Young Love
A scene of rosaries and hijabs
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Dear Bolu,
Some letters ago, I intimated my little trouble with the sun, which made some people think me crazy. I'm still alive, thankfully and luckily, but the sun is still out to get me. The days are getting hotter, and even in my more relaxed moments, I look like one who's just been in a sauna, except that it leaves me feeling neither refreshed nor invigorated. My only respite is the light shower that blesses me from heaven every once in a while. Oh, rain is always a wonderful gift, dear friend. The only time you probably don't want rain is your wedding day or when you're out in the open without an umbrella or a shade to protect you. Even in such moments, you might enjoy the experience of being drenched and battered by vertical droplets of water. Also, there is the off chance that you'd share a romantic encounter with someone new, as love stories have made us believe. I also enjoy nighttime, of course, as the sun loses sight of me. I enjoy the moonlight and the freedom to run with the wolves.
Away from matters of the sun, I had hoped to write to you about lies and liars—a subject I consider myself an expert on—but I have been overcome by the world, so that would have to wait. I have not much to say in this letter as time is not on my side. It switched sides for some reason, and I’m a bit too proud to beg it to return to my team. Oh well, allow me instead to narrate a scene I observed not too long ago.
It is after-school hours, and there is a boy in front of the house opposite my building. He is neatly dressed in a pair of red shorts and a hoodie. From afar, you can tell that he’s waiting for something, and anxiety is evident all about him. Now and again, he puts his hood over his head only to bring it down the next moment. He’s holding a black bag which he repeatedly fumbles with as if a black man could ever fumble the bag. Pfft! He brings out a hairbrush and uses it on his hair and eyebrows—yes, eyebrows. Only one thing motivates a young boy to fiddle with his brows; love. He looks around frequently, so I’m careful to avoid his line of sight. Yeah, spying is interesting sometimes and this scene playing out before my eyes is worth seeing to the end.
Moments later, the object of his anxiety presented itself, and yes, it was a girl. They seemed enchanted by each other and would probably have hugged if they were anywhere but on the street. She had a hijab on, and he had a rosary around his neck. I wondered how that would work out between them, but they didn’t seem to care, so I stopped wondering. They talked about things I couldn’t hear and smiled at every opportunity. Maybe she complimented his brows. Maybe he praised her fair skin. I’d never know what they spoke about, but it must have been interesting. They walked around each other in incomplete circles as if that was the only way to contain their overflowing excitement. I’m not sure they were aware of this motion, as it didn’t bother them at all. They seemed to be dancing without holding hands and without any music, but the words they spoke and those left unsaid in their hearts.
When they left one another, they weren’t visibly sad because perhaps they knew they would see each other soon. But just before they parted ways, the boy reached into his bag and brought out an item. I could tell what it was from the packaging, and when he handed it to her, she moved about in even more incomplete circles. It was cake, and she was pleased indeed. I found myself rooting for him—this true romantic who had just ended this encounter with a flourish. Nothing beats a sweet gift. Nothing. He watched her head into her house while he stayed behind as if to protect her with his eyes, or perhaps to behold her for one last time. He seemed satisfied, and I couldn’t stop smiling. He popped on his hood when she was gone, backed his bag, and walked away.
At the end of the scene, I couldn’t but think about young love and how it marvels me. Whether young love refers to love between young people or newly found love between people, I’m fascinated by both. And I understand more, with scenes like this, why in the Book of Proverbs, a wise man said he doesn’t understand the way of a man with a young woman. Young love is beautiful, don’t you agree, dear friend?
Fin.
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Write you soon, merci!
- Wolemercy