The bed you're sitting on, do you remember who bought it for you? This thought knocked my mind so hard when I sat down to think of who to write about, with regards to this prompt.
Yes, the bed I was sitting on was a gift from my boss, Mr. Kingsley, a stranger who turned into a father and brother. People doubt whenever I tell them that I and Mr. Kingsley are not related biologically. Our bond is so thick.
It all started when I gained admission into the higher institution. The first step of socialisation I took was joining the church's ushering unit in that city, where I met Mr. Kingsley as the head of the unit. I was a church boy from home, so my activeness didn't slack when I joined the unit. I gave it all I had, serving God and mingling with people in the unit.
After the first two years, I travelled out of the city for Industrial Training (I.T.), which lasted for a year as per academic policy.
When I resumed after the one-year break, I reported back to the ushering unit in church and continued serving there.
On that particular Sunday that I resumed church, Mr. Kingsleyy walked up to me after the end of the church service and asked, "Do you know how to iron clothes very well? I want you to work with me in my new laundry business I just opened."
I looked at him very surprised and tried to quickly comprehend what really pushed him to approach me but nothing serious appeared as a good answer on my head
"You mean the ironing of clothes to that professional standard?" I replied to his question with a question, and he nodded his head
"If that's the case, my answer is no, I don't think I can iron clothes to that standard," I replied, feeling ashamed.
He smiled and looked at me from my shirt to trouser.
"Who ironed these clothes that you're putting on?" He pointed at my wears..
"I was the one, sir."
He smiled again and said, "I've been observing you and how stretched you keep your clothes. You'll work for me, Jooor. I just need someone I can trust. Don't worry, I'll straighten your hands when we start."
That was how he won me, I joined him in the laundry business. I would close lectures and move straight to the workshop to iron clothes, and I usually get my lunch there.
From there, we became very close, and he entrusted the work to my hands whenever he wasn't around, and I delivered very well in those moments.
I became a part of his household because his wife was down to earth too.
When I was done with school, I left the city to a faraway land, for a one-year compulsory service for all graduates. All through the period, he was calling to check on me, and I felt so good.
After the one-year service, I began job hunting, which was not easy at all. I was going from one interview to another, and the frustration and disappointment made me throw away my appetite for checking on people.
On one of the days of travelling here and there for interviews, my phone rang, and it was him calling.
"Hello sir, good afternoon sir," I said as soon as I picked up.
"Kingsley! You don't call anymore; that's so bad of you," he queried, and I told him what was happening, "Sir, please don't be offended. Things have not been well since I graduated, that's why it's been hard to remember calling people."
"I understand, my dear, and that's why I called. Since you don't have a job yet, why don't you come over to the city to manage the laundry?" he said, and my mind quickly rejected the offer because I'll need to rent a house.
"Okay, sir, I've heard, but accommodation will be the issue because I don't think I'm ready to rent any house there right now. Those houses are expensive, you know."
"Do not worry, I will make arrangements for everything. All I need to know is whether you're interested or not." He replied
"Okay, sir, I'm interested," I replied, and we ended the call.
The following week, I reported to the city, and to my surprise, he offered me a room in his three-bedroom flat where I lived and was going to work from there. Not only that, I was fed from their pot all through my stay there.
When I'd worked for a few months and was about to move into my own rented apartment, he insisted that I take the foam in the room I stayed, into my new house so that my expenses would reduce.
In this unfamiliar place, Mr. Kingsley, who was once a stranger to me, has transformed into a beloved figure, a guiding presence resembling both an older brother and a father.
