The music had kept a smile on my face, a perfect mix of dance-hall, hip-hop, and a drizzle of a melodious female voice. The drive home always felt like it took half the time it took to get to the office.
Twip, twip, the alarm signalled the security was demanded by the very pores of Johannesburg – the City of Gold. Walking up to my doorway I thought I heard the shuffling of someone being busy in a kitchen. I should have stopped and taken stock, but my bladder insisted I barge through the door and relieve myself. Key in, turned, handle gripped, turned, door open. Then, mouth aghast.
There he was, a stranger in my house. Taller than me with a short evenly cropped hairstyle and eyes open wide beaming shock back at me. They asked intently who are you, I verbalised, “who the fuck are you?” I stopped at the door, my bladder fell silent, once again security and danger danced across my mind. With an unbroken stare, and the confidence of someone in his home he said, “I am Marvin.” His face continued the sentence his mouth could not, who are you? But I refused to answer the subliminal question, and continued with my line of questioning, what are you doing in my home?” “Your home?” Question ping pong played between us.
My brain did a quick check of the couch, TV, books, dining room, yes is my home. His brain did a quick check of the couch, TV, books, dining room, and yes his brain said this was his home. The question the couch, TV, books, dining room asked was “who are the two of you?”