That woman

It's funny how you retain certain things from your childhood. People, places you visited, things you did. Nice memories, bad memories. All leave a lasting impression. There was one person who I haven't forgotten after all these years.  

 

That woman...

As a child I was super cute, adorable. (I have photographic evidence to back this up). I was the darling of my parents eyes,  loved by everybody who saw me and had the pleasure of my sweet company. I was the type of child who parents with repugnant kids wished was theirs. The type of child who made other children fight to share their milk with. The type of child who was often asked to come as a guest of honour to nursery openings. Yes, come to think of it I was a bit of a celebrity. I was that child. However, due to having sensible grounded parents my plimsolls were kept firmly on the floor. They knew I was a star but didn't allow it to go to my afro. 

My mother had a friend who happened to share the same name as her. Something  to this day doesn't sit well with me. That woman was the absolute antithesis to my mum. Whereas my mother was natural looking and beautiful, her friend was a lady who appeared to have undergone a violent love affair with make up. And from my recollection an addiction to using too much perfume. 

Like all the other adults around that time this woman was fond of me and I imagine would look at me with goo-goo eyes. To my mind make up face used my mothers friendship as an excuse to come round and dote over me. In hindsight I'm surprised all the attention didn't force me      to spiral into an um bongo drinking dependency.

In general perhaps I wasn't too bothered. I was engrossed with playing with my toys, planning games with Joshua and replying to my fan mail. I was a busy child. 

One day the woman with the same name as my mother took her 'love' for me too far. Foundation face had been watching me play - seeing how much fun I was having admiring how delightful I looked in my Ethel Austin threads and evenly moisturised face along with my neat 'fro. It was all too much for her. She wanted to give me a kiss. A great big squeeze and kiss.

I remember perfectly how I felt and how I reacted from here on in. Her bright red lipstick coated lips moving towards me. Those lips. (Juju ones) that face painted like Ronald MacDonald. That cheap aroma making me dizzy. Her hands stretched out like a malfunctioning robotic monster. 

"Give me some sugar, Demola." As she homed in on my petrified state. 

Putting it plain and simple - I screamed! Literally, I was frightened and fled in fear - tears rolling down my little face. You have understand that the only woman back then who I wanted kisses from was from my lovely mother. Not a mad woman who happened to share the same name! I hadn't been this frightened since visiting my cousins house and they were watching MJ's Thriller on TV.

My dad did well that day. Exceptionally  well. Taking me aside he consoled me as I was hyperventilating. Crying heavily because of the attempted amorous attack by that woman! My dad told me to count to ten as he held me. Counting to ten was no problem, I could count to much higher. (And colour in neatly). Although, in the current circumstances I had to concentrate due to the flustered state I was in. My world was spinning. 

All these years later I still remember my dad laughing slightly, saying: "You won't be crying like this when you're older and women want to kiss you." Back then those words made no sense to me at all. I was just an innocent child. But as I got older, well, let's just say my dad wasn't wrong. Ahem. 

That woman, though. I'm sure she's forgotten how much she upset me that day. Seriously. I'm glad her and my mother stopped being friends.

Demola, TCC