Wait me there

The Greek Fates. Clotho - the Spinner, Lachesis - Measurer;

and Atropos - Cutter of life's thread.

I once told a man to “wait me there”, and the non-discerning soul did wait for me there for a while, at

some location he determined for himself. It was the days before the advent of the mobile phone, and he had to wait until he next time he laid eyes on me to detail his displeasure on my non-appearance. He was not amused. I on the other hand burst a stitch. I still laugh about it to this day. I still do not get people who do not get sarcasm.

I meanwhile have learnt the art “wait me there”. You do ill too me, hurt or harm me. Unjustly. If it is just I can live with it. If not, then the problem happens. I hasten through the whole gamut of emotions. Shock. Disbelief. Distress. Contusioned ego. Mashed up pride. Primitive anger. Anger. Hot tear causing tremor inducing anger. Instant sweat, that turns acrid the minute it surges out of my pores. Arm pits. Down my back. Into my but crack. Dripping over my knees. Piddling into my shoes. “Suck in air gal” kind of anger. Thudding blood pressure heartbeat.

Then comes vengeful thoughts. Oh my goodness they will see me. By the sword of whomever, they will see me. Disjointed quick fire notions pinging all over. I am going to get even. Examined by adrenaline charged neurons, discarded as not viable, or prison landing scenarios. I will thank that little sane part of me that holds me back later. Not now. But I breathe. Move. Walk away.

Constant instant replays follow. Oh my goodness. Who the? How the? The gal. This angle. That angle. If I had been someone else. They would not have dared. It’s because it’s me. The audacity. Powerlessness.

The initial conflagrating heat of anger is fizzling. But I am still distressed. Diminished. The aftermath [I have no clue what this word means, but it sounds like the stinky muddy garbagy things left after a Nairobi flood recedes], the aftermath is no fun place to be.

Acceptance finally comes. There is nothing I can do. I cannot hit them. Smash them. Obliterate them. So what I am going to do is wait. Nurse my wounds to healing and wait. I will wait, and whatever you want to call it, the universe, karma, God, will sort them out for me.

Justice exists. Levied by the Fates. They watch. They see. You sow. They reap assist you. And I will ehhhh be watching from the sidelines. Picking at the scab. Rubbing on the scar. To remind them. Least they forget you. And your just deserves. Sooo. Just. Wait me there.

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