With the pulses of liquor running through me, she looked as she had made herself in my memory. She smelled of cigarettes and a perfume to try and cover that smell, was still just as uninteresting, and had maintained her poor sense of composure. She feigned an awful attitude of detest that was barely tolerable. I endured this for three nights with thinning patience and no reward. On the night of the premier however, the awful pangs of nostalgia would sear old scars back to fresh wounds: the price of love.
The day had began as the days preceeding had. I awoke in the afternoon haze of a hangover and rolled over to check the time: 2 pm, Dec. 22. A film my friends had composed was set to premier that night. I rolled back over until I had the courage to face the day.
Later on, I found myself in the basement of one of those friend's. With a crowd of others, scattered beers, and a bottle of scotch, we sat waiting. A few swigs in and my phone tells me I have a message: a past love is also in town, and she is on her way to join us. Some beers and a few more slugs later, and we are all together in the basement. Some conversation and drinks later and we were ready to disembark. We piled into a friend's van; fourteen people in a ten seater. Many drinks and shouts later, and we arrived at the theater.
On our arrival to the theater, we quickly found our way upstairs to the bar that was located there. Two tequilas and vodka. I had my flask with scotch in my pocket as well. We shuffle back downstairs to the theater of the premier, and found seating after greeting many old friends and acquaintances. In the back corner of the theater, we sat close, and for the next six hours, we were as old lovers.
The next morning I awoke with a headache more persistent than the one from the morning past. I turned and took a long drink of water, then turned and curled back into the ball I had awoken from. I closed my eyes to recall the details of the night that I could still taste on my lips: her.
I recalled our goodbye. She led me outside to the front of the house, held close, kissed. We exchanged some words, both desiring to continue our night, but knowing the futility of the desire. A quick kiss again, this time interrupted by footsteps approaching. A pest had weaseled his way into her giving him a ride home. She was drunk, but not too drunk, I didn't think. I wished her good luck, bade her to stay safe, and kissed her one long last time.
As the day rolled on, I continued our communication, sending messages of desire, telling her to come spend the day in my arms once more. Plans she already had stood in the way of that. I found my way to the couch and opened a beer in an attempt to feel normal again. I continued my work, trying to lure her in, but this love was preoccupied--distant. I reluctantly feigned patience as long as I could; 10 pm. Now it was time for a drink... Lots.
A few shots of tequila and some whiskey later, and I felt as I had upon my initial arrival: a jaded ex-lover. The bar we had ventured to was a fifty-something bar on karaoke night. On any other night this would have sounded like a circus, but tonight it was more like a funeral. Things with her were still looking bleak, but she began to tease toward my interest, though my better judgement told me otherwise. In this discouraged mood, I look up in time to see an acquaintance spill a bit of his drink on my head. More dodging from her and I decided to let the night drive on until I found myself back in the shitty bed that I had emerged from. A couple more drinks and then I woke up next morning.
As I got on the plane that afternoon, I thought, "Shoulda known..."
I ordered a whiskey and slipped back into a dream.
