“There is an innocence in admiration: it occurs in one who has not yet realized that they might one day be admired.”
~ Friedrich Nietzsche
It is half past 3am. The unperturbed crickets and horny frogs do not care whose quietude they invade. Everyone lies dead asleep, everyone but me. Don’t misconstrue this! I crave for sleep to take me by the hand and sway me into a land brightly lit, where the least of my problems would be my phone dying without a warning- right now, the cause of the troubles that surround my half- clothed chest.
Few months ago I met a guy- dark- brown eyes, patient strides, trim frame and a height that left me short of breath. I could have sworn I saw a halo around his head as he walked towards me and spoke in a celestial tone to the security guard that sat next to me.
“Hello sir. Mr Patrick, here to see Mr Jackson”, said Wonder man.
The security man leaping from his rather uncomfortable stool, and like me, wondering where this “immortal being” dropped from, asked in the most polite tone I have ever heard him.
“Well done o, Mr Pat. You don call am for phone? No worry, make I hala am for you”.
I stood there, dazed, in some sorta trance. Nothing else audible but my thoughts.
(“My knee, I need to move my knee… somebody hit me with a stick.”)
Then a miracle happened.
Touching my shoulder, the security man said, “Madam, abeg no vex. This fine man dey go your office and na only me dey for gate. Shey e no go be like say I dey send you message, you fit…”
“Of course”, I cut in. “Please come with me. Follow me”, I said again trying to avoid sounding corky.”
(“Oh no, I just ruined my first speech to this being. Now he will think I am crazy.”)
“Thank you ma’am”, he said, leaving me vapourised.
“Sammie, call me Sammie”, I said stylishly gasping for breath.
Patrick is Mr. Jackson’s nephew. He recently relocated to the country. I could tell he was smart and courteous. I was impressed to say the least. Mr Jackson, my boss, thanked me for showing Patrick the way in, talked about how he is proud of him and topped it with a few accolades to my name. I could feel my wig losing its hold, thanks to my protruding head, so I breathe in slowly to avoid losing my head from self-detonation.
“Here’s my business card”, he said as our fingers brushed.
At that point I reached for my cardholder in hopes that I had mine so I could once again bask in the euphoria of our naked hands gliding- and it happened, again.
More than 5 months later I didn’t call and in my defence, I don’t speak celestial lingua. He didn’t call either, until tonight.
“Hey Sammie. It’s Patrick. Sorry I couldn’t call you before now.”
(“Wow! He apologises. How cute”, I swooned.)
“Hey Patrick. Good to hear from you, I said in hopes that he would not notice my haplessness in concealing my excitement. And then he shocked me.
“I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the first day we met. I know you probably get this a lot but honestly, in the past few months, I had to grow some bravery in order to call you tonight.”
(Hol’ up! Hol’ up!! A celestial- immortal- wonder being couldn’t stop thinking about me? Who I be?)
I giggled at my end but let him continue uninterrupted.
“I would like for us to have a sit-out, gist or do anything you enjoy doing in the company of a total stranger. I hope you don’t mind?”
The question was followed by utter silence. My phone had chosen the worst time to die.
“Now he must think I ran away or I am uninterested. Oh no! He would think I am rude”, I gnashed.
No fuel in the generator set. No electricity supply whatsoever. *Deep sigh*
It is a quarter to 4 am. The crickets have found new neighbours and the frogs have found their soul mates. Everyone else still lies dreamily but here I am on my bed hoping that power is restored so I can reply Patrick with: “Yes, I would love to.”
But till then, it is lights out.