My October Symphony

Liquid Courage

2

I started dreaming, dressing differently, listening to different music, and adopting a new persona for him unconsciously. The day after our adventure, I gave him back the bracelet he'd bought because he had left it in my bag accidentally. He insisted that I keep it. Told me that it suits me better anyway. I told him to give it to his mum, I wish I'd kept it now.

Third day of March. One of my good friends had a birthday party at her apartment. I never felt so alone in my life. I got off work early so I could make it in time. I was the first one there, she wasn't there yet. I walked around the area surrounding me and my bag full of work clothes, drenched in cheap perfume to keep the smell of hard work off. I listened to both Gymnopedies, sauntering around aimlessly, listless, with no plan in mind. I anxiously checked my phone every minute to see if anyone had come, anything had changed, nothing. In those hours alone in the cold, with people walking around me, walking to some destination, I felt more alone than I ever could have felt. Where was my partner in crime? She assured me he'd be here. But I was alone. What a cliche trope.

I had waited for two hours in the cold before I got a text saying she was there. I got to the apartment, seeing no familiar faces, all new people. Another hour passes as we set up the decorations in the rented suite below. I got to know the friends she invited, all fake, all friendly; I waited. Finally, she shows up, I relax a little bit and pour myself a drink. I ask her where he is; she says he's coming later; not good, I say. I'm already pushing the limit, staying out late besides work. I text him a few times, pestering him, asking him when and if he's coming. The texts don't deliver.

I wait for a few more minutes, painfully waiting, waiting, wanting, wanting, wanting. To my great surprise and joy, he finally shows up, out of breath and carrying bags of bottles, sure to liven up the mood. When I laid eyes on him, my heart skipped a beat; I know it's so cliche, but I guess those cheesy writers weren't making it up because it does happen. My gaze was cool and indifferent, I strolled over to the corner of the couch where I left my bag, and he followed behind me, finally greeting me. I acted shocked, as if I hadn't noticed him walk in, like I didn't care, like he was nothing more to me than just another insignificant party guest. If only that was what he was.

I made myself a drink, 70% vodka and 30% coke, and walked outside on the terrace for fresh air. I motioned him to follow me and didn't look back like I didn't care if he followed me or not.

We walked and stood leaning by the railing in the freezing cold; how nostalgic. We talked for a bit about insignificant things, I had already warmed up a bit because of the drink I had before he came, so I could stand the cold. But he couldn't and wanted to go back in, so we went back in. We sat on the couch for some time, my thigh squished against his leg, I'd never imagined being this close to him, but the alcohol really helped my fear subside; I guess they call it liquid courage for a reason. Then I went back to the terrace; this time, I beckoned no one; I just needed fresh air. I stood leaning against the railing, looking at the city and the life below, the bright lights of a metropolitan landscape. I felt a presence behind me; He followed me out to the terrace.

I can't recall exactly what happened my mind had gone fuzzy at this point. All I remember is holding a green bottle of beer and sipping on it gently. We spat out a few sentences to make a loose and slow conversation. He offered me a smoke; it was a vanilla-flavoured cigarette, oh my.

I said I'd split one with him. And so we did, shared a cigarette, just like old times. Didn't it seem like an odd refrain? Leaning against the railing, looking out, sharing a cigarette, daring not to look at each other, making loose conversation between each long drag and puff? Maybe it's just my imagination. I wished for us to stay like that for just a few minutes more, just a few more puffs of the cigarette, a few more stolen glances, a few more short jokes and dry laughs, a few more minutes, hours, eternities. I'd give anything.

The others, who had warmed up to me now, had run outside to join us. It was fun, I'll admit, kissing strangers and laughing at people I had only met two hours prior like we were old friends. Even when I'm piss-drunk, I manage to be polite and compliment the girls, sweeten them up a bit; I am your ally, see me not as an outsider, accept me and remember my face. I kissed a girl; I can't remember why. She told me I had soft lips, I laughed, and all I remember is my head spinning. I checked the time and decided I had to go. It was time to go, even though I wanted the night to never end. It was way too early, they all said, they asked me to stay, she told me it was too early and asked me to stay. I told her I could stay and be dead the next day, or I could leave now and live. It was my decision in the end. I wish I'd died instead.

As I left haphazardly, grabbing my things and stumbling as I walked through the room, I said goodbye to her and thanked her for inviting me. I waved him off and said goodbye, and the door closed behind me as I waddled to the elevator. But something inside me couldn't be contained, and I dropped my bag in the middle of the hallway and ran back to the door, pounding with both fists as loudly as I could, profusely. Like a scene out of a bad rom-com, he answered the door, leaning his arm against the door frame. He asked if I had forgotten something, and I said

"Yeah, you."

I grabbed his face and gently placed my lips on his cheek; I looked him in the face to take in his shocked expression and watched as it turned into a grin. Without another word, I ran back to the elevator and grabbed my bag. I guess that's why they call it liquid courage. The guy in the elevator stood in the corner farthest away from me, watching me sway side to side, giggling like an idiot. An idiot I was.

Don't remember much of the ride home. I remember falling on my ass trying to get to the escalator to the train, remember texting my friend, thanking her again and apologizing for leaving so early, and I remember texting him. I like you so much, the text read, followed by a bunch of random emojis; Don't forget that I'm piss-drunk. The night ended in my warm bed, I was completely sober, according to my parents, and everything was perfect, even if it wasn't.

I wish the story had ended there, but unfortunately, I had other plans.

The next day, I realized what I had done. A bad movie, drunken scenes replaying themselves in my head as I stared at the sink brushing my teeth. Re-reading the texts I sent the night before. Oh god, oh Jesus, what have I done? He can't know this, but he does; oh, it's over, everything over. I've ruined it. And I'd be half right. At school, I pretended I didn't know him. I didn't make eye contact with him, and not a word was spoken before class or during lessons; he didn't exist to me. After class, he followed me out and asked me if I got home okay; I said yes, and he asked me if I remembered anything from the party; I told him no, lying through my teeth, trying to convince myself I was too drunk to remember. I wish that was the truth. He asked to go for coffee since it was lunch, and I went with him like everything was normal. We ran into my good friend at the cafe, and we sat together. We sat and talked, but when we talked, I didn't talk to him unless he directly spoke to me, I only addressed her, shying my eyes away from him, body turned and closed away from him. That was the last time we went for coffee. The last time I ordered that stupid iced americano. The last time things were normal.