i know what you mean!

7. The answers I sought

Posted on: March 30, 2014


the love songs that I
like and my life’s events don’t
tend to coincide

That day and the day that followed – cringe worthy. If I could go back in time and change it, I would undo the excuse I used, so that I wouldn’t have to live for the rest of my life repressing the memory of what I said that night.  So I wouldn’t have to admit the single stupidest and cheesiest crap I sprouted.   Having lived for another 14 years, I think I’ve gotten twice as smart. I should have given no reason at all, and should have bursted into tears when pressed. That would have solved everything and I would have come out ahead. It would have been an excellent performance, A-Z. I guess I lacked originality back then. I was following the formula too closely. Tsk tsk. It’s too late now. I’m still resisting the memories, because I felt like it was a failed performance. And I hate underperforming so much.  But nonetheless, if I were 21 again, I would have repeated the same mistakes, the same pathos, everything.  Because I got some of the answers I sought that way.

I wonder if that was the reason why he was mad at me afterward, what I said to him that night. It started out so well too. I remember feeling pretty tragic, but there was a part of me that wryly stood back and watched. And that wry woman guided me through the process in a very efficient way. First, I waited until Tuesday evening to take action, because Wednesday was the day I had less work hours and classes. Tuesday after work and school were over, I went to Safeway and bought the liquor with the highest alcohol content that was on sale. Next, I went home and had a starring contest with the bottle of Jamaican rum I had just purchased. I personally absolutely hate the taste of alcohol, so I was hesitant. But what the heck. I tried a sip. That stuff tasted awful. Still, I was also curious, since I had never been drunk, I wanted to see how it feels. I think at best, I downed about 8 oz of rum mixed with orange juice on an empty stomach. Which took an enormous amount of efforts and gaging on my part. After 8 oz, I didn’t want to have anything to do with that bottle again. But the near-full bottle of rum did not look impressive, and I aimed to impress, so I gave nearly half of it to the sink.

There wasn’t much left to do except to wait. I logged online. I think I emailed him, probably something provocative but still sounding innocent enough so that if anything, he would not be able to blame me for starting a fight. In my head, I was thinking “Bastard, you shouldn’t be having a good time.” I started to have a headache, and my face was burning up, but otherwise, the wry woman who watched over me said she still had me covered. I was waxing some heavy duty melodramatic proses on my computer when the phone rang. It was my other guy friend, Mr. CCD.  I found out that when I get drunk, I’m very funny.  Even when I was annoyed at poor Mr. CCD for being the wrong guy, I was still pretty funny up to the moment I hung up on him.  After that, I logged back online again (those were the days of landline modems, so if I were online, I would not have been able to receive phone calls). I was furiously emailing and chatting with a lot of people, being very funny all around until I cried and laughed at the same time. It was the pent up emotions that I wanted to release. The disappointments, the hurt feelings, the indignation, and above all, the feeling of being abandoned. It didn’t feel good to be able to cry about it though. I felt pretty miserable either way. The one thing that was of any consolation to me was that wry woman who was still watching over me, and she was saying, “give him hell, see what he will do.”

So around 10 o’clock that night, I duly logged out and freed my phone line. That was his request previously. He told me to log off around 10pm every night for 15 minutes so that in case he needed to get a hold of me, he could reach me over the phone.  And he called. The first thing he said was I sounded strange. Well wouldn’t you sound strange too if you got shit load of liquor in you, I said. That got him all ears.  That’s what I want to believe I had said.  The real deal was so boring and pathetic.

“what are you doing?”

“getting very drunk” I said tearfully.

He asked me why I was like that. Secretly, I was thinking, wtf, WHY you ask ? WHY? I wanted to ask YOU why am I like this! But to him, I gave the most cringe worthy excuse ever. I said, because all this made me think of MY ex (since he was like this because of his ex, I wanted to claim an ex’s fault too. What the fuck? My brain must have suffered greatly to have come up with such an embarrassing idea! I should have just refused to answer!). I did not want to admit that he was the one hurting me, I didn’t want him to have any satisfaction of knowing this truth.  If he had held me so intimately and could only think of his ex, then no place in hell will scare me from hiding the truth to the bitter end. The phone conversation was consisted of a lot of silence on both ends. Finally, we managed to end it, and I went to throw up. That part was no fun, and it made me into a committed lifelong nonalcoholic. Sleep was elusive that night thanks to the headache and the burning hot sensations.

He came by to see me the next day, as I had hoped. All of this was to test him. To provoke, too.  I needed to know certain things, which buttons to push, and I had reached the point where I could not make things like the way they were before. So I could not bring myself to ask him direct questions anymore. He came, that was my first answer. He didn’t say much, but he looked around. He asked to see the bottle, and was alarmed to see how much was left (I gave half of it to the sink to see this response). He asked me how I got the stuffs down, knowing that I don’t drink well and hate drinking in general. I said I mixed it with orange juice to help with the taste, because the straight liquor burned and made me gag. He said that was like multiplying the effect of the alcohol by 2.  Then he looked down at the bottle and cried. It wasn’t bawling or sobbing or any of that. He just teared up and his voice sounded different. And we sat in silence for a while, just like that. Then he left.  And he ignored me for along time.

It was hell, those two weeks.


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