Its Funny How a Perfect Stranger Will Do More for You Than People Close to You

The Myth of a Perfect Stranger

Isn't life a chain reaction of individuals colliding and influencing their lives without even realizing it? — by Billy Kipkemboi

One of the things that have fascinated me for most of my life is rain. It's soothing sometimes, the way it conjures up a sweet pattern on my skin as it starts to fall, along with the smell of a wet atmosphere. Then again, it can cause panic, especially when it comes abruptly after a sultry day, or at times even overstay its welcome and cause death. It's funny how tiny droplets of water can combine their efforts to draw so much emotion from the world. It's only until recently that I found another form of creation much more fascinating — human beings.

Is it possible, I wonder, to study a human being so up close, to scrutinize, and catalogue their idiosyncrasies to such minute detail? If we are talking about any form of creation that is the most fascinating, that would be my pick. Why? You may ask. You don't figure them out all at once. From the moment that you meet them, you get to experience a person piece by piece, like a puzzle. One moment, they are this stranger, capable of mugging you and leaving you for dead in the dark alleyways of Tom Mboya Street. Suddenly, they are this piece of your life that you can't live without — this piece that makes you feel alive.

But that's the funny thing. Everyone is a stranger until they aren't. We're all strangers in this bus, for instance, heading towards a destination known only to ourselves. The bus is old — the seats have seen better days. Its suspension lets you feel the depth of every pothole and the sharpness on every bump. The bus is anything but luxury, yet there are the few who find it comfortable enough to sleep. Occasionally their heads sway a little bit, aided by the bus rocking from side to side, and one may end up head-butting a stranger on the shoulder. The awkwardness of the few seconds following this, where you stare at each other, is awful. It's an event riddled with confusion and embarrassment. It's like being caught asleep during one of those long sermons at your high school's chapel. That's one way to meet a stranger right? On a bus, confused, disoriented and half-asleep! Others walk up to you and without hesitation, strike a conversation, on politics or sports. I've grown cautious about such characters because they are the ones most likely to drug you and unburden you of your belongings. It happened to a friend, just for the record.

The stranger beside you is a girl who has earphones jammed into her ears. It's not the first time you've seen her. Does that make her not a stranger? You wonder. You've seen her on several occasions board the bus that plies the route towards where you live. You've seen her somewhere else, but you can't seem to remember that exact place. However, you've never been that up-close. You think she's gorgeous. She's dressed in a short Ankara dress, a mile in contrast to your faded jeans. You start to think of ways you could spark up a conversation. She's scrolling through her WhatsApp chats, most of them still unopened. She's one of those people who don't force conversations. That adds the pressure to step up your ice-breaker game.

You wipe the condensation off the window and stare out to the greenery outside to distract you from her enticing perfume and to enable you to rack your brain a little bit harder. You'd have turned to your earphones, but you have to hold them a certain way so both sides can work, and you'd probably bother her. She'd then move to another seat. Maybe the drizzling rain can help. And it does! You start to imagine scenarios in your head.

"Excuse me! You don't know me, but you're about to."

You immediately cringe at your thought. Is that the best you can do? You admonish yourself.

"You must be tired because you've been running through my mind all day."

That line sounds so familiar, but its source is distant from your mind. It's definitely from some show. Anyway, that would be a lie. The thought of introducing yourself has only ploughed through your mind for the past twenty-five minutes.

Eventually, what you had expected to happen comes to pass. You don't end up doing it. You have reached your stop. Quite surprisingly, it's hers too.

You walk behind her at a slower pace, hoping she crosses the road so that you don't have to deal with the guilt. There's a voice deep within you incessantly saying that you're bottling the chance of making a new friend — maybe something more.

She's walking in the direction leading up to your estate. There's a zebra crossing that's up ahead. Maybe she'll cross the road, you tell yourself.

You suddenly remember that some family had just moved into the apartment block across from yours, less than two weeks ago. You didn't pay much attention to it. Your mum did jokingly ask you to go and welcome them to the neighbourhood, specifically the girl who looked to be around my age. You write off the chances that it could be her.

She reaches the edge of the pavement and walks up towards the gate, turning away from the zebra crossing. She must be the one. You quicken your pace, hoping that by the time you enter the gate she'll already be far enough for you not to be obliged to strike a conversation.

She trips on the uneven pavement leading up to the gate and drops her bag and water bottle. Well, the universe intends for you to interact with this girl.

You rush to help her out.

"Sorry about that." You say, and add a side-smile-smirk! The one you've been practising in front of your bathroom mirror. A side-smile, mainly because you want to seem friendly. The smirk is because you feel pleased that you finally said something to her. You remember your friend, Rashid Ndegwa, has always dreamed of meeting the love of his life in this manner.

"Thank you," she says, smiling, "You're the best."

You're still staring at her. Her smile is the most beautiful thing you've seen in a while. She has one of those voices that belong on the radio, so composed and sure. Those that you want to listen to the entire day, and do nothing else.

"Excuse me. Can I have my water bottle back?"

There it is again.

"Sorry." You apologize swiftly and hand her the water bottle.

A voice tells you that this is the chance to say something more than an apology to her. You decide to take a chance to say hi at least because you also want to hear her voice again.

The moment you gather the bits of confidence to say hi is akin to taking a shot in a basketball game when the clock runs out while the score is tied. The moment you say the words is like when the ball is circling the rim. If she does respond, it's a magical moment right there, just like it would be in the game. At that moment, your senses die. You can hardly smell the smoke-polluted air. The noise from conductors hysterically pleading for people to board their buses is indistinct. Even her sweet perfume is not too invincible to engulf you, as it always does. Time stops, and it waits for you.

You say hi, and plaster that side-smirk-smile you've been practising in front of your bathroom mirror recently.

"I have a boyfriend."

The side-smirk-smile remains plastered on your face. Your senses suddenly come alive and clash. Sweat builds up on your forehead while your legs suddenly start to itch.

She giggles at your erratic body language. You, on the other hand, stand there confused. You don't know whether to join in laughing at your misfortunes or walk away with your head down. "You should see the look on your face," she says. You let out a stifled laugh, with an unsure tone. It's one of those laughs you let out when you're the base of the joke, and you don't know whether to be offended or laugh along.

She smiles widely and says hi. She introduces herself as Trina, but her friends call her Trish. You've never met anyone named Trish, let alone Trina. At least when you meet up with your boys to watch a rugby game on Sunday, you can brag there's a girl named Trish who lives across from you. She says the boyfriend statement was just a mean joke and apologizes. You're quick to forgive. She has such a pretty smile, and this time her perfume has got to you.

Once you've both entered through the gate and parted ways to your respective apartments, you remember you forgot to tell her something.

You run back and catch up with her.

"By the way, welcome to the neighbourhood."

She smiles at the remark. You swear she knows that she's killing you with that smile.

"What took you so long?"

That moment you meet someone is hopefully the beginning of something beautiful. A stranger can be the best or worst person you ever meet. But what if whoever you meet is so great that you deem it perfect. It's like you were fated to meet them because everything makes sense. It sounds too good to be true, right? A perfect stranger! A myth! The myth of a perfect stranger! Because once you meet someone, it could only go downhill. Nobody can be that perfect. You discover their flaws. Some become too much to bear, and you start to wonder why you ever thought they could be a key player in your life. But we must be aware that we are all outlanders in the universe, here to experience the extreme ends of what life has to offer and appreciate every inch of it. Like the first time, you meet someone. It's crazy how their 'stranger' status extinguishes quickly, how the relationship develops as a polaroid photograph would, nice and slow. Perhaps they become a lifelong friend, lovable rouge or even a blessing or lesson in passing. Whether it ends good or bad, it was worth an experience. Savour the course, because it's all that matters.

For that entire night, or maybe the week that follows, she sneaks into your mind, like flashbacks of your past embarrassing moments. She stumbles into your mind while you stare into the darkness at night, or even while you're presenting something in class.

Billy K. Boruett is a writer based in Nairobi, Kenya. He is a lover of literature and enjoys writing fiction. He holds a Bachelor of Laws (LL.B) from the University of Nairobi. People tell him he has a way with words. He insists that words instead have a way with him. Some of his work has been published in the African Writer Magazine. He also has had one of his stories published in CWC Kongo's Anthology 'My Name is Sorrow'. He is also the resident writer at his blog 'Synoptic Thoughts.' www.sypnoticthoughts.wordpress.com. One can also connect with him on Twitter @TrulyKIP

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