Pineapples
It’s a little past 3am and I’m fortunate to be at a pub with some friends and I say “fortunate” with every sense of sarcasm.
Heavily intoxicated and completely out of it, I’d say I was ready for the sandman to drop barrels of snooze-dust in my eyes. Though with the games and the good vibes in the air, it was enough to make this guy sit for awhile longer, smile to himself with content and say, “this is the life”.
Suddenly and yet so gradually, I sense the muffling nature of the music and my vision which hasn’t been the best in years, sharpens.
Looking around, I see people, not as people, but walking balls of string, winding and unwinding, contorting into words, words building stories. Each with their own specific tale to tell. I did lack the energy to freak out and call out to anyone to confirm if they’re seeing what I was seeing so I sat and watched each person, reading each story. Some stories poetic, some sad, some just plain wild. But one stood out in the form of a petite girl.
Asides from the occasional stolen glances in my direction and mine in hers, the half hearted smiles of acknowledgment when our eyes met as she was leaving the table to meet her friends, I didn’t think too much of her. I do remember the black top, red shorts, white sneakers with faux locs packed in a bun on top of her head in what looked like a pineapple. I did like pineapples so this was a justification to keep reading her story. It had many themes, the dark, the sad, the funny and the happy all in a perfect mix like jollof rice with salad and chicken on a Sunday afternoon in a Nigerian home (vive la Jollof de Nigeria). It’s weird how one could be so focused, even if the object of focus is 20ft across the room and yet despite the distance, the emotions in each line were still very intense.
In that moment, my life’s mission was to finish this story and nothing else was as important for the time being. Everything else could be damned till then.
As suddenly as it had begun, I’m jolted from my trance by one of the guys I came with. He’s trying to confirm I’m still having a good time after noticing my blank stare which had gone on longer than was comfortable for him, strikes up some light conversation and I respond with nods and monosyllabic sounds and a half hearted smile so this unwelcome distraction ends as quickly as it was initiated.
The joy when it ended may have been a little too obvious to those around me but was very short-lived. I try to return to my reading, but the book is not in place. I do a quick sweep of the surrounding areas but my worst fears are confirmed. She’s disappeared into the night.
Breathe in, breathe out.
Breathe in
Breathe…
…….
Just wonderful.
This is no endorsement for psychedelics or stimulants, but one thing is certain after having them, there’s always a story to tell.
vive la nigerian de jollof- long live the nigerian jollof
