When I grow up

When I grow up, I am going to be like my neighbour.

Every day, early in the morning, Bonnie pads slowly and sluggishly down the stairs. Blue pinstripe shirt, top buttons undone, tie hanging across the open neck, sleeves folded twice back. Always clean shaven, rimless glasses, jacket slung over his shoulder.

He rounds the block of flats, goes down the steps, to the parking where he gives Mutua the night watchman final instructions on the car wash job. Bonnie is always in a hurry. And Mutua is always slow.

Bonnie circles his car. Panguza haraka Mutua. Kwani usiku mzima hungeosha hii ngari.

Lakini boss si umeingia asubuhi.

Wachaa? Ilikuwa saa ngapi. Hii dent imetoka wapi? Ilikuwa hapa jana?

They squat. Squint. Rub it.

Sidhani. Hi ni rangi ya blue sivyo. Kulikuwa tu na hiyo dent iko na rangi ya yellow. Ya yellow ulirudi nayo Saturday asubuhi, na yule mama yellow yellow. Ilikuwa siku ya yellow.

They laugh.

Hala. Sasa hizi dents zinatoka wapi? Mutua finish finish. I am going to be late.

Bonnie stands up slowly. Rubs his eyes. Turns towards the block of flats. Sees me on our ground floor balcony looking at him.

You can see the thought flit across his brain; did I hear his dent and yellow story?

He says hi. Squints. Red slit eyes. Does the hand rub from mouth to side of neck, shakes his head a bit. Stretches one hand out, like he is trying to get a kink out of some muscle. Walks towards me. He is wearing eau de beer.

Heavy morning?

No. Last night. Long night. Long last night.

I cannot wait to grow up.

image from http://www.memo.tv

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