Mary is still asleep because she studied late into the night.
“I am off to work, Mary. Don’t get lost, my child,” says her father, standing outside her bedroom door.
“Come on, Dad! You know I know the way to campus,” answers Mary, as she wakes up.
“I am only joking, my child.”
They both burst out laughing.
“Alright, Dad. Travel safe.”
“Your taxi fare is on top of the table. Make sure you get ready in time because taxis are scarce at midday,” says her father, as he leaves their flat.
Mary lies awake, thinking about her mother who passed away when she was an infant. She only knows her from photographs and their wedding video. On some days, like today, she wakes up wishing her mother was alive. Besides having someone to talk to in the loneliness of the suburbs, she wishes she had a mother for guidance.
She gets up, showers and sits on the veranda sipping a cup of coffee. As she’s relaxing, she notices a black Porsche with tinted windows creep through the main gate of the complex. It stops near Mary’s flat and the driver’s window rolls down. The driver stares at Mary like he has seen an angel, then he motions her to come over. At first Mary ignores him, but he persists. Maybe he is looking for someone, she thinks.
Mary takes her empty cup to the kitchen. She is washing the cup and looking out of the window when she sees the driver of the Porsche now approaching her flat.
He is dressed in expensive clothes – deep purple suit, black shoes and tie. He is light in complexion; designer shades sit on top of his forehead. Mary no longer hears his footsteps after he walks past the kitchen window. He must be standing at the door, she thinks.
Mary pulls down at the hem of her crop top, trying to cover her midriff. She tentatively opens the door. She peers outside and finds the man next to the door, rubbing his hands.
“Hello,” she says.
“Hi, my sister. How are you?”
“I am well. Do you need help?”
He smiles, tilts his head and looks at Mary. He has his hands as if in prayer and looks at the clear blue sky. He casts his gaze back to Mary, clearly smitten with the young lady. His stare is so intense that Mary checks herself.
“What is your name, babygirl?”
“Excuse me!”
“What’s wrong?”
“You called me ‘babygirl’. I don’t like that.”
“I am sorry. Thing is, I usually call all beautiful young women ‘babygirl’. What is your name?”
“My name is Mary Jane.”
“Oh! My name is–”
“Do you need some sort of help?” Mary cuts him off.
She doesn’t like that this stranger is standing at her front door. Her neighbours might be watching and later tell her father that she entertains men while he is away at work. It seems like this man is confused because he is at a loss for words, just staring at Mary.
“Please leave, because you will get me into trouble.”
“Can I have your number?” asks the man.
She slams the door in his face.
***
Tell us: What do you think the man wants with Mary?