Orbit

So you know the earth spins around the sun in a certain predestined line called orbit. The trajectory of a planet round the core of the sun. Something to do with magnetic pull.

Anyway I was thinking about that as I sat on the hard wooden bar stool, my shoulders hung over the bar expecting an ice-cold glass of whiskey I ordered maybe 2 -3 minutes ago.

Finally it arrives. Smooth cool vapors issuing out the wide based whiskey glass.

Sip. Sip. Down. Down. Ooooooo

Yes.

God. Where the hell is Bernard. Lousy good for nothing, slightly discolored brown skin. Not black. Like just brownish enough to be called discolored and to some extent patchy in some places. Why am I thinking so much?

Mind propelling a motor of thoughts that mean nothing, but something if I was to dig deeper into them.

Her. Armageddon.

Felt like I was burned. Disintegrated. Obliterated. And left to hang in the solar system attaching to that orbital magnetic pull I was thinking about before. Small tiny particles of myself scattered. Maybe I would reform again at some point in the galactic future.

Emotion? I don’t know. 

Emotion is a little more complicated to determine. At times there is some connections you make, an energy you touch and it feels like millennia and distance never existed between you and that person. Am I feeling some sort of queer emotion for her?

Is that why that just popped into my head?

‘You always look a shit!’

Bernard smacked the back of my shoulder and I felt a jolt of annoyance as I ever did when someone interfered with my personal space. He was looking more sparkly than usual today, deciding to don a shiny three piece suit, sewn with a silvery thread that sprouted flowers at different ends of the outfit. Shades specked, watch shining, teeth yellow, and skin patchy. Motely, was the word I always thought of when Bernard tried to impress someone, which he was looking like today.

‘Where you coming from?’

‘Meeting, getting you into David Aginga’s next movie. The Spitter!’

‘Chale, don’t be fucking with me.’

‘Oh, full proof. He wants to see you either tonight or tomorrow evening t – maybe tomorrow cause you aren’t looking stable today. Maybe tomorrow.’

‘What the hell is the movie about? And don’t tell me spitting.’

‘I don’t have time,’ Bernard had been frequently glancing at the glaring sun, he called a watch for the whole time we had been talking. ‘Will send you the script on email, so check out for it.’

‘What do you mean you don’t have time? You told me to come here. I was doing some important shit, and you disturbed it, now you telling me about Spitting and looking like a jackass. What do you mean you don’t have time? The hell are you doing that is so important? God. You don’t even ask how am doing, is that what I am to you, a means to an end. At least be more discreet about it.’ Sigh. ‘Okay send me the email, I will look at it, and yeh tomorrow is fine just let me know when where, and how.’

Bernard tapped my shoulder and hopped out of the bar and onto the busy streets of Airport city in Accra. I remained, slumped over the watered down whiskey, vaguely aware of the condensing glass. Twirling it round and round thinking about orbit again, and the titanic meteor that had disassembled my soul. 

Orbit was the only constant in this life. A gentle pull.