SHORT STORY Jan. 12, 2022

It’s a Thursday night.

That means only one thing – tonight, I get to see Wesley.

I am all giddy inside, and I feel like if someone were to dare me to fly, I actually would. That is how light, and stupid and girlish I feel.

As I take the shower, I try to calm the butterflies dancing in my stomach, but they don’t listen. They just keep on with their dance, sometimes jumping as high as my throat.

I am too happy to give them a second warning, so I let them continue with their dance.

Deciding what to wear is hard. After all, this is Wesley. The guy I have been fantasizing about for months and months. The only guy who could bring the butterflies to life.

I first decide to wear a red dress. He once told me he likes how red looks on a pretty woman, and since he asked me out on this date, I can only assume that he considers me a pretty woman.

But when I slip the red dress on, I find that it reaches above my knees.

I remove it in frustration.

Short dresses, not good for first dates. Isn’t that what my sister told me when she was trying to hook me up with a classmate of hers?

What was his name? Jake? John? Whatever his name was, he was such a yawn. I mean, who talks about their family members, and I mean, all their extended family members on the first date?

 Not Wesley, I am sure.

I rummage through my closet and come up with my blue flowery skirt. I try it on. It feels good on my skin.

But then, I remember I have not applied lotion or even perfume, so I remove it.

Jesus, what am I thinking?

I rummage some more in my closet, find my lotion, and my perfume which is almost out, but smells heavenly either way and apply them.

I hope Wesley will not want to come back here. My house is such a mess.

 Will he change his mind about me once he steps inside it? Ah, who am I kidding? It is only the first date. Of course, he will not want to come back here.

Once I am done with the lotion and the perfume, I try the skirt back on again but it feels different on my skin. Like it doesn’t belong.

I remove it.

I am now standing naked in my room. The butterflies in my stomach are doing a different kind of dance. One filled with frustration, and dread, and something else I can’t quite place.

I decide, why not start with a bra and panties? Maybe, they will give me a better inkling of an outfit.

I am back in my maze of a closet again. This time, I am looking for my small blue bag where I keep all my bras and panties.

Once I find it, I empty it out, and all kinds of panties and bras and thongs and scrunchies fall on my carpeted floor.

I quickly shuffle through them, and when I find the sexy pair of red panties, I automatically know what I am going to wear.

I find a red bra that fits me perfectly, and then, from the mess that is my closet, I find a clean pair of blue jeans, a white crop top and a red jacket. 

I put them on.

When I look in the mirror, the butterflies in my stomach do a twirl. They, like me, cannot wait for Wesley to see me in this!

For the lipstick, I decide to go with tonight’s theme - red.

As I am applying it, I think of Wesley.

Who knew, that after months of stalking a cute guy from your class, finding out about where he lives, who his friends are, and accidentally on purpose inserting yourself in his life over and over again, that all this will end in a fairy tale?

And, it didn’t matter that he had a girlfriend.


She was easy to remove from the picture. Too easy in fact.

Of course, a slut like her would trust me to take her to a party. Just like she trusted me to leave her with Joe.

Joe, my good loyal friend.

One attempted kiss caught on camera, her twerking with Joe, a picture of her going home with Joe - that was all I needed.

It helped that Wesley did not know Joe was my friend, so when Joe sent him those pictures and later picked a fight with him, nothing could lead back to me.

Of course, it also helped that Eva had cheated once before.

 Honestly, it’s like she made it too easy for me.

When I am done applying lipstick, I decide to complete my badass outfit with black boots and a cute small black fur bag.

As I walk out of the door, smelling heavenly, and looking even more heavenly, I know one thing for sure – Wesley is mine, not only for tonight but for forever.

The butterflies are dancing more than usual as I close the door to my room, and as I walk down the stairs, and as I call Wesley to confirm if I am really seeing him tonight.

When he takes a minute too long to answer the phone, the butterflies start their other kind of dance. The one filled with dread and frustration and something else I can never quite place.

I almost hang up, but thankfully, he answers at the last ring:

“Hey,” his voice comes on to the phone speaker, and I can feel the goosebumps in my skin start to grow, grow, grow.

“Hey, I am almost out,” I say, even though I am already out.

“Cool, we are meeting by the highway, right?”


“Cool, I almost out too.”

“Cool,” I say, then we are both silent.

I can hear his steady breath on the mouthpiece, and there is nothing I wish more than breathing in the same air as he is.

 “Hey, Jenny?”

“Yeah,” my voice is breathless.

“I can’t wait to see how hot you look.”

Then he hangs up.

The goosebumps and the butterflies and my blood and my veins and everything in my body is flaring up.

I can’t wait to see how hot you look.  I can’t wait to see how hot you look. I can’t wait to see how hot you look.

The line repeats itself over and over and over and over again in my head as I walk, as I take the motorbike, as I reach the side of the highway.

Even when I pay the motorbike guy, the words are still there.

Even when I stand in the cold and wait for Wesley, they are still there.

But when my phone rings, and I see it’s him, and pick it up, and he says:

“Hey, I am on the other side of the road. Damn you look hot.”

The words vanish and are instead replaced by Damn, you look hot.

I raise my head, and our eyes meet and there, between busy cars, and shouting matatus, and uncouth hawkers, I find heaven.

He is wearing a white shirt and black jeans.

So simple. So gorgeous.

 He smiles. I smile.

“I can’t wait to be beside you,” his voice comes through the phone mouthpiece.

I smile wider when I realize we are still clutching at our phones.

This. This was worth all the trouble I went through to get him.

“Okay, Jenny, I am going to hang up now.”

“Okay,” I say.

He hangs up, and still smiling, he looks left, then right, then left, and starts his journey towards me, towards our forever.

I am smiling too hard at this moment, and my eyes are kind of blurry from all the happiness inside me.

Maybe that is why I don’t see it. Or even acknowledge it is happening.

All I know is, he is almost there. Almost here. In my arms.

So I don’t see it. The white Toyota. Speeding, speeding, speeding.

I don’t see it. And neither does he.

And how can he? He is walking toward me.

And suddenly, he is up in the air. He is smiling at me, and suddenly, he is screaming.

He is mine, mine, almost mine, and suddenly he falls to the ground, and he is no one's.

The wails of the hawkers are what tell me what’s happening, and the moment I reach there, there is too much blood, too much of it in his white shirt that I cannot breathe.

I am numb. I am numb. I am numb.

I don’t know what tells me to look up, but then I do, and I see the white Toyota.

I see an image in the backseat, looking through from the black window, laughing.

I see Eva.

 That slut.


by Amanda Nechesa 50


  • Freecsalice.

    June 11, 2021, 11:41 a.m.

    I so knew he was gonna get hit by a car 😂😂 what is my mind even? Pictured the whole thing in my head. Nice twist it being Eva at the end 😅 what did the guy do to deserve these two 😅😭

  • Gathungu Mwaura

    June 11, 2021, 6:50 p.m.

    On point Amanda, though continuation of the red lingerie could be 🔥🔥👍

  • Yitzhak

    June 13, 2021, 4:27 p.m.

    Love how light the tone of narration is. It contravenes how grave the tale is, and I can appreciate the artistry.  I also like how you intentionally point at the irony that the character frowns at someone revealing too much about themselves on a first date when she, herself, considers bringing someone else home on a first date.


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