Bob's Boxes 30 - the final one of the year. (probably)

Hi, we’re back. (editorial staff)

Oh, hi. (Bob)

How’s it been?

Fine, fine, I’ve been doing the box thing.

Cool.

But it’s been a bit quiet, no one seems to be reading them.

Normal.

But I asked if anyone needed some context added, you know to help explain the origin of what was in the boxes – but no one replied.

Normal.

So I just stuck them up as they were, did’t try and explain.

You did right. Have you got one for today, to round it off?

Yes I have.

Her hair; let’s start with her hair.

It’s black; it reminds him of a poodle – little tufty balls lying like polka dots on her scalp. She says she doesn’t do anything special to get it like this, just washes it and then rubs it.

He wants to rub it too, to know how it feels to his touch, but he doesn’t say so, he just looks.

Does that make him a voyeur, possibly, or perhaps a connoisseur, he likes to think it’s this. He notices that is greying in two places, the polka dot nearest to her right eye and another just…., no he is too late she catches him looking and he looks away.

He wonders how old she is.

“What’s your favourite animal?” he asks.

“A giraffe”, and he tells her about the film he saw last night about the zoo in Palestine that looses one and then steals one. They agree that it is a beautiful animal.

“Do they make any noise?” he has always wondered about that.

“No, never”

He wants to ask – not even if you stand on their foot – but he doesn’t dare, he’s still trying to interest her.

“What’s your second favourite animal?”

“Lion”, he hasn’t seen any films about Lions recently, not since Born Free back in the sixties.

“And what’s your third favourite animal?”

She doesn’t hesitate; this is a good sign, “zebra”.

“Nice choices;”

“I’m from Kenya”, he knew this already, but he likes the sound of her voice when she says it. Kenya, it doesn’t sound like Leytonstone.

He was born in Leytonstone, back before the sixties when it was still a village outside London. He hadn’t heard of Kenya then.

“ Give me two adjectives to describe the Giraffe and why it’s your favourite.”

“Graceful, elegant”, again no hesitation and yes, he thinks she is.

“And two for the Lion?”

“Powerful, self confident….” And now she hesitates.

“You can give three if you want.” He offers. But she doesn’t.

She looks at him.

He wonders what she sees. Hopefully not what he sees when he catches a glimpse of his reflection. Something better maybe?

“And two for the Zebra.”

“ Kind and gentle”.

He writes all this down on a scrap of paper he finds on the table, on the other side is a recipe for lamb cooked with ginger, it is probably not important.

“So, Sandrine, before you make love you feel like a giraffe, you are graceful and elegant. During the act you feel like a Lion, you are powerful and self-confident and after you are like a Zebra, you are kind and gentle”. She is way out of his league.

She laughs, it seems genuine but he cannot be sure, and when she laughs she laughs openly and he is amazed by the colours of her mouth. They are not the colours of the girls he knew in Leytonstone. These are the colours of Africa, rich and vibrant, alive in a way Leytonstone never was.

He folds the paper and gives it to her, it belongs to her now and he turns away pretending indifference, or is he embarrassed? Has he just treated her like a sexual object, has he flirted? He tries not to think about it and busies himself with the coffee machine.

“Would you like to go on a safari?” she asks, “it would be good to organize something like that.”

“How much would that cost?” it is Anne who asks.

He has played the same game with Anne and she was like a dog, playful and cuddly. He thinks more about the Lion.

“Probably about one thousand five hundred.” This is more than he earns in a month.

“I could sell my lap top,” he says.

She laughs again, the colours of paradise flash before his eyes and he notices that the folded piece of paper is nowhere to be seen.