Not a Sage, just me

She was a UCT final year film student with sharp detective abilities. In the film industry a UCT film graduate was seen as someone who shouldn’t’ve bothered to study.

I realised her detective abilities when she managed to dig out a few lines I had written, printed and filed away. It was hidden away in my work file. She found herself scratching through my files. What exactly was she looking for?

She would not have known but there she was and within seconds she was holding the piece of paper and freaking out in an English speaking Bishops Court girl accent.
“O my gosh Siki! O my gosh!”
I said: “What’s the matter?”
She reads the words on the white page as though they had been written by a forgotten sage from Europe or Asia in the 1400s and somehow, somehow they’d landed on her hand. “This is the most brilliant thing I have ever read. This insane.”
She was breathless.
How was I to break the news without devastating her? How do I deflate the situation and inform her that the 25year old, black me was the sage.
Do I tell her? Well, I had to explain why I wasn’t freaking out like she was. I had to. Tell her.
“I am sorry but I wrote that.”
Dramatic pause.
We are both standing in a empty office and I am not sure if she officially hates me now.

All of a sudden she responds even more. “Oh my God, Siki. Get away from me! Get away from me.”

The end.
I don’t think I’ve had a stronger response before or since.




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