Excerpt - ZamaShort #10 - Daniel Joe - 'Vibrating Particles'
EXCERPT
VIBRATING PARTICLES
DANIEL JOE
Walking back to our table, I was stopped in my tracks when I saw Hannah just a few feet away. Why? Something inside asked.
She was standing at the counter in a fitted spaghetti-strapped knee-length red dress, an almost empty rocks glass in her hand, and a phone she was intently focused on in the other. Her hair was braided in long tiny strands packed at the back. Still ever so fair and lithe, but now more gorgeous, defined, and instantly striking, as she sat elegantly with her legs crossed. So absorbed with the phone was she, that everything around, including myself and the bartender—who was also staring at her as if he were looking at the risen Jesus—held no significance.
The effect of money, I found myself thinking. Well, I say thought, but it was more like a memory resurfacing. One that left me feeling a little shameful as soon as it reared its nasty head.
I Put a Spell on You began playing in the background, and I started to feel so nervous, like I was on the brink of being nabbed for a crime I had certainly committed. I made to walk away, but just then, she raised her head from her phone, looked around, and locked eyes with mine.
Instantly, I felt my chest tighten like a nutcracker in use. She seemed to lean forward with raised shoulders as time alighted from its car and began a painfully slow walk with crutches.
After what seemed like an eternal minute, I took a deep breath and as I approached, her shoulders relaxed, she leaned back and started smiling as charmingly as I remembered. And probably startled by my appearance, the bartender made his way to the backroom.
‘I thought you were just going to walk past,’ she said.
‘I was… but then… I guess I didn’t.’
We remained quiet for a while, while I stood nervously trying to hide my nerves, and she continued smiling; our eyes still locked.
The only question I could think of to break the ice was, what are you drinking? but it seemed such a judgmental question, so I kept mute.
Her mother had died from alcoholism when she was only sixteen. So naturally, she had sworn off it. “The only real sin”, she used to call it. Not anymore, I guess.
After a while, I sat on the stool next to hers, my whole body tilted towards her, and in turn, she placed her drink and phone on the counter and faced me, our eyes still somewhat locked.
Even after so many years, and a much bigger net worth, she still smelt of that same beautifully earthy perfume that I thought always made her so chic, as though it cost nothing. I thought of commenting on it, but this also seemed a bit judgemental as well.
‘You look really nice,’ she said.
‘It’s just jeans and a T-shirt,’ I replied, glancing down at my clothes.
‘I wasn’t talking about the clothes.’
‘Oh.’
I also wanted to say how impossible to ignore she had become, but again, it seemed a bit judgemental. So, I didn’t. And just then, it occurred to me that I could simply have asked, how are you? at the beginning, or how have you been? Instead of staying mute, like a snail.
Seconds flew as we sat in silence, staring at each other, in a sort of crisscross between a quiet shyness and an unabashed resolve. Or at least that’s what I felt. And all the while, a synergy of energising and yet draining bolts sprang through and around my body.
‘So, what are you doing here?’ She broke the ice again.
‘Oh, uhm… a friend sort of forced me here,’ I said. Then added, ‘Because apparently, I’m some sort of a hermit who needs help.’
She laughed a little. ‘So, is this friend a girl or a guy?’
‘I definitely don’t have friends that are girls,’ I said with a small smile.
‘Still with all the exquisite rules,’ she said, rolling her eyes.
I shrugged.
‘Then a girlfriend, perhaps, or maybe a friend with benefits?’
‘Sadly, I’ve been too busy for such,’ I said, with quite a broad smile. For some reason, for the first time ever, I felt quite prideful in being single, as if I were a boy scout receiving the highest badge of honour.
Hannah replied with a smile that made her face wrinkle up like an endearing seventy-year-old woman.
For a while we were once again quiet, until the bartender appeared from the backroom door and approached us. He asked what I would like and if she would like a top up. We told him we were fine but for some reason he kept on persisting, acting all coy, as if he had no idea he was spoiling the moment. Then again, maybe he didn’t. Maybe he was just focused on the tip he could make. But I didn’t care about him or his tip. So, feeling overly irritated by the disturbance, I shot him a death glare, and said with an overly stern tone, ‘We don’t fucking need anything.’
For a moment time stopped, and then, he turned and trotted to the other side of the bar with hunched shoulders. Watching, I obviously started to feel bad, like I had just mistakenly spat on a homeless man. I thought of calling him back, saying sorry and ordering something, but that seemed a bit pathetic. So, I didn’t.
I turned my attention back to Hannah, who was staring at me with those big blue eyes, like she had been inside my head, observing the interminable bouts of emotions and thoughts bouncing around inside my skull like a game of pinball. This made me even more nervous.
‘What about you?’ I asked, eager to get the spotlight off me.
‘Well, no girls for me,’ she replied, with a smile. ‘As you know, I’m not very adventurous.’
Despite my nerves, I found myself grinning uncontrollably, like a child playing peekaboo for the first time. ‘Fish,’ I said (just like I used to call her ever since she fell into that fishpond, during the school excursion to Aqualand). ‘I mean why are you here?’
‘Then you should have clarified.’ She was still smiling. ‘Well, I was checking on one of my restaurants and,’ she looked around for a bit, ‘I guess I just wanted to be anywhere else but there.’
‘Alone? I’m really sorry I disturbed you then.’
‘Not at all. I was actually supposed to meet up with Nene, but something came up with her kids.’
‘Oh okay… And what about your husband?’ I felt my insides being wrenched as I uttered the words.
‘Well, he’s a very busy man.’ She gave a small smile, then tilted her body away from me to the counter.
For a while, I sat quietly, watching, as she ran her index finger absentmindedly over the rim of her glass. She really had aged with the grace of a well-kept Sangiovese. She was absolutely gorgeous. Gorgeous in a way that made descriptions seem trivial. But I could also see faint lines of sadness etched onto her face. Or maybe I was just imagining things because I wanted her to be as sad and hurt as I was, as I had been for over six years.
‘So,’ she said, after a while, turning back to me. ‘You’re now a renowned writer.’
‘I don’t know about the renowned part,’ I said, ‘but yeah, I guess I am.’
‘I always told you, didn’t I?’
‘Yeah, I guess you did. Also, I don’t know if I ever told you this but… thank you.’
‘For what? You wrote the book.’
‘Yeah, but if it wasn’t for you, I never would have actually taken up writing as a serious thing.’
‘Enough of that, please. The fact of the matter is, you’re a brilliant writer,’ she said, smiling like a proud mother. ‘And your book is just amazing.’
‘Well, you know it’s really the editors that made it seem so good.’
‘Just take the compliment and don’t spoil it,’ she said, frowning a bit.
‘Sorry,’ I said, with half a smile. ‘And thank you,’ I added.
She smiled back, so tenderly.
I unexpectedly remembered the night we had spent over three hours at a Sweet Sensation outlet, talking about anything and everything. That was the same night she convinced me to drop out of the University of Lagos—where I had been studying microbiology for three years—so I could write full time and take a few creative writing courses online. Partly, because she said I was so grumpy all the time, without life, and always looking miserable like someone stuck in an arranged marriage. But mainly, because she said the pieces I had written half-heartedly for a few magazines showed I had potential. Also, my eyes sparkled and I was so joyful whenever she saw me writing.
‘What about you?’ I blurted out, back to feeling nervous and a bit uneasy. ‘You’re now a big woman. I’ve lost track of how many restaurants you own. Is it six now?’
Hesitantly, she said ‘Eight.’ Then added after a bit, in a more confident style, like she was being interviewed for a glam magazine. ‘I’ve got five on the island, three on the mainland and I’m considering opening a new one at Ibeju-Lekki.’
‘Oh, that’s… wonderful. Really, really, wonderful. Just… wonderful.’ Stop it already, I almost screamed. ‘Really, really… nice.’ JESUS CHRIST!
She gave a small smile then turned back to the counter and took a sip from her drink.
As the night seemed to swiftly plummet from the top of a skyscraper onto the bare ground, shattering like a diamond into a million pieces, she went back to running her finger over the rim of her glass, while I went back and forth between her and the bartender, who was now giving me the stink eye every few seconds.
‘Well,’ said Hannah, after an eternity. Only her head was slightly tilted towards me this time. ‘Are you writing anything new?’
Just as I started to say something about how dismal my recent ideas were, I felt someone tap me from behind. It was Frank.
‘So, you can actually walk up to a girl in this life,’ he said, a bit too loudly, I thought. ‘Omo, there is nothing alcohol cannot do o.’
Like instant black coffee in hot water, my face immediately contorted as if from a bitter taste.
‘It’s not like that,’ I said sharply, irritated by his shenanigans for the first time in… well, forever. ‘She’s just someone I used to know,’ I added, and felt an immense sense of sadness.
Romantic feelings or not, I guess it is a sad thing to become a stranger to someone you’ve known and loved for years. In my case, for over twenty years. Since I was three and she was the strong and angelic eight-year-old who lived in the opposite flat and watched me whenever my mother had to go to the market.
‘Then, are you not going to introduce me to your breathtaking friend,’ said Frank, taking a step towards her.
I sighed. ‘Frank, Hannah. Hannah, Frank.’
They shook hands, as “nice to meet you” rang around in their midst. Then Frank, of course, went on a blistering rampage, trying to shed some light on just how beautiful she was. And even though I felt a certain anger and envy towards him for so openly acknowledging it as I couldn’t, I couldn’t help but smile and blatantly agree (In my mind only, of course).
She really was—just, stunning.
For more than a moment, watching her smile and blush, all I could think of was planting a kiss on those lips with bright red lipstick.
‘Mumu,’ I whispered under my breath, trying to odyssey back to reality. ‘That’s a married woman.’
Out of the blue, I half shouted: ‘We have to go,’ and jumped to my feet. I was now determined to let this night pass me by like waterfalls over rocks.
‘We do?’ Frank said, looking a bit befuddled.
‘Yes, we do,’ I said. ‘I have the thing… remember?’
Frank said nothing; he just pouted his lips, like a disillusioned child. Now I was tired and quite sad, but I knew I had to push on. I just had to.
I turned to Hannah. ‘It was really nice to see you,’ I said.
‘You too.’ She had this affectionate smile that made me weak at the knees.
For a suspend moment, I lingered, hoping for… I don’t know. But I had this vague desire for something. I have no idea how long we remained like that before Frank coughed like a jackass, and said, with a dubious smile, ‘I thought you wanted to go?’
I glared at him for a second then focused my attention back on Hannah. ‘Well…’
‘Can I see you again?’ she said, her big blue eyes looking at me with intent. Or at least I hoped so.
I looked at Frank and then back at her, still so tired, but excited and yet terrified.
I took a deep breath and shrugged. ‘Maybe. If I’m free, I guess.’
‘Are you stupid,’ Frank said, slapping the back of my head.
‘Jesus!’ I cried. ‘What the fuck is wrong with you?’
‘This goat is always free,’ he said to Hannah who was now laughing. ‘All day, every day.’
‘Then can I have your number?’ said Hannah, still laughing. Beautifully, I should add.
Before I could even respond, Frank called it out. ‘You can collect my own too, if you want,’ he said.
‘Why not?’ said Hannah, still giggling.
A few seconds later we said our goodbyes then Frank and I walked away. And once we were out of sight, I slapped him across the back of his head, then ran ahead, shouting: ‘This your ogo no dey allow you get sense at all.’
Hannah phoned me later that night, around eleven.
<...>
Daniel Joe is an emerging African writer based in Lagos, Nigeria. He is an English Lit. undergraduate at the Iconic Open University, and once a fellow at the SprinNG literary fellowship. His work has been published in several literary magazines and anthologies, including The Poetry Journal's Her Father's Daughter, Brittle Paper, Afritondo, The Rising Phoenix and more. When he isn't writing or reading, he spends his time playing, or watching football, or scouring Lagos on foot searching for inspiration.
Released 1st February 2026.
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