A Brief Story Of Marlon And Me

“Hello, I’m Marlon James, I loved the review you did on my book. It appears you  enjoyed reading the book more than I did writing it. I should share my Man Booker prize money with you”. He laughed at his own joke. I was too stunned to get the joke nor laugh with him. I was only staring at the god (Hercules) standing in front of me. His presence mesmerized me. He continued talking “May I have the pleasure of having a one on one with you?”(I expected him to speak patois but his accent was British). “Umm” Words will not come out, there were words swinging in my head but they eluded me (selective mutism). I was in complete awe of him.

“You know what? I am lodging in a hotel near the Airport, you can drop me there”. 

He was fascinated with my confusion I could tell. The huge grin on his face, he was enjoying me being star-struck. His gorgeous eyes were fixed on me the whole time he spoke. I nodded. I was still not sure if it was indeed Marlon James. He filled my car with his Oud fragranced body, spirit and soul. He was everywhere around me. And I loved it. 

The more he spoke, the more wonderstruck I was. He mentioned the name of his hotel and figured I didn’t get it so he mentioned it again. “I know the place” I yelled in a shrill voice. “Fauzia, are you okay? You haven’t said much since we met and I think you are not here. If I am being a......” “You are not a bother” I cut in, this time softly almost whispering(making up for yelling). 

He invited me into his hotel room. We both climbed the stairs quietly into his room. We went to his balcony together after he changed into a T-shirt and shorts. I watched him puff his cigarette and I thought to myself: “irresistible pulchritude!”.

I poured myself a glass of scotch, i needed a drink. I admired his legs in shorts, his locks, well arranged and resting obediently at his back. I wanted to press my skin against his in the shower(I had  nothing but naughty thoughts of  him). “I am here for a week, can we plan a road trip?” Dutch courage was setting in.  “Absolutely, I’d love that so much and more!” I replied. We both laughed. He laughed louder than me swinging his head back, allowing his long locks to swing in the air (this is freedom I thought), I caught a whiff of his hair oil. “Jamaican Castor oil, mango flavor” I said. He gave me a puzzling look. “I mean your hair oil, I use the same”.  

“How long have you kept your locks?” he asked and walked behind me. “Can I touch them?” he whispered in my ears and this time, my heart was beating so fast I was afraid I’d turn around and kiss him or run out (a confused mind). He parted my hair into two halves and started braiding it. I was on the moon. I closed my eyes took quick sips of my scotch. I was enjoying his hands in my hair. I couldn’t even tell  when he was done. Marlon appeared right in front of me. 

“Fauzia, I feel it too...... whatever you feel, it’s mutual” Just when I was about to speak, he hushed me with his forefinger and drew his lips close, (I wanted to hear those words in patois) I reached forth to kiss then suddenly I felt like peeing. It was a damn dream. I hated my body for waking me up to pee. 

How does one get over something that felt so real? I couldn’t kiss Marlon James even in a dream. What a shame! 

*Marlon James is the author of A Brief History of Seven Killings*

Corona Feelings by Chilombo for Fauzia