STORIES: YES! I KILLED HIM. (Episode three)

(Part 3)

I stood there before my boss, speechless, staring at him as if he wasn’t even there. He did nothing as well. Just stood there with his usual charming smile. His dark evenly-tanned, sweat-soaked skin, glittered in the almost midday sun. I could see his perfect abs neatly outlined beneath his wet white-silk sportswear. His thigh muscles, well defined under the tight sports-pants he wore. And his ‘Koboko?’ – It was always there, announcing its presence even when uncalled for.

“How are you, Kay? Can I please come in? Would love to have a word or two with you… please!” said my boss. His smooth silky flawless voice, jolted me back to the fact that I had unconsciously kept him standing outside longer than I thought. “Oh, please Sir, do come in. forgive my manners.” I said as I quickly opened the door to let him in. “Oh pleeeaaassee…, who manners (manna) these day? We are not Israelites in the wilderness.” He said as he made his way into my room, smiling at me broadly. “Broda, anything for me?” the little boy who had brought my boss to my house inquired. “Ohhhhh… thank you Deola. See, make you come back, you hear. I will give you something when I finish with my visitor, okay?” I said. “Okay Broda” he said, as he scampered away to join the other kids I saw playing outside. I smiled as I watched him reunite with the other kids as if nothing has transpired between the both of us. Children! Their innocence and sincerity and most of all there fearlessness is intriguing – something we adults spend our time learning how to suppress. As I shut the door, a subtle chaos flooded my mind again. My Boss in my room? What exactly does he want this time? Well, I guess I just have to face him and find out for myself.

“Kay, come over here,” my boss beckoned. He was already seated on my bed and was opening a bag he came with. From the bag he brought out a laptop, my laptop, and then my wallet, and carefully placed both on my table. “Nice place you’ve got here Kay,” he said. “Thanks Boss,” I replied as I made my way towards my wardrobe. I thought a pair of short won’t be bad to put on, because I realized all the while I was still wearing my boxers. I was scanning through my scattered wardrobe when my boss asked me, “What are you looking for Kay?” “OH! Nothing much sir. Just trying to find a pair of shorts to put on. Can’t be wearing boxers with my boss in my place. It’s visually unappealing and professionally degrading.” I replied. “Are you kidding me?” he replied as he let out a loud, hearty, staccato laughter. “C’mon men! You look absolutely okay. Moreover, this is your home and you should be free, okay? Come on over and sit down Kay, we need to really talk.” He said. “Okay Boss, but at least singlet to cover my hunger stricken chest won’t be a bad idea, right?” I replied. He burst out into series of uncontrollable laughter. I knew he wasn’t faking it. I have worked with him for two and a half years now and I can tell you one thing about him – He’s as sweet as he looks, inside and outside. He’s a child at heart, one of the reasons working with him has be nothing but fun. Also one of the reasons I’m endeared to him. There was never a dull moment with Mr. Sean, my Boss.

I met my Boss, Mr. Sean, at one of the very unfortunate and most frustrating interviews I went for, three year ago. Prior to this very interview, I had gone for five other different interviews all in a space of two weeks. I was desperate for a job, any job at all. My parents and siblings needed all the help they can get and it hurts like hell to see each day pass without being able to do anything for them. Out of the five interviews I had gone for, only one told me they’d get back to me and believe me, I am yet to get a call back from them almost three years later. Of course most of them never get back to you and it took me some painful years to understand this. So, I was here for the sixth interview and what I had made up my mind would be the last I would ever go for. I was seriously tired of scouting for jobs and had started thinking on how to start up something for myself. It was this same day that the same man now seated in my room, Mr. Sean, my Boss, walked straight right into my life.

“Neeext,” the receptionist had called out but I didn’t hear her because I had an earpiece covering my ear, and was listening Katherine Jenkins’ classical rendition of Habanera – one of my all-time favorite classical piece. “Neeeeeeeeexxxxxttt,” the receptionist’s voice came again, jolting out of my daydreaming. “Sorry Madam,” I said, as I made my way towards the interview room. “Sorry for yourself oh! You hear! I say, sorry for yourself. After now people like you will go go outside dey talk say no job. But the one wey you see, you no no serious to fight get am,” she said, giving me that looks as if I was her houseboy or something close to it. “I’m sorry naaa Madam,” I apologized. “Sorry for yourself, you hear! Sorry for yourself. Nonsense!” she retorted, as she passed a sheet of alphabetically named print and pointed me to sign somewhere. I signed and was about going towards the door of the interview room, when she hissed and said, “Handwriting sef be like where two fowl dey fight.” The rest of the people waiting their turn for the interview all busted out into laughter while I quietly walked into the interview room

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