Let me tell you about the best 24 hours of my life. It was the day I met you. I’d decided to marry you that day, six full months before I finally did propose.
I was initially reluctant when Uche, my brother asked me to turn up that Friday night, and I almost didn’t go. The week had been long. Running startups is hell.
The Bank is my favorite Abuja club, so of course we drove to Amino Kano, on Wuse II, sat down at the Pre-club spot, aptly named ATM, ordered my customary starter – a chilled bottle of Star. I opened my Nook reader and, forsaking the Ngugi I’d just copped, I opened the lighter Jack Reacher, It was a Friday night after all. Jack’s always the Man on Friday nights.
Mild commotion directly behind me. Four girls took up the table before ours. I didn’t care initially, until you loudly ordered for the coldest bottle of Star they had in stock, to the laughter of your friends who had all ordered cocktails. I turned. The lift of your eyebrows at me confirmed you were the beer drinker. My smile was tiny, but I hoped my approval showed.
It did. You walked up to my table. A five-eleven, hourglass-figure apparition, with eyes that seemed to have a permanent box of laughter and mischief parked inside it’s garage. You’d seen my Barnes and Noble Nook, you said. You wanted to know what I was reading. To test you, I said, ‘Lee Child’. Your Immediate response of ‘Jack Reacher, Which one?’ Intrigued me. We talked books.
Of course, the mischievous Uche suggested we merge tables. We do, and I immediately start having fun. We share a final bottle of their coldest Star. Of course you cheated me, a gentleman, I let you drink more.
My premonitions begin when we get into the club and I ask what you’d like to drink. You reply. ‘Jack’s the Man’. We obviously share a love for Captain Jack Daniels. We dance, crazily, closely. You’re the Ginger Rogers to my Fred Astaire.
We are having fun. So much fun, your friends snicker when we danced gangnam style like we’d rehearsed it.
When your Tipsy colleague asked if your cobwebs might finally get some cleaning tonight, I pretended not to listen. Didn’t want to hope too much.
Tentatively however, I tell you I don’t want the night to end yet,
You then ask me, eyes dancing with laughter,
‘How good are you at FIFA?’
I say, ‘very’.
‘Come over to mine for the rest of the night,’ you say. ‘But I won’t put out.’
I didn’t mind one bit. I’m game.
I hand my keys over to Uche and tell him to get home. You throw me yours, saying ‘I call shot gun.’ I don’t mind. I like to drive. You’re ticking boxes I didn’t even know I had, left, right and center. Even when you say ‘Don’t touch the radio, its mine’ I smile, It was déjà vu. I’d said it countless times to my friends. But you make good. The first song you play is Little Big Town’s Sober. We sing along.
The drive to Lugbe seems very short. For once, I did not complain about the streetlights that were off on Airport Road.
I don’t remember much else about the drive. I do however remember not feeling weird at all about you having Men’s clothes ready for me to wear at home. Tongue in cheek, I offer to share a shower. With those damn eyes twinkling with laughter, you say, ‘I won’t put out remember?’ Kicking me to the visitors bathroom. Afterwards, I sit at the PS4 console in the living room waiting for you.
You come out smelling of Jasmine so faintly, I almost put out my tongue to taste it. I’ve always loved its ability to soothe and I knew I would definitely enjoy cuddling with you. I was so distracted by the scent and the not so modest tank top that I almost lose at FIFA. Laughing (again that damn musical sound) you tell me start up managers have more time on their hands than doctors. I call you a sore loser.
My upteenth surprise, I arrange the couch to sleep, I was already happy enough with my night so far.
You re-enter from the bedroom and say, ‘I lied, I will put out.’
I grin with anticipation. And for good reason. Damn you were good. Your head game, dope. Remember that time you said, ‘Look Papi, No hands’? You near triggered an explosion right there.
You woke me up after dawn with a nickname –
‘Hey, Tonguey McTongueyson, Breakfast in Bed?’ I smile at the compliment and say Yes. ‘Then you’re cooking’ you said.’You like to cook remember?’ I laugh. I did cook.
After breakfast, I set up your new Kindle since you had refused to. ‘Nerds like you should do nerdy Stuff,’ you said. I introduced you to the ebook world. When we lay silently together for two hours, you in the crook of my arm, and me ignoring the cricks, both of us reading books, I knew I was lost.
So I ran. Mumbled about work, demands of running two different startups, teething problems I say. I planned to not see you for another two weeks at least, or at least that was what I had in mind before i found myself back at your place that same night, mumbling something about being in the area.
But I knew, I knew right then I was gonna marry you.
The best 24 hours of my life. It hasn’t happened yet, but I hope it’ll happen exactly this way when I meet you.
Which is when?
Where the hell are you?
I was initially reluctant when Uche, my brother asked me to turn up that Friday night, and I almost didn’t go. The week had been long. Running startups is hell.
The Bank is my favorite Abuja club, so of course we drove to Amino Kano, on Wuse II, sat down at the Pre-club spot, aptly named ATM, ordered my customary starter – a chilled bottle of Star. I opened my Nook reader and, forsaking the Ngugi I’d just copped, I opened the lighter Jack Reacher, It was a Friday night after all. Jack’s always the Man on Friday nights.
Mild commotion directly behind me. Four girls took up the table before ours. I didn’t care initially, until you loudly ordered for the coldest bottle of Star they had in stock, to the laughter of your friends who had all ordered cocktails. I turned. The lift of your eyebrows at me confirmed you were the beer drinker. My smile was tiny, but I hoped my approval showed.
It did. You walked up to my table. A five-eleven, hourglass-figure apparition, with eyes that seemed to have a permanent box of laughter and mischief parked inside it’s garage. You’d seen my Barnes and Noble Nook, you said. You wanted to know what I was reading. To test you, I said, ‘Lee Child’. Your Immediate response of ‘Jack Reacher, Which one?’ Intrigued me. We talked books.
Of course, the mischievous Uche suggested we merge tables. We do, and I immediately start having fun. We share a final bottle of their coldest Star. Of course you cheated me, a gentleman, I let you drink more.
My premonitions begin when we get into the club and I ask what you’d like to drink. You reply. ‘Jack’s the Man’. We obviously share a love for Captain Jack Daniels. We dance, crazily, closely. You’re the Ginger Rogers to my Fred Astaire.
We are having fun. So much fun, your friends snicker when we danced gangnam style like we’d rehearsed it.
When your Tipsy colleague asked if your cobwebs might finally get some cleaning tonight, I pretended not to listen. Didn’t want to hope too much.
Tentatively however, I tell you I don’t want the night to end yet,
You then ask me, eyes dancing with laughter,
‘How good are you at FIFA?’
I say, ‘very’.
‘Come over to mine for the rest of the night,’ you say. ‘But I won’t put out.’
I didn’t mind one bit. I’m game.
I hand my keys over to Uche and tell him to get home. You throw me yours, saying ‘I call shot gun.’ I don’t mind. I like to drive. You’re ticking boxes I didn’t even know I had, left, right and center. Even when you say ‘Don’t touch the radio, its mine’ I smile, It was déjà vu. I’d said it countless times to my friends. But you make good. The first song you play is Little Big Town’s Sober. We sing along.
The drive to Lugbe seems very short. For once, I did not complain about the streetlights that were off on Airport Road.
I don’t remember much else about the drive. I do however remember not feeling weird at all about you having Men’s clothes ready for me to wear at home. Tongue in cheek, I offer to share a shower. With those damn eyes twinkling with laughter, you say, ‘I won’t put out remember?’ Kicking me to the visitors bathroom. Afterwards, I sit at the PS4 console in the living room waiting for you.
You come out smelling of Jasmine so faintly, I almost put out my tongue to taste it. I’ve always loved its ability to soothe and I knew I would definitely enjoy cuddling with you. I was so distracted by the scent and the not so modest tank top that I almost lose at FIFA. Laughing (again that damn musical sound) you tell me start up managers have more time on their hands than doctors. I call you a sore loser.
My upteenth surprise, I arrange the couch to sleep, I was already happy enough with my night so far.
You re-enter from the bedroom and say, ‘I lied, I will put out.’
I grin with anticipation. And for good reason. Damn you were good. Your head game, dope. Remember that time you said, ‘Look Papi, No hands’? You near triggered an explosion right there.
You woke me up after dawn with a nickname –
‘Hey, Tonguey McTongueyson, Breakfast in Bed?’ I smile at the compliment and say Yes. ‘Then you’re cooking’ you said.’You like to cook remember?’ I laugh. I did cook.
After breakfast, I set up your new Kindle since you had refused to. ‘Nerds like you should do nerdy Stuff,’ you said. I introduced you to the ebook world. When we lay silently together for two hours, you in the crook of my arm, and me ignoring the cricks, both of us reading books, I knew I was lost.
So I ran. Mumbled about work, demands of running two different startups, teething problems I say. I planned to not see you for another two weeks at least, or at least that was what I had in mind before i found myself back at your place that same night, mumbling something about being in the area.
But I knew, I knew right then I was gonna marry you.
The best 24 hours of my life. It hasn’t happened yet, but I hope it’ll happen exactly this way when I meet you.
Which is when?
Where the hell are you?
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