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My First Crush And The Dud Script

She used to pass by my classroom on her way to hers. She was the most beautiful girl I had ever seen. 

Her uniform was crisp and hugged her provocatively. I couldn’t stop admiring her and one day one of my classmates asked if I was interested in her. I knew I was. He knew I was. I couldn’t respond. She didn’t know it and this is where the problem was.

My classmate, the professor, promised to fix a meeting with this queen. I was excited. I was scared. How does one propose love to a girl? He could see the apprehension in me and promised to coach me on how to go about it.

After study I remained behind with the professor for the coaching sessions. Two other guys who were more experienced in the ministry of girls joined us. I was taken through a script. It was mainly the chronology of my ‘presentation’ and how to tackle any ensuing objections. It was complicated with every question/comment having about 3 possible responses and how to deal with each one. They insisted I remember it by heart. I insisted on writing it down so I rehearse it in the evening at home. My tutors were unhappy with how slowly I was grasping the drills. Eventually their patience wore out and they left but the professor stayed the course. He had to make sure I was sufficiently equipped to deal with the queen the following day.

When I got home I closed myself in my room. Tonight there would be no Knight Rider nor Dynasty. I had to learn the script by heart. My dad peeped in my room and saw me poring over a notebook and was suitably impressed. I was finally taking my studies seriously. He promised if I stuck to this routine I would be allowed to go to the movies on Saturday. I was elated. Perhaps if I studied the script well I might just have a date to the movies.

Around midnight I was confident and ready for battle. The following day couldn’t come fast enough. I was going to win. I had planned to refresh tactics at lunchtime only to realise I had left the script at home. I told

the professor but he allayed my fears by telling me to just act confident.

After study when everyone had gone home he went to call the queen. I could see her from a distance and my heart started pounding. The pounding seemed to increase with every step as she swallowed up the distance between us. I swallowed hard as the professor introduced the queen and I doubt if she heard my name. I had bought a drink to add to the confidence ensemble but it was a bad idea as the hands were shaking. The desk rescued me as I quickly placed the can on it.

The professor left and I steadied myself and recited the first line from the script. Her response was none of the alternatives I had on the script and I was stuck and didn’t know how to proceed. I groped for something intelligent to say and tried to fish for some of the lines on my script. She complained that I was barely audible and she had to go home as it was already late. This too was not on my script and I stared blankly at her.  I was a permanent entry on the noisemakers’ list and my teacher could hear me some hundred metres away but the queen couldn’t hear me from less than a metre away.

She left before I could pull more lines from my wretched script. The script had failed dismally. She left and I couldn’t even say goodbye. There was no provision for an abrupt end to the verbal engagement on the script.

I had really counted on the script but she kept railroading my show. I wondered if she was one of those unconventional types who don’t behave nor respond like normal people would. This made me feel much better.

The following day it was a forlorn me trying to explain to the professor how it hadn’t worked out but he said ‘o rata dilo that girl’. That was the end of the story. I was astounded by professor’s nonchalance.

I moved my desk from the window so she wouldn’t see me as she walked past my classroom. Miss Unconventional! Maybe she didn’t deserve me but deep down I knew I had sold myself short. The silver lining was I was going to the movies on Saturday –scant consolation for staying up at night trying to memorise a dud script.


Ink Spills



Can anything good come out of Africa?

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