Of Purity
#55
11/11/01
It's only appropriate that she gets a Dana dedicated to her J To all those coffee days… from Ben and his Arabian Mocha Sabaninis (or whatever the hell they were!) to our good ol' mocha frapp and a chai. And of course one cannot forget the bananas and chocolate sprinkles. Or gold glitter. Or club owners and knee guys. Or The Sims. Or trampolines. Or throwing elbows. Or The Dawn. Or pink amidst bumble bees. Or thugging it out and being too white. Or Ari or Anil. Or orange dresses and black mini skirts. But this dedication is now as long as the piece…. Love you lots, Hems!
I throw my head back, knocking down another shot. I add the glass to my ever-growing tower that's already far outdistanced anyone else's in the bar.
Of course, it's only proper, that I can hold my liquor with the best of them. We couldn't have any drunk Danas around. I might actually begin to act human.
Now isn't it befitting that I come to a bar to escape and end up attracting more attention than anyone else by my inability to get drunk? What the hell was I thinking?
Thinking. The bane of my existence.
A singer comes out to cheers from all the men in the bar. She's wearing a short black skirt, tall black boots, and a sparkling purple sleeveless top. And I'm in jeans and a t-shirt with a baseball cap pulled snugly over my hair. What's wrong with this picture?
"Miss Safflower!" the barman calls out into his microphone, bowing and sweeping his hand in the singer's direction.
I roll my eyes and turn back to my shot glass tower as strains of Guantanamera come floating through the air. At least everyone's eyes are off of me.
Back my head goes with another shot. Another. Another.
Josh called this morning. Matt answered the phone. Isn't this starting out as a happy little story? Actually, Matt wasn't too bad, handing over the phone a little tight-lipped but without commenting. Josh was just calling to see how I was doing, or so he said, but that wasn't it. There was something different in his voice. Strained. Holding something back. His 'I love you' at the end made him sound as if he were about to burst.
Thank god Matt didn't hear that one.
I knock back another three shots in quick succession but the alcohol has yet to affect me. Fucking alcohol. Now I remember why I don't drink.
I add the glass to my tower, balancing them with a care and a precision I usually don't have. I pause, stopping to rub one of the smudged glasses with the edge of my shirt.
Miss Sunflower, or whoever she was, starts another song, breaking it down on stage. Not bad. And when I admit that, you know she must be damn good.
But not nearly as interesting as my sculpture.
As I add another shot glass to the tower a hot guy across the room catches my eye, giving me a little smile with the corner of his mouth. What if I simply walked off with him and forgot about both Matt and Josh? What if I disappeared? Who could ever find me if I didn't want to be found?
You know how high my blood alcohol content must be right now?
"Hey," a voice comes from my right.
I swivel around, surprised since I can still clearly see the hot guy making his way towards me from across the room.
"Hi…" the singer has perched next to me, a large smile lighting her face.
"You looked a little down," she exudes happiness. "Something wrong?"
I pause, a snide, condescending remark about to escape my lips but then stopping.
Out of the corner of my eye I can see that the hot guy is almost here, headed straight towards me.
"Know any rap?" I question. "I want to dance."
She laughs, a light, life-loving laugh. "Are you kidding?"
She bounces off the stool and across the phone towards her microphone.
I grab the hot guy and pull him towards the small dance floor.
It's time for some serious elbow throwing.