Gabriel’s Revenge As a kid growing up in Addis Ababa, Ethiopia, I had this Italian friend called Gabriel. He had a hook nose that resembled an Eagle’s beak and suited his temper, which was always prone to flying off the handle. His shock of coal black hair was often slicked back as it rested above a mouth shaped to give Godfather deals. Some ladies said that he reminded them of Marlon Brando with a five o’clock shadow that scared them into his arms for protection! In a word, he was a chick magnet. Still, to me, his behavior was like Matooke and Groundnut sauce….something I didn’t like. Not because he was a bad guy. No. It was because he used to come home to see me and my brothers every day. And while he was home, he’d commandeer the kitchen and cook what he called, ‘Egga-na-Bacona-Beans’ in his sing-songy Italian drawl. Oftentimes, he’d forced me to eat breakfast after I had eaten breakfast. So he’d be like, “Philipo, do you wanna some egga-na-beans or egg-na-sausage?” And I would firmly say, “Neither! I just ate breakfast!” Angry stare. Then Gabriel would be like, “Philipo! I am Not Joking! Okaaay?!?” His eyes burning with the smoldering fires from some Godforsaken underworld, I would flinch. Then I’d wrap on my napkin and get ready for brunch. I mean, the dude scared me. He looked like he missed the part of John Rambo only because of his age. Again, I didn’t like him much because all the girls liked him. Truly, they fell at his feet like he was a pair of discount designer shoes. Meantime, the rest of us forlorn guys were left alone like Stallone. Indeed, his Latin lover persona left us all personality-free, to the girls. Okay, this wouldn’t have been a bad thing. I mean, I wasn’t looking for a skirt convention of lovers or a sorority of adoring chicks. To be sure, I only liked one girl. And it was for her that I used to stuff my swimming trunks with socks. That way, I’d impress her with the size of my gown up love. She was an Ethiopian girl with thick black hair, deep almond-colored eyes and breasts like tennis balls that played havoc with my six and half senses. (The half was for my fashion sense.) Yes, her voice was a hollow call that echoed my ardor with unquiet ease. I always looked for a way to approach her. But I was shy and she was constantly surrounded by a gaggle of girls. So I just couldn’t get her alone. I told Gabriel about my feelings and begged him to teach me how to ‘bust a move’ on her. Of course that meant that I had to endure his cooking and tantrums when he called me a ‘son of a beech’. But at the same time, he taught me some moves that took me from Georgie Porgie-repulsive to Gorgio Armani-cool. “You gotta be impavido! Fearless-ee!” he instructed. And finally, I felt ready. The next morning, I awoke with renewed mettle. Then I heard my brother Derek grumbling. “Yuk! Phil, the new mouthwash is disgusting!” he said while spitting out any vestiges of it in his mouth as he left the bathroom and I entered it. When brushing my teeth, I realized that what he called the new mouthwash was clearly labeled ‘Dettol: Antiseptic’. I headed to town and immediately bumped into the Ethiopian girl with her coterie of fawning friends. And this time, I said more than two words to her. To my utter shock, she vivaciously engaged me in conversation to the exclusion of her friends. And they soon left us alone. We got along famously. Except for the fact that I liked her body and she didn’t like to be objectified. So basically, we didn’t see eye to thigh on that issue. Still, as we talked, I felt lightheaded with winged feelings. Then something went wrong. Gabriel suddenly showed up to make three a crowd. I was immediately shunted aside to the margins of the conversation as The Angel Gabriel took the girl to heaven with his presence. Of course, I wasn’t going to take this sitting down. So stood up, pulled Gabriel up by the scruff of his collar and pushed him while oblivious of his size. Then I threw a blind punch which landed on the sucker punch area of his jaw. Within an instant, he was sprawled on the floor. I had done what an army failed to do: I had put Rambo out of commission! But before I could do my victory dance, the object of my affections sprung up. Her sweetness then soured, she was pissed. Thereupon, she limbered up, stretched her neck and squeezed her knuckles until they cracked. I wasn’t sure what was going on, so I just looked at her. A measure of calm returned between us. But that was only the calm in the eye of a storm. Suddenly, eyes aflame, she struck out with a roundhouse kick that had the mother’s instincts of a spanking. Then she threw a left, a right, an uppercut…she sent blows out like an armada of sailing kicks and fists. Yep, the girl had all the fiery theatrics of a low budget Kung Fu movie. She must have had a voice over too: I could swear her voice was deeper! Before I knew it, I was in a headlock and a cheering crowd had gathered around us. They were egging her on to kick my ass. So she started to showboat by doing the banana splits with me still in a headlock! My efforts to shake off Jean Claude Van Madame were unavailing, she was killing me. I thus suspended my ‘I don’t hit girls’ rule and tried to lunge at her. But my three blows were like a trilogy of Star Wars: they were up in space and never hit her face! Plus, I couldn’t husband the strength to grab her and slow her down. So she made short work of me. Pretty soon, my body was lying next to Gabriel’s. Yes, he was still down and out. Together, we formed a cemetery of her former pets. And after that day, I vowed never to mess with an angry female.
Posted on: Fri, 19 Sep 2014 06:46:10 +0000