Being Celeste Read online

  Being Celeste

  By Tshetsana Senau

  Text copyright © 2012 Tshetsana Senau

  Cover by Oteng Kgari

  To my one and only roommate.

  Table Of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Author’s Note

  Dear Reader,

  Being Celeste is a light hearted story told through Celeste’s thoughts. Every event that happens in the story, she has a say in it. It’s as if the reader is getting a glimpse of things through her eyes and personality. I hope you will have as much fun reading this story, as I did writing it.

  Happy reading everyone!

  Tshetsana Senau

  Chapter 1

  “Here’s to us!” He raised his glass and looked at her, glimmer in his eyes.

  “To us,” she replied, looking back at him like she was about to eat him up. The cold, fizzing from her drink did nothing to tarnish what she felt in the moment.

  They toasted the night away with expensive bottles of Champaign, clicking glasses, being all in love, kissing. And they lived happily ever after, the most important factor. It’s kind of hard to watch a movie, a romantic movie, a chick flick; call it what you must. It’s hard not to believe that one day it will all come to life, my life. One day I’ll meet a very chivalrous human being who will love me forever and ever. I want to believe it’s true, I really do. But once I turn the television off and wonder if I should have another go at Pride and Prejudice and watch as Mr Darcy falls in love with Lizzy, it never escapes me that there’s a possibility that I’ll never have what they have in the movies; that man and woman who are so in love, that they can’t possibly stand to be apart, no matter what. Then again, I should think of them very unrealistic, I mean it can’t possibly take two hours to fall in love with someone and run off with them to a land far, far away; a land of the loved and hopeful. But how would I know, I’ve never been in love.

  My phone rang. It’s never anyone else really, so why bother checking the caller ID.

  “Kate!” I said merrily, playing with a button on the remote with my thumb. I was all wrapped up in a blanket to keep the semi vicious cold winter air out. It was my best friend Kate, and she had called just in time.

  “So, what did you think of Sally’s decision?” she asked.

  My ear was devotedly pressed against the receiver, while I was thinking about an answer. She was of course asking about the movie that we both just watched...at the same time. It’s our thing.

  “I think she should have married Luke. He’s the safest choice. Her decision was just too spontaneous, choosing a bad boy, it would never work in real life.”

  Oh, one more thing, we also pride ourselves as chick flick critics/ relationship experts. I can tell you that I’ve watched a million romantic movies and from that I might as well have earned a degree in relationship psychology, if there is such a thing. The only one problem is just using it to land a boy, even if it’s just one boy. A hero in my own movie.

  “Celeste,” called my mother from behind. “Goodness me, what are doing in the dark?” she switched on the light anyway. “Are you conspiring against us all?”

  I really shouldn’t be bothered replying, I was in the middle of my thoughts, and a phone call, which I immediately ended. I’d explain to Kate later why we lost connection. I hoped she didn’t overhear me talking to Kate. “Well mum, I guess I’m not in the dark anymore.” I smirked, and tried to avoid eye contact. But I couldn’t help it because I knew she would be staring at me. The look she gave me was very loving, or maybe she was making fun of me, I’m not really sure. I’m not sure she even thinks I have a life. It’s Saturday night and here I am, pining at life in chick flicks on my parents’ couch in my purple pyjamas and a blanket. That’s it, isn’t it? She’s having a laugh at me, my own my mother is making fun of me. She’s never seen me go out, ever, because I’m always home on the weekend nights, aren’t I? It’s a Saturday night and I’m the biggest loser to ever grace the world: highlight the big, because I’m sure I’m a hundred kilos overweight. Argh! My life is so horrible; it’s going nowhere except the back and forth of the obvious, and how sorry it is.

  Now mum is going on and on about the plans she has for the next banquet at church. Old Gladys, her rival: a very uptight and grumpy woman, always giving poor mum a hard time at church events. I don’t get why they make it a competition. If you’re making money for the Lord, it shouldn’t really matter how, or who makes the most money. It should be a matter of cooperating and working together as one. Isn’t it what we are here for? My mother will go on for days about how much of a vile and vindictive woman Gladys is, for raising the most money as the organiser of the previous church banquet. My father has probably heard enough of it already, so she’s now come to me, to finish off her worries. You know, sometimes I think I’ve inherited all this from her. Living life feeling sorry for myself...Nah!

  She slumped down on the sofa next to me and said, “You know what Celeste, I’m going to start working on the menu tomorrow after church.”

  And I have to listen to it, all of it, drop in a few comments now and again, but most importantly, just listen and nod; there has to be plenty of nodding. At the same time, my mind keeps scratching at the sentiments overshadowing my boring life. Again, it’s a Saturday evening and I’m listening to stories about the evil Gladys. My fellow age group I’m sure is partying the night away at some fancy club or at parties they are invited to. I’ll be honest, I don’t like going out. Yes, the cool and happening are out in the night scene right now having the time of their lives, but I don’t care about all that. I don’t think loud music and people holding beer bottles is a sight to see or be in. I’m not at all jealous of them. But if I’m not the type, what should I do to get hip and happening in my sixty year old simulation of a life.

  Chapter 2

  I probably should just start this properly. I Celeste Mokone, born and raised in Palapye (one of the dusty villages in Botswana), have never been kissed, nor do I have any experience at all with a real life boy. Me, the relationship expert! I’m twenty-one and I work in a boutique that my parents own. I work with my best friend Kate and at present, I’m pretty positive that I’ll never get a boyfriend. You know, it’s not normal what I have: the never been kissed syndrome. I have a feeling that being single, but having checked snogging off your life list at my age is better than nothing at all. It is isn’t it? Apart from being a nun, which I’m not, what’s wrong with me? There’s something terribly wrong with how I’m turning out. It’s embarrassing. I’ve dwelled on the fact that maybe I have a boy repellent in my system, a defect I was born with. Kate, the smart one, said it was impossible. Well what does science know? All I ask is for one thing in my life to be normal, but it’s not happening.

  Kate’s been kissed before. We were still in secondary school. She swears it was an accident. Apparently the boy’s lips fell on hers and he kissed her. I don’t buy it one second. How do lips fall on other lips accidentally? I’ve never heard of such an accident. I don’t care though. I’ll be honest; right now I’m so desperate I’m calling the ‘accident’ to happen to me. It will be a step.

  Mornings are always rough on me. I never feel like getting up because I have nothing to live for except myself. I’m going to drag this in again, but when will I wake up in the morning and think about him. Slap a smile on my chubby face
because the first thing that popped into my head is someone else, someone who loves me, someone who has done the honours and kissed me amidst my boy repellent. Then I have to get ready for work, which includes gazing at my image in the mirror for half an hour, hoping that the person staring back at me would be the woman I want to be. Kate is always the first one at the shop, because she had an accident, life is far less complicated for her.

  I rushed into the shop, holding coat orders which were delivered to my house on Friday. Kate and I arrive fifteen minutes early because every Monday is Monday Madness, translation: boy stalking madness. I am aware that we behave like teenagers, but don’t blame us for being late bloomers. I was late, like always. “What did I miss?” I screamed, between breaths. Between the heavy coats and the rushing and being overweight, I was panting like mad.

  “You’re just in time, Celeste,” she replied. She was behind the counter organising the coins in the cash register. Kate was tall and really slim. The one thing you notice first about her is her evenly toned dark skin, very refreshing. Although she hides it behind really big glasses which I don’t think she really needs, her face is the definition of beauty. I tell her that all the time. Then she goes really shy on me and tells me I have to say that because I’m her best friend. Then there’s this one hairstyle she keeps which really annoys me, her infamous pony tail. Every single day! If she has braids on; pony tail, her natural hair, pony tail! And glasses. I don’t get it.

  Anyway like I was saying, boy stalking; it’s a tradition of ours. We’ve been doing it for three years now, ever since we completed secondary school and started working at the shop. We pop into the shop fifteen minutes before open time, that’s around 7:45, stand behind the mannequins that are at the big window in front of the shop and spot the guys. The window overlooks the large car park in the mall complex and a couple of shops that surround the area, including the very busy supermarket on the far corner of the line of various shops. We chose Mondays because...well I’m not sure really, but I think I made the suggestion to make it Monday. I’ll think of a proper reason later. Kate was feeling rather super in her matching pink outfit. She was wearing ‘Monday’, which is pink day for her I guess: hot pink jeans (I have no idea where she bought them), a white shirt with horizontal pink stripes, pink jacket and pink pumps. Tomorrow, Tuesday she’ll be all geared up in blue. I was watching the other day on the television, a woman who won a free makeover in the city. It was so great seeing her transformation. Maybe I should secretly take a picture of Kate and enter her in the competition. I have no doubt in my mind that she would qualify. I just have to get my hands on the newspaper, which I have no idea where my father placed it after he read it. Argh, knowing dad, he’s not going to have the slightest idea where it is. He has a tendency of being unconscious when he does things. I don’t think it’s being forgetful. But the entry form is in the newspaper. That would mean I have to buy a new copy, but I don’t like buying newspapers.

  “How about...that guy!” said Kate, pointing to a really slender tall man, getting into his car.

  “Five out of ten,” I replied, giving her a curious smile.

  “Really? Seven!”

  I knew she would give him a high score. I never really got her taste in men. That’s why she gets accidental kisses.

  “Seven, but...he’s so-”

  She interrupted. “He’s cute. Look at that face: it’s warm and clean shaven. I bet his eyes close when he smiles. And those legs. You know what, let’s make that an eight.”

  We both laughed, she was partly right, now that she put it like that. All of a sudden, what seemed to be some spice to a slow morning, a minibus parked right in the centre if the mall complex and unloaded guys in blue and white uniform, it looked like a soccer team.

  “A soccer team?” asked Kate. “I didn’t know there were soccer matches on Monday.”

  “Who cares,” I said, “Bonus points for us.”

  Kate giggled. They were all fit, there must have been about twelve of them, just pouring out of the bus in identical outfits. They were headed for the supermarket.

  “There are so many of them, where to start? How about...him?” I pointed at the one in front. He had caught my eye in an instant. He was so gorgeous! and really tall. I couldn’t make out his features because they were walking towards the supermarket and away from our window, but I was in love.

  “Four!” shot Kate, without hesitation.

  “What?” I turned away for a moment to look at her, standing aimlessly behind the mannequin that was wearing the funky winter outfit. I don’t think the band of boys moved her at all. She was probably still hung up on the dude she gave an eight. “Ten! Take those glasses off Kate,” I demanded. I looked back at the car park area, they were gone, into the supermarket I guess. I would wait for them to come out again, so that I could spot my soccer stud. I wish I could go in there and see him up close. I wondered if we needed anything in the shop from the supermarket. But Kate would see right through my plan.

  “Check out maroon shirt,” said Kate. She had the sweetest voice, Kate. “I think I’ll give him a three out of ten.”

  “I agree, three it is,” I said. “What’s wrong with him is that he’s shorter than me. I think I’d be intimidating.”

  “I don’t mind short guys.”

  “But you just gave him a three?”

  “Because he is a three!” she protested, further pointing at him.

  “Wops! It’s five past eight, time to open up shop.”

  Kate hurried to the door all obediently and flung the door to the boutique open. She hated being late. It was time for the public to see her pink outfit. I went for the coats and hung them on a rack at the jacket’s section. I had a sense of pride knowing that people are going to come on in and scoop them up for the winter and make me some money. I straightened them up and tagged them. Kate was dusting the counter. It seems only like yesterday when Kate and I were just kids. We’ve known each other since pre-school, but we only became friends in senior primary school when we were both working on a science project as partners. She was always very neat and organised in class, her pens and pencils facing the same direction, her books in a neat pile in her desk, her handwriting flawless. I on the other hand was the complete opposite of her, I don’t really care much about organisation and all. I’m not uptight. I never thought we’d ever be friends. I wonder what she’d think of me now if she ever found out the things I used to say about her in my mind. They were not mean comments, but you know...in case one day she woke up with superpowers and she could read minds. No! Then she’d discover the comments I’ve been making about her pink Monday outfit. Let that never happen then, let it remain in my head where it belongs. Dear Kate and I have been inseparable ever since we discovered that we could actually make this friendship thing work. We completed secondary school three years ago. We wanted to go to university, or some sort of tertiary institution like everyone else. But we just couldn’t decide what we wanted to major in. Besides, we never wanted to be separated, so I made the suggestion that we kick it in my parent’s boutique for a while, while we discover ourselves and the world, and maybe one day we’d find out what we wanted to study, the both of us. The ‘discover ourselves’ part of the plan included getting boyfriends and going on dating frenzies. Becoming women, real respectable women with direction and poise, so I thought. It’s been three years however, and here we still are, looking for that direction, and that thing that we both want to study at university. My parents don’t mind that I’m not in university. They only care that I’m interested in the family business. I know this because they told me. I saw the shine in my father’s eyes when I told him I’d manage the shop. He was just retiring, so this meant he’d spend most of his days, sleeping at home or going on exciting adventures at the cattle post, alone. Kate and I were, and still are the dynamic duo at the shop, reeling in customers like hotcakes.

  I was still busy tidying up and organising the clothes on the ‘on sale’ table when our
first customer of the day rushed in. I didn’t notice he was in the shop, seeing as I’m always wrapped in my thoughts when I’m not talking to anyone (obviously). He was wearing a blue and white soccer outfit. Before I could wrap my head around his presence and realise that he’s one from the soccer team featured in our stalking craze just a while ago, in walked my soccer stud, right behind him. Number 27...oh, number 27! I didn’t realise that my whole body had frozen over and my face had gone all stupid looking. For a long time I was just looking at the gorgeous man who’d come to have a look at our store. He had the most perfect face I’d ever seen in my life, all manly and bold. Those sweet and sour eyes and built, tall body just towering over us like an angel. He was on his phone, texting I suppose, waiting for his mate who was talking to Kate over at the counter. My eyes were still stuck on number 27, but I could see with the corner of my left eye, Kate pointing at me. I immediately woke up from my coma and noticed that number 27’s mate, number 13 was walking up to me, holding a piece of paper in his hand.

  “Hi,” he said, a warm smile washed over his face. I just wished number 27 would come on over and join him. He continued, “I’m here to pick up a coat for my coach. Here are the details.” He handed me the piece of paper.

  I don’t think I’d recovered yet because the nice guy had said hi to me and I didn’t utter a single word. I think at that point I’d forgotten that I had the ability to talk. I mean he was cute, but number 27 was hot. I don’t think I’d ever been in that sort of situation before, surrounded by good looking guys. I don’t think good looking guys ever enter our shop anyway. Kate and I always follow them around instead. I hadn’t practiced for this encounter. I wonder if Kate can sense that I’ve gone all solid and robot-like. I turned my back on him and walked over to the coat rack as my eyes scanned the piece of paper

  “Just give me a minute, dude,” I heard him say, number 13.