Saccharine

They met ten years later. It was on a cloudy Saturday afternoon at the Garden city in Kampala and she was with her two daughters while he was with his son and nephew. The circumstances of their meeting were the most ridiculous. It was eleven hours later when she woke up in that hotel room. Tracy stared into the mirror, she didn’t recognize who she had become. A young lady looked back at her, the aura of innocence and happiness all but lost. She cautiously spun on her heels and tiptoed back to the bed. Rodney Kihembo was still sleeping soundly. The spectacle around the room was one that spelled extreme chaos. Tracy remembered nothing of the eleven hours ago. Eleven hours seemed like many moons ago. She racked her mind to evoke any possible recollections to suggest any clues of what had transpired here in this hotel room and elsewhere with her and this man in bed to no avail. The old grandmother clock on the wall read 23:00hrs. The candle light on the bedside stool cast an eerie light on Rodney’s face to project an abstract shadow of his distorted face on the King-sized bed’s headboard. “What a Caricature”, Tracy thought. She was about to craftily sneak back in bed when it suddenly hit her. Her fingers rushed to her groin and an electric torrent ran through her whole body. Panic took over. She hastily cast a gaze around the room and seeing nothing, she knelt down on the maroon carpeted floor. Her pair of blank eyes stared under the bed with her mouth agape! She saw nothing she so desperately wanted to see. Between clenched teeth, she whispered, “Jesus help me”. She needed to see used condoms. Lord, if only she could see at least one used condom-. She sat on the edge of the bed and allowed her mind to wander off while she slowly stumbled into the bathroom. In there, she stood in front of the mirror and noticed her bloodshot eyes and the darkened bags that gave her the façade of a septuagenarian. “Jesus”, she cried as her eyes caught sight of some residue virginal fluids oozing out of her recently shaved vigina. She needed no more evidence as proof that as much as she couldn’t recollect the events of the past several hours, Rodney had certainly made love to her. She lifted her gaze from her vigina to her face in the mirror and she no longer saw herself. She saw a patient. An Aids patient.
Meanwhile on the bed, Rodney was having a nightmare. In his dream, he was fucking a horny, voluptuous, big-bosom slut he had paid Ugx. 30,000 for a quick romp in a cheap, low-life downtown motel when the condom broke. In his dream, he got the sensation that the condom had burst and a quick survey with his right hand confirmed his suspicions. Only the condom ring remained at the base of his penis. The slut caught a whiff of the moment’s unsealing events and asked, “onzise oba nzekuse?” Rodney asked her, “Olimufu?” She grinned-a mean devilish grin and answered, “Nze nafadda nyo-ndi ku ARV’s” Rodney saw death on her face. He opened his mouth to scream and what came out was a mislaid, haunted-ghostly howl that seemed to echo back from deep within his soul where the HIV he had contracted from this prostitute was already starting to cause an irremediable blotch of eternal death to his being.
Tracy heard the scream first. Then she saw Rodney disheveled, running towards her with a condom still hanging from his penis. She smiled. This was the best thing she had seen in her whole life! She fell down on her knees and cried, “Thank you lord” She fell in love with him….