Waxes and Foxes

I love melted wax.

On days where customers order for birthday cakes, chocolate takes the highest order. I wouldn't blame them. It tastes better in chocolate, the gleam and yummy black goodness mixed with properly melted wax. 

My first chocolate was given to me by my first love, who clad himself with a frown, in crooked looking glasses and permanent wrinkles etched over his forehead. First love didn't taste like hot chicken pepper soup with herbs and spices that left my nose runny. No, it was no hot romance. Almost forbidden,but with no heat.

And no, it didn't taste like ice cream, sweet and comfortable, like a blanket on a chilly night. Like the kind of love that lets you enjoy and forget your fears. Till it gives you a brain freeze, anyway. 

And neither did it taste like the chocolates he had given me, the frown on his face his favourite outfit. It tasted of the candle wax that had been properly melted into a soft mass,which would take time to solidify. Properly melted in hot oil. 

I watched the cake that was set on the table, staring at the phone that lit up . The time is 10:55 P. M, and Daniel texted to let me know he was going to be here in twenty minutes. Twenty. 

I had baked this cake straight after my shift at 3:00 P. M, set things for our two weeks anniversary, a bottle of wine and a plates of small chops, a mixture of meat rolls, egg rolls and sweet pies. 

The wind from the fan overhead blows over my head and my hair, and I feel cold seep through my Skims. I stand, walking to the bathroom. 

I look at myself in the mirror. Stare at the body that is not really mine, flattened out by the the elasticity of the material. My eyes are black, and my nose is flattened, my mouth incredibly big. I suddenly feel self-conscious and silly, dressed in shape wear and heels, my braided hair in an updo. 

I bend, pressing the manicured fingers of my left hand on the sink as I remove my shoes. The lining of the shoe had made lines at the sides of my feet, and I press my palms on it before facing back up, kicking the shoes that land right in front of the bathtub. 

I stare at the cosmetics on the other side of the bathroom, placed on the edge of the mirror that sinks into the wall. His red toothbrush is the only thing that is on thing that's not on that side, placed in a cup beside my blue one. 

I raise the lid of the faucet,letting the water flow. I pick up the toothbrush, pouring a slob of toothpaste from the tube, careful to take it from the direct end. I put it to my mouth and began to scrub at my teeth violently; drawing blood from my gums and tasting the red lipstick at the roof of my mouth .

It makes quite a contrast, and as I hum a familiar tune in my head, I think wistfully of the day when I was told I had no talent. I watch the blood that runs down from my mouth, staring at the mirror. The blood that seeps is identical to my red lipstick, only a little shades away from the red toothbrush.

 I can match colours, mom. 

His eyes are red, like the toothbrush he uses at the sink now. I'm marking time for it to have it's effect. After a rushed apology and a download of his "busy "day, he proceeds to make fun of my gesture,eating my cake. 

You tell me, isn't two weeks enough to celebrate a meeting with someone? Well three, since we met for the first week and dated the next .

Suddenly I don't feel as giddy as I was when I met him. I met Daniel in a cab ride, a bubbly passenger who just kept sneaking glances at me. 

I try not to speak on the bus, especially not to passengers who posses some odour that seems peculiar to buses. But there was something about the brown skinned man, in a suit that looked expensive, and perfume that was not bus sweat.

His car had broken down, he would later tell me, before moving to complement my hair as we stepped out of the bus. Giddy, I felt, because he took time to complement my hair. 

His words cut my reverie.

"Babe. I already said I was sorry. "

He's done brushing, and comes to stand in front of me. He raises me up from the chair I'm sitting in, pulling me into him as he wraps his hands around my waist. 

"Forgive me?"

I fold my arms together, shaking my head as I pout."You took hours, Daniel."

"Angela. Baby. I'm sorry. It was really such a bad bad day at work today. Plus all the meetings, and there was traffic. I'm very sorry. Besides, " he said, a twinkle in his eyes as he chuckles.

" It's only been two weeks since we've been dating. I promise, I'll dote on the more important dates."

More Important dates.

I say nothing, staring at his bushy eyebrows. 

"Come on baby ." he urges, pressing his palms against my cheek as he pecks my lips. He smells of fresh mint and I lean into him as he gives me a quick kiss again. 

"Okay, I forgive you. "

He beams." I knew you'd come around. I had a long day. ."

My day was fine, thank you for asking. 

"I just want to sleep now, you should go to bed. " He starts to unwrap his arms.

"No", I say, staring at the clock on the wall just before the bathroom, it's about few minutes till the usual time. 

"Stay just a few minutes with me,let's watch a... "

I don't even finish before he holds his stomach with his hands. Ten minutes later, after my hysterics, I urge him to drink from a water bottle with antiseptic in it . A minute more and he's not moving, foam coming out of his mouth. 

I place a call through to his friend, Ade, my sob story ready. He drank from a bottle that had insecticide in it, thinking it was water.

Only mildly aided by the beauty of the indigestion the melted wax from my cake would have caused. Which Ade would never know,of course.

Ade is still speaking over the phone. I stand, moving to the table and kitchen to clear any evidence that Daniel may have eaten the cake. I try to sob as I walk, Ade still speaking. 

Just a few minutes,he says. I stare at the bottle on the kitchen counter. My beautiful, beautiful wax.