I have to admit. I am a hopeless romantic. Several years ago, I bought fourteen roses for Thule as a surprise gift for Valentine’s day. I was ready to go until the end complete with candlelit dinner, champagne and soft Jazz music. She had never received roses. I have never been able to see it. She had left the city in haste, for good.
Thule has been my kind of girl. It was great as a model, thin but not skinny, and light complexion – a true yellow bone. She had it all – a perfect body, complete with curves. She had beautiful blue eyes, and her set of dazzling, angel-white teeth gleamed as she blew gently on her carmine-red fingernails. She had saccharine sweet lips which spoke only words of goodness. They were blossom soft. She had a soothing voice and a bubbly personality. When she smiles, her oyster-white teeth lit up the room. His high cheekbones made his face looks almost perfect. She always smelt good and the scent of her perfume, still stunned my senses. When she walked, she looked like a perfectly choreographed movement. She spoke softly, with his iconic smile constantly.
It didn’t help that she was a hairdresser by profession and has run his own hair salon. She always wore her long, and, in some sophisticated darkie kind of way. She was dressed to kill, always with the various gold chains around his neck. I once asked about her fashion sense, she says: “I design my own clothes”. For lack of a better word, Thule was truly a village of beauty, beautiful inside. I was head over heels for him. It had delighted my heart. It was always in mind. In my free time, I always imagined his soft lips touching mine, and him whispering sweet words in my ear. In fact, it was my fleur de lys.
Our love for each other was mutual. It has boosted my ego no end. She has always noticed that my smile was contagious. She told me that I was not able to make of his anger. It was as much as I was. My relationship with Thule began as a house on fire. It was love at first sight. I didn’t know that it was possible. But, why is she leaving town unexpectedly? I guess I’ll never know.
Dear reader, let me bring you back to that fateful Valentine’s day, at noon. I was dressed to the nines. I was fourteen roses in my hands. I was high on love. As I walked up the stairs in the Thule of the salon, I was humming the melodies of Don Williams success of the song”True Love”. The lyrics of the song goes something like this:
Well, you know it’s true love
Deeper than the depth
Hotter than a fire
Well, it is hard to find and it is more difficult to keep
It is the thing that we most desire.
I am entered in the Thule culture of the salon in a good mood with roses in hand only to be met by grim faces. Thule was nowhere in sight. I recognized that three of his friends, who were intended to be occupied hair, but it is in my entrance stopped them in their tracks. I could not understand why the women who were always in a good mood every time seeing me has had a change of heart. Suddenly, a commotion that the girls talked among themselves trying to figure out who was the oldest. I’ve been duped.
A convened hastily caucus to agree on the representative to talk to me. The elected did not hesitate. She announced the news matter-of-factly – Thule is dead. She was buried last month. The friend’s words cut deep into my heart. Fortunately, they allowed the words to sink in properly before you cry in unison. They were no longer to cry for Thule, but for me. The time is stopped. It was a moment of truth for me. The woman that I told someone who wanted to hear that I was in love with; I had not called or seen her for a month. There was no compelling reason for this lack of communication. I had last seen her at the end of December. She mentioned that she was not feeling well. I was advised to seek medical help. We parted on good terms. I planted a kiss on her forehead, and promised to see in the New Year.
If the Valentine’s day with a aspect fourteen roses was intended to atone for my lack of communication and reignite the fire between us. Well, well, the woman that I wanted the surprise had the effect of a bomb for me. As the shock disappeared, the pain set in. Of inadvertent tears started rolling down my cheeks. My fleur-de-lys had died an agonising death. Single and lonely.
The love of my life Thule, the chic chest of drawers, dressing table and my yellow bone is dead out of the blue many moons ago, but it still hurts deeply. I don’t have the chance to say my goodbye. None of his friends had my mobile phone number where nobody has informed me of the sad news.
I was so devastated by the news of Thule, the disappearance of the that I threatened to wear the mourning for his audience by wearing a black mourning cloth. I’ve never done. After a few minutes, after the effect of a bomb, and mutual grief, I left in a huff, still with fourteen roses in hand. To this day, I have no memory of what I’ve done with the roses. Yes, I have enjoyed and been blessed to be loved by the best. Goodbye my fleur-de-lys. We will meet in paradise. I will bring roses with me.