share of guilt, never getting hold of his charisma. We had so many infidelity issues before time took away his energy. So his guilt was the canoe I was sailing on the high-tide sea of my failures as a saint. Our daughter honestly was to tie him down with me, something that could keep him on the leash for long and active, fortunately, it worked.

The day came, and I was already at home, anxiously awaiting their arrival. I tried getting hold of myself but didn't have a self to get a hold of, rather, I had a million selves that I couldn't make peace with which one I wanted to be that day, but I was sure I wanted to start a new one, an honest one, even if it meant losing all. I saw the look he gave my son. I never mentioned I had a younger brother, maybe he would have assumed the resemblance was a sibling cause. 

For a minute I was held back, thinking that maybe it was a wrong idea what I was planning on doing, but my mother wasn't ready to let me live that life again, so I dropped the hammer straight on the nail's head.

He got up and couldn't even look me in the eye as he stormed out in rage. I only prayed that wherever he was speeding to, he gets there safe as tears flooded my eyes. It was calming to let go of that weight, but also I couldn't imagine losing him. 

I had grown to love him, from just a creamy man to support my drowning self, to the infidel I had tolerated just because I too had a past, from the prisoner shackled by chains of an innocent daughter now to a man I adored his growth, and one I hoped to spend all my life with.

I stayed home for some time, but all through he never reached out to me, not even checking on his daughter, whom he dearly loved. And at some point, I was convinced he was gone. 

My son was now even more distant than ever; he could barely look at me, never even sitting in the same room with me. 

Things got tough for some months, all guilt and regrets in my mind. My mother was optimistic that things would work out. I later left home to go back to our house. I couldn't get hold of any of his friends. They were all disappointed after learning about my ugly, flight from heaven to hell. 

He was still angry and tried chasing me out several times before he eventually cooled down. For another month, we lived there coldly, never saying a word to each other; all my attempts were useless. The plea and cry. He never even touched the meal I prepared. I later brought our daughter back, another blackmail, but I was just determined to get him back. It worked, he knew she was innocent in all this, and there was no point in hurting her. 

We started with small talk, necessities, and hiding all the anger whenever our daughter was around.

I was now a housewife; I did my part and did it best. We eventually had the talk, and things softened, but trust was lost. He looked at me differently, crazy how the same look I gave him back then with his cheating, but that wasn't on the bargaining table. 

Months passed, and things started to get better. His friends started coming home with plastic smiles and talking with me. I had accepted my failure and was happily on the receiving end.

Ten years today, we are okay; our past is a story. I’m still struggling with my son. They are friends, he comes home sometimes to hang out with his sister. We hardly have moments, though I've seen him soften over time. I hope that before I die, I'll be happy with him. That's the reason for time, everything happens at it's a specific one, not all at once.

Make peace with your past; just be honest. It's your integrity and peace on the line, for it will haunt you when all things pass except it; there are always choices to be made, make them early and ma