Rita, is the envy of all her agemates; the story to tell and a mentor for them. She looked a bit advanced in years than she was and her beauty, simply breathtaking. A pair of vast boobs lifted so high they could touch her chin, her feet softer than a baby’s bum, a face more lovely than the sunset, her eyes sunken with a colour whiter than snow and her melodious voice that ever-left mouths agape. She was soft-spoken and had just but a few people for allies. From my corner filled with nerds and other mates who were considered uncool, I wondered whether she chose few confidantes because she tried to keep her circle for those she thought of her calibre or because her character never really accommodated many. Her name was never signed against during lecture sessions and she never really thought of it as a cause of concern. I recall once she greeted me and enquired whether exams were nearly approaching. It was the only time I got to hear her dulcet voice. On my way home, I often saw her getting picked up every weekend from school by her father, I presumed. I felt like a stalker for it was only once that we never collided with her on her escapades. Her life seemed nothing short of perfect.

Photo credit : theweek.com

Her overworked brains wandered away; far into nothingness as she commemorated how fun her life was not so long ago. Must have been the rumble in her stomach or the anxiety in her heart for either heightened how she felt; making it worse than she already was. Could it be the extent of her beauty, the broadness of her hips, the cheekiness of her behaviours or bulkiness of her backside? For one must have been a steer to the troubles, she was beginning to face. Regret was a plate she got served sour, and the meal was getting bitter by the moment.

Rita’s weekend had begun as enticing as it always had. A Porsche by the gate waiting on her, an elegant outfit probably hung in her closet for her night out, a cosily packed suitcase as well for the same. She, however, did not get to conclude her perfect get-away. That was when my dimwit of a brain discerned that the guy who used to pick her up occasionally was not her father. For a reason, her actual parents had opted to pay her a visit at school in a similarly exquisite car only to come across their daughter boarding a vehicle foreign to them.

Photo credit:Theweek.com

She soon became a day-scholar and around that time is when all hell broke loose. Her folk’s fears came to life. Did they have a right, though? To be fearful of something they had coming their way, if not wholly, partly? Their beloved daughter having loved the streets, perhaps on behalf of that she never got to show her ever absent folks? And the only way for her life became slaving herself for a happy life for attention. Not all you see is every true and every one-way traffic has a street at the corner.