What just happened? (Part 1)

A depiction of a couple confrontation.

What just happened? 

 Part 1 

Tinka was a small man, small in every sense. His frame was wiry and short and when he walked into a room, he barely filled the doorway. Ironically, he had a taste for clothes that hung loose, burying him deep in their fabric. I always thought there was something to it, perhaps to hide his small frame, perhaps.  

His face was often a mask of mixed expressions—indifference and shyness—with tired eyes that spoke more of fatigue than passion.  

The saying goes, there is always someone for everyone and Tinka’s someone was Kajoina. Kajoina was anything and everything unlike Tinka. She was gigantic—when standing, she towered over him, doubling his height and size. She was a force of nature.  

People often stopped for them, actually, not for them but to gaze and to wonder how they’d come to be. See, Kajoina had a large frame, toned with some muscle with just a feminine grace about her figure. When she walked into a room, it was with a presence that demanded attention. Her long hair was usually tied back, sharpening her facial features so you could not miss her face. 

Where Tinka looked slow and frail, she looked strong and dexterous, with a stern purposeful grit about her demeanor. 

But if sizes matter at all—or they don’t, or they do—this is not about sizes. This is about the end of the eighth anniversary of Tinka and Kajoina’s relationship. For eight years, they had courted each other, their love indeed defying any odds. Size and height never mattered; they were blind to it. Bound to each other. 

What they had was real and in the passing of those years, their love had flourished, undeterred by the world's expectations, by people’s gazes and whispers. It was them for them. They were madly in love. 

On the day of their eighth anniversary, Tinka, as he had done for the past seven years of anniversary celebrations, assured her as expected that he’d be visiting Kajoina for an evening of celebration. Six o’clock, he had said he would be there.  

See, for the last seven years, the question of moving in together had never arisen; no one ever hinted at it. They preferred the arrangement, each to their own, only visiting each other as required and as expected. Nothing more.  

So, he was specific: six o’clock, he would be there, at Kajoina’s. When he promised, he was a man that promptly followed through. The night, like many others, would be theirs. They would lose themselves in the warmth of each other’s embrace, entwined in passion until the dawn. 

Kajoina was excited. She always loved having Tinka over, which was usually the case, under her roof, teasing her with his love until morning. For this day, for this night in particular, she beamed with unusual excitement. She invested effort, money and time—preparing for the night meticulously.  

On the advice of a younger, cheeky friend, she had procured a new skimpy and slinky red nightie that would hug her figure for the special night, for her special man. On the day, she prepared Tinka’s favorite meal: meat stew served with mingled matooke and millet on the side. She knew Tinka could never resist that dish. Tonight, she would spoil him like she always did. 

Six o’clock. Where is he? 

The day could not have gone any slower, at least for her. She had watched the morning sun turn into the afternoon, moving along as slowly as a snail and then finally into evening. The evening came along with the chime of six on the clock. She sighed; she had been watching the clock with anticipation.  

If only clocks moved faster! At the stroke of six, she slipped into her red, skimpy, slinky nightdress, her skin fresh, her body scented. She stood by the door, peering outside, waiting for Tinka’s familiar figure to appear. She kept seeing his slight figure in the distance, approaching, but whenever she jerked forward in excitement, he would disappear. It was her eager anticipation deceiving her with shadows. Tinka shadows.  

The hour of six kept progressing to fifteen minutes past, then thirty, then forty-five. Tinka was nowhere to be seen. 

The hour is passing, where is Tinka? 

She was restless, biting her lips, softly banging her head on the door frame, itchy with anticipation as she stood by the door peering outside. Her fingers kept tapping and rubbing the door frame. Nothing. Not even a message popped up on her phone. 

Anxiety crept in, turning into restlessness. She checked her phone again and again and again but there were no messages, no missed calls. Where was Tinka? It was now a handful of minutes to seven o’clock. Where was he? What was delaying him? Had he forgotten? Had he? 

Tinka had not forgotten. He had counted the hours, was aware of where his presence was needed, but Tinka had chosen to remain in his single-room apartment, sprawling and rolling in the comfort of his bed, contemplating the winding day and watching his game.  

His phone had rung six times and six times he had casually glanced at it and ignored it. On it, there were a string of messages from his love, inquiring of his whereabouts. “It’s just another night. Tomorrow’s fine,” he thought, barely glancing at the clock.  

Yes, Tinka had made a decision earlier in the day while at work: he would not visit Kajoina later in the evening. He had forgotten he had a game to catch on his small TV when he made the promise to his Miss. Besides, he’d be tired, too drained to engage in a night of love. So, he lay there, arms tucked behind his head, on a pillow, staring at the ceiling as the TV played on. The dim light in the room made him look as if he wasn’t there, as if smaller than he actually was. 

Somehow, the game had turned out boring and had shifted his focus to a mirage of other thoughts racing through his mind, including the decision not to visit Kajoina.  

It was the loud knock on the door that jolted him up. He was dozing off when the knock came. It was loud and insistent, shaking him from his drowsiness. He jolted upright, sat up on the bed, grabbed a remote and lowered the volume of the TV to make sure he had heard it right.  

Sure, he had heard it right. Another barrage of knocks followed before he could completely lower the TV volume, this time more aggressive, more urgent and relentless. His heart raced. Who could that be? Apart from him being expected somewhere, he knew no one to expect at his place that evening.  

The loud bangs on the door continued. With a bit of hesitation and a tremor in his hands, he picked himself up. He had no shirt on, couldn’t remember to put one on—no chance. He slowly dragged himself toward the door, unsure if it was best to open it, unsure if he should just ignore it but the knocks wouldn’t stop. What would the neighbors think? He had no choice.  

He reached for the door handle and opened the door wide. It was Kajoina—Kajoina still donned in her red lingerie, except for the additional sarong around her waist for a somewhat dignified look. 

Kajoina stormed in without a word, her face tight, her cheeks puffed up and her forehead lined with fury. Her eyes burned red with unshed tears and her mouth was shaped into a firm pout. 

She stormed in hard and fast with a youthful energy in her step. Tinka didn’t see it coming; he barely had time to react. Coming through the doorway, she grabbed him by the neck with both of her arms, a grip so strong and suffocating. Tinka’s face froze with surprise. His mind raced—What had he done? What was she thinking? Could she be playing? he wondered. 

No, she was not playing. With one hand still around his neck, she slapped him—hard. Hard in the face while she let out a slight gasp for air. Tinka, for a moment, couldn’t think. The force had his vision spinning, and he might have wanted to believe she was playing rough but there was no chance.  

Another slap followed, fast and harder this time, totally blinding his vision. For a moment, things stopped; for a moment, he felt alone. In the next moment, he felt banged and cornered. He could now hear the game rambling on the TV set. In that brief moment, he heard a lot of things, saw flashing lights too but mostly it was the pain blooming across his face that seemed louder, seemed clearer. He felt the room tilt under his feet. Was she trying to kill him? 

In just seconds, so much had happened. They’d moved across the room. He stumbled, almost falling onto the bed, avoiding the TV in the process, then catching himself but not quite yet. Avoiding the TV again, he stumbled, falling hard on the bed with Kajoina on top of him. For the first time, he felt the magnitude of her full weight. He didn’t know what to say. He mumbled, “Kajoina, wait,” but there was no chance for pleas. Another slap landed hard, right in the middle of his face, shutting him down. 

This time, instinct kicked in. Summoning strength from his small, wiry frame, he pushed her hard with all the might his small body could manage and very quickly crept, rolling from underneath, magically finding himself on top of the big Kajoina, then sitting in a straddle position as if on a horse, as if on big piling of things.  

Fueled by a sudden surge of anger, his one hand grabbed her by the neck, pinning her on the bed and the other rained a flurry of blinding slaps across her face, while he barked, “This is what you wanted! Why would you hit me?” The rage was overwhelming, blinding him to her painful gasps for breath. 

Kajoina’s eyes widened with shock as she saw his face—sweat glistening on his brow, tears mixing with fury. The small, jovial man she loved was gone, replaced by a stranger, mean and contorted by anger. She tried to fight back but when his fist landed on her stomach, she let go, wailing with a guttural cry, tears streaming down her cheeks. 

Then, suddenly, as quickly as it had started, Tinka stopped. He stared down at her, as if starting to think again, as if wondering how he’d got on top of her, the weight of what had just happened sinking in.  

Slowly, he climbed off her, sat on the edge of the bed. Kajoina remained where she lay. She was no longer wailing or sobbing, not even panting. She just lay there, quiet, staring at the ceiling, her breath shallow and broken. The only sound in the room was the TV, the game rumbling on with male commentators shouting, obviously oblivious to the chaos that had revealed before their excited voices. 

He stood quietly, turned around, looked at her, then down at his hands. Hands that had never hit a woman before. What just happened? He could not stop wondering. 

Silence stretched between them. He had never imagined he would raise his hands to a woman, least of all Kajoina. But what had she expected when she’d come at him like that? How could she think she could use her strength on him and not expect retaliation? 

Kajoina slowly sat up, wincing in the process. Standing up, she adjusted her red lingerie, tightened the loosening sarong across her waist and without looking at him, murmured a quiet, “Goodnight” and quietly exited his room. 

Tinka didn’t respond. He just sat there, watching as she limped toward the door and quietly left. The room felt colder in her absence. He stood, closed the door, switched off the TV and collapsed onto the bed, sleep claiming him before another thought could form. 

The morning came too soon and Tinka awoke to the sound of his phone ringing. With a groggy sigh, he picked it up. It was Kajoina. “Come for breakfast,” she said, her voice softer than the night before. She was inviting him over for breakfast. Without hesitation, he promised he’d be there in a minute. He sprung out of bed, slid on a shirt, slid his feet into the waiting sandals by the door and was gone. 

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