I was a boy, I was fifteen, I liked toys. Ceramic, delicate, breakable, pretty. I liked to play god with them. I would arrange them, in colors and sizes, at the edge of the table, shake the table and watch them cascade. The feeling was beautiful. I talked to them sometimes. I warned them. They should never frown at me, talk back at me, roll their eyes at me. Else off the table they were sent.

Mom bought a new one. It was a geisha. Blue head, white body, black dots for eyes. It was a pretty geisha. But there was an issue. She didn’t dance. Geishas were supposed to dance. But this one wouldn’t, and anger me it did.

Biodun came visiting, he asked that we played video games. I swear, I didn’t hear him come in. I was holding geisha, I was wondering how best to proceed with her recent insolence, she had an attitude.

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