Something wild happened to me today

Chapter 13

Sunday, March 25th, 2007, 7:23 PM

Saturday night fever

In the end last night, I stuck to the original plan and went down to Barcelona. I couldn’t stay home, and I didn’t feel like seeing anyone I knew, either; I needed to disconnect. 

I had spent the whole afternoon thinking about what was happening to me, without achieving any clarity. The more and more frequent migraines; the nasal hemorrhages, quickly wearing out my reduced wardrobe; my reactions to limit situations which, a week ago, I would have avoided or ignored; the new capabilities it seems I now possess: accelerated regeneration and strength and agility above and beyond the norm. 

Not to mention that the police must be looking for me for murder now.

Shit, in less than a week I’ve sent three guys twice as big as me to the hospital! And one of them fucking died.

With all of this ruminating in my mind, I went down to Barcelona after having a meager ration of pasta salad for dinner; a mix of colored spirals, nuts, apple chunks, tomato, lettuce and red sauce. The perfect dinner to get plastered quickly, which was just what I needed.

I took the last train downtown a little after eleven and went to one of the bars on Tallers street, next to the famous Ramblas. There were two local police agents in front of the bar, and one of them seemed to be carefully observing me while I walked toward the place. I decided to keep on going and not look at them. I walked by them with my nuts in my throat and went into the bar, letting out the breath of air I’d been holding in without knowing it.

Once I recovered from the scare, I sat by myself at a table in the back and started drinking Voll-Damms, one after the other. I couldn’t help but glance every once in a while toward the door while I observed the people arriving, most of them young and thirsty for alcohol, drugs and sex. Young people who don’t feel rock and roll like before, and who settle for any shit the DJ is playing.

I think I drank seven beers before I started to “feel it”. That wasn’t normal either, and made me go back to the feelings that had led me there. I picked up the pace of alcohol ingestion, ordering Jack with ice by twos from the waitress. She gave me a reproving look, but served them without compassion.

I left the bar sixty euros lighter, about three hours later. Limiting myself to observing the local fauna had distracted me, but I wanted a change of scene and to move my bones a bit. The whiskey had taken effect and I went on my way a bit merrier, so I went down Las Ramblas toward the ocean. I’ve always liked strolling down Las Ramblas at night; you can see all sorts of people and the immigrants offer you beers at a good price as you walk by. Nothing to do with Las Ramblas during the day. At night, you don’t run into people and they don’t push you every ten steps. At night, you own the place.

A few streets before reaching the statue of Columbus, who no one pays attention to in spite of clearly pointing with an accusing finger toward the “Roman Empire” of our times, the cause of almost all evils assailing the planet, I went to the Chinese quarter. My goal was clear. I was going to L’Enfants.

Even though it’s a small club, it’s a place I that I like. They put on a bit of everything—including good rock and roll—and the ambience tends to be nice, even though there are more and more foreigners.

When I got to the door, the effects of the alcohol had completely vanished. What a pain in the ass; it turns out that my regeneration capability wasn’t as good as I thought. That’s when I understood why Wolverine always shows up with a beer in his hand in the comics. I got in without problems and went straight to the bar, where I tossed back two shots of tequila and then ordered a whiskey with Red Bull.

The strum of the two electric guitars took over me and I went to the middle of the room, dancing as I went forward and dodging the people who crossed my path. I’m not a shy person. Not shy at all. I like to provoke and be the center of attention. The myth about the introverted nerd who doesn’t leave the house and doesn’t have a social life is nothing more than that: a fucking myth a lot of “normal” people lean on to feel good about themselves.

Yesterday I felt different. Nothing scared me. It was like with everything I had lived this last week, nothing was bigger than me. I went to the middle of the dance floor and while I danced, I looked around. To my right, there was a group of blond girls who looked like they were from northern Europe. It looked like they were competing to see who danced the sexiest. In front, two assholes who had had a bit too much were bouncing like zombies, while another three guys next to them talked amongst themselves without taking their hungry gazes off the group of blond girls. To my left, there was another group of three girls who were clearly Spanish. I caught one of them looking at me, amused. The night wasn’t for hook-ups and I looked away. The DJ, in the booth, talked with two teenagers.

Four mixed drinks and three shots of tequila later, I was still in the middle of the dance floor. I couldn’t manage to get drunk, but I was happy. Dancing helps me not to think, it frees me. The music gets inside me and I let my body respond to it instinctively. Unless, of course, a song comes on that I don’t like or know, then I just act like an idiot and laugh at myself. It was with one of the latter that the girl I’d caught looking at me before came up to me. A fun and sincere smile lit up her face while she came up to me and started acting like an idiot with me. She grabbed my shoulders and we rocked together against the music. Her dark eyes looked at me, and mine looked at her. She was beautiful. I cursed myself and everything that had happened over the past week, I cursed my logical self that wouldn’t quit telling me to stop looking at her. To get out of there while there was still time. And then I kissed her.

We were stuck together for the rest of the night, which we bid farewell to at her house just before the sun came up. There, we were still stuck—or more like melted—to each other until well after noon.

Early in the evening, when we finally got out of bed, I felt like a god and even though it may not seem like anything more than your typical one-night stand, it meant a lot more to me.

I hope she feels the same. It has been a long time since I felt so good with someone.