The Biker Boys
Youth Club ends as the last dance song plays. My date is nowhere to be seen. I pretend to be happy, but I am a bit nervous as I go outside to look for his car. Thank goodness it is still there.
I stand by the passenger door and look around the car park. The biker boys are getting ready to go home, putting on their helmets. They look across at me and mutter to themselves. I hope they don’t come across to ask what I am doing there all alone.
Just then, Mike returns. He seems a bit distracted, so I don’t ask where he has been the whole evening. He opens the car door for me.
We drive back in silence and Mike drops me at the front gate.
His cell phone rings as I get out of the car. I hope he’ll leave it, but he answers and waves goodbye to me at the same time.
Gogo is peeping through the curtains. When I get to the veranda I see the curtain close and hear quick footsteps down the passage to her room. I have a key to let myself in.
Mike wheelspins the car and drives off.
“Good night, Gogo,” I call down the passage.
“Goodnight, dear,” answers Gogo, forgetting that she was supposed to be asleep.
The next day is Saturday. Dear Gogo is up bright and early, watering her pot plants and singing her favourite church songs. As soon as I walk onto the veranda she stops watering and calls me to come and sit on the comfy outside chairs.
“Come and tell me about your dance last night,” she says with smiling eyes.
“It was lovely, thanks Gogo. I danced all night.” I don’t want her to know that Michael didn’t spend any time with me and didn’t want to dance. Gogo wouldn’t understand girls dancing together.
“How wonderful. I hope you will go out again,” says Gogo.
I nod, but I don’t think Mike will ask me again. He seems more interested in someone or something else.
Then I hear Gogo call.
“Zoe dear, would you go and get some bread and milk?”
I nod and take some money from Gogo to go to the Spaza shop, just around the corner.
As I get closer I hear music sounding out down the street. Ladysmith Black Mambaza are playing ‘Homeless’. I feel a little twinge. I too feel a bit homeless right now.
It is Saturday and I see other school children hanging around outside the shop. They have come to spend their pocket money. The storekeeper, Mr Patel, has everything visible for the eager pairs of eyes. There are glass jars filled with sweets on the counter and strings of cheap chips hang from the shelves. The children have their little wire cars parked outside by the steps. I love the traditional toys and the old games the children play so happily.
Tell us what you think: Can a city person adapt to and fit into a quieter way of life?