Jumpsuit Man

The shine of the silhouette on that piece he is about to wear in 30 minutes looks otherworldly he thought to himself. Hanging there – on a stand, with dim lights surrounding it, accentuating its dark colour by bringing about shadows. Giving it an appearance of dark royalty. Big and strong and powerful.

“Turn your head, sir.” The makeup artist instructs him. Breaking his attention and forcing himself to look in the mirror. The glitter and the powder matches well with his dark skin tonight. At least better than on previous occasions on this whole tour he thinks to himself. Nancy has been complimenting his full look and style every evening. Tonight her heart better melt at the sight of me and have a pour out of new Irish-Italian-English words that I have never heard before, he continues to babble on in his head.

“Fifteen minutes!” a female voice from the other side of the room shouts at their way. The group who had just been on stage walks into the room with an energy of gleefulness. A satisfaction reached for tonight. Only to last for about a flash of a moment in all probability until the next group goes out. The next group being Mabu himself and the rest of the select ten elite. Only the best of the best, from the most trendy material and pattern design to the names that are the most prestigious of its makers, is set to feature now. The highlight reel, the showstopper show. He carefully places his trademark brown hat in his specialised locker and looks at that black and white family picture taken in the spring air of 19 October 2005. His ritual. From here on in, it would usually be game on. However Mabu notices something in the picture he had never completely paid heed to before. Right next to the foot of the tree - his first ever little bucket and spade that he used to take along with him when they went to the windy, soft beaches of the Cape. Thoughts of hometown back in the day is like an old langarm-tuned photographic PowerPoint slide show. Mabu knows the world is all but a white and black circle representing good and bad, and that the good is what we should hold onto because the bad will forever be present in our veins. He makes his way to his piece for the evening. The lighting around it brighter now. A tour member dusting it off, making sure it is immaculate as can be. As delicate as Mabu can be, he jumps into it.

The runway is over. The models make it back backstage, and a few of the tour members prepare for the post-event interviews with the media.

“Oh, the stars, the stars, the stars twinkle bright in the night. Ladies and gentlemen, we conquered Milan!” Nancy exclaims excitedly as she approaches her crew. Everyone applauds cheerfully at each other and for themselves. A few champagne bottles already start popping. The fulfilment is at its peak. How long will it last, and when will the downfall commence, Mabu thinks for himself.

“And you… my sweet darling, angel.” Nancy looks at Mabu and walks toward him. She pinches him on the cheek. “You radiated on that stage, my young child. You are Milan’s brightest in motion!”

Mabu says thank you and welcomes Nancy’s tight hug. He heads for his locker as Nancy moves on to the Irish and Italian phrases. A lady helps him out of his piece.

“This was the prize garment of the evening. Who would have ever thought a jumpsuit so stylish, ay? You should be honoured to be the one who wore it.”

Mabu sits down on his chair, and the lady starts to remove the makeup. Again, the mirror and him. Nancy and a few other important people come walking their way. She leads the discussion. Perhaps not much of a discussion, as she seems to be the one that is doing most of the talking. Through her reflection in the mirror Mabu spots for the first time a faint permanent line stretching for a centimetre or two from the left side of her mouth. He wonders where and when she got this. A celebrated figure such as herself a decade ago, surely she didn’t grace the world’s stages with what seems to be a scar on her face. Nancy’s personal assistant walks up to them and announces the bad news of the after-party being postponed until the following evening. A thunderstorm is on its way for the night and the city road security sent out a media statement that four of the routes leading to Hotel nhow Milano were going to be closed for safety measures. The disappointment of this is shared amongst the group, and as most of them collect their items to say goodnight Mabu’s attention is called for from the left of him across the reception area that leads out of the building, “Mabu! That jumpsuit! You were stunning tonight, my star. Congratulations!” 

He walks out and is met with a thunderous roar and rain pelleting down. People of the show rush into their cars and some run across the street covering their heads with their bags. Mabu puts on his gloves and thinks about the sandcastles that his bucket and spade used to produce. On one of those days when he put up those sand structures his little sister of 8 at that time sat with him and asked him if Mommy, Daddy and the two of them would live to make it and stay in a castle as huge one day. Mabu could only smile and tell her that a castle is already set up and waiting for all of them in God’s home. That was before the contracts, photoshoots and his brown fedora hat. For now, he is waiting for a taxi in the rain to take him to an empty apartment flat.