Lightops

deeneronique

Part IV: D is for Downstairs

The wait in line for the bathroom was four people, about fifteen minutes. Despite this, Vanessa and I exchanged few words during the wait. There was the cordial "Are you feeling alright?" and her equally limited reply of "I'll be better in a bit" which stuck me in a place of nonchalant guilt as my mind failed to come up with something else to talk about. Logically, I knew that Vanessa's mysterious and sudden need to go to the bathroom was probably entirely my fault, and thus the guilt. I was having a hard time bringing myself to care, however - part of it was because I thought she would be able to cut herself off like an adult if she felt like she was pushing her limits, and part of it was because I was still high on coke, and nothing really seemed too awfully bad.

When there was only one more person in line in front of us, I tried my hand at conversation again. "You fell sick or do you... do you just have to go, uh, normally?" Vanessa looked at me and laughed, probably more to shut me up, because it didn't look very sincere.

"It just all caught up with me. I'll be better in a bit, ok?"

I nodded. "Ok."

It was at this precise moment that I heard my name being called from somewhere in the house. Calling out somewhere, clearly drunk, was Trollo. Something about the current situation hung on me like a dead leaf and I had to get it off. With barely a glance at Vanessa, the girl of my night, I nodded off in some random direction and mumbled something about being wanted somewhere and that we'd meet up later. I didn't get a good look at her eyes as I did so, but in my mind, they were sad and betrayed. For a second, I wondered if the coke was wearing off.

Making my way through the crowd, I wondered if the night was all downhill from here. I wondered if I just missed my chance with Vanessa, by walking away, by being less supportive. I wondered if this night was going to be just another night on my journey to death, dying alone, some crazy dyke across the street from a nice empty-nester couple who always seemed to want to hook me up with some old dyke friends, equally as worn out and lonely. I wondered if I would meet them, if I would really be that sad and desperate to actually want to make things work. I didn't really know where Trollo was, but I had sneaking feeling he was in the kitchen somewhere, getting beer for beer pong and wanted me for some reason - maybe he was mad at me for spilling the beer cans on his floor earlier. Maybe he was just as surprised as I was at the number of cans there in the first place and thought that I would be the best person to bitch about it to.

As I dug my elbows deep into a chubby girl laughing and stumbling into another chubby girl, I wondered if it wasn't too late to back upstairs and wait outside of the bathroom, surprising Vanessa with my warm smile and soothing words. I wondered if she was puking, and if that would make it harder to kiss her - or if I would even still want to. Most of all, I wondered if this night was going to be special, or if it was just another party, just another drunken waste of flesh, and if I was worth nothing more than that.

I found my friend leaning against the cellar door, attached as it was to the kitchen's side, pointing at me victoriously as though he were the one to mosh through the crowd to find me. "My lezzles!"

"What do you want?" I guess it came out harsher than seemed fair, but I was sure the coke was wearing off by this point, and I was on edge. The feeling of permanent loss was a bit too resounding in my blood at the moment to want to deal with Trollo and whatever drunken bull he wanted to start with me.

He made a face. It was one of his famous fake-sad faces, an obnoxious pout with his characteristic furrowed brow. There was also a scrunched up nose in there. He ended it by sticking out his tongue at me, and his face went back to normal. "Jesus Fucking Christ, Sarah," Inhale. "Can't you see I need you?"

"You need me - for what now?"

However, Trollo was in a mood not to converse with me directly, and started singing some random song I couldn't recognize with the lyrics: I need you, baby, I need you eeeevery niiight. Kind of amused, I faked intense irritation and turned around as though about to flee the scene. As suspected, Trollo stopped singing and reached out for me, still leaning on the door, too far to actually touch me. "Noo! I'm not done with you!"

I was smiling now. Trollo always had a way to make me feel slightly better, even on the come down from coke. During the summer between junior and senior year of high school, I had been on a particular long coke binge that managed to waste me all of my birthday money in one night. It was my little gift to myself. The high was great, but on the come down, I just couldn't stand it. My first major girlfriend had dumped me the week earlier, and was already with some college bitch with dreads and a great connection for shrooms. Naturally, I was beat up about it, but the only thing I felt like I could complain about was how the bitch stole my pipe - my nice, hand blown glass pipe from the Netherlands. Truthfully, I was sore that she still had it, but it was more about what she was doing with it and who she was doing it with that was killing me inside. That night on my binge, I kept snorting coke, feeling great about it, feeling like she could smoke whatever she wanted, whenever she wanted, with whomever she fucking wanted to out of that pipe and I wouldn't give a rat's ass. Then the high would start to fade, and the feeling just began to crush me. All I saw was her and her new girlfriend, having this great trip on shrooms, and as they lay there in bed together - naked - they'd stoke each other and smoke out of my pipe, getting high, brushing each other's hair with their fingers, and slowly massaging their bodies with their tongues. The only thing to stop that feeling was more coke. By 6am the next morning, my money was gone, and so were the drugs. There was nothing to stop the pain anymore, and all these emotions came flooding in, all of them negative, all of them defeating me. To this date, it was one of the worst mornings - days - of my life. But Trollo never left my side. He just kept handing me one joint after another, letting me cry on his pillows, and never becoming upset with my constant bitching and complaining. I'm pretty sure I'd have killed myself if Trollo wasn't there. By 6pm that night, I had stabilized somewhat and was sleeping like a baby in his bed as Trollo took the couch in his room. Some seven months later, it was Trollo in my shoes, and I in his, comforting and trying to convince the other we're not going to die alone. Because if nothing else, we had each other.

Trollo blinked and swallowed. He looked a little nauseous, but trust me, it takes a lot for Trollo to drink himself into a pukefest. After regaining his composure a bit, he burped, and turned his attention back on me. "So where's your little puppy?"

"My puppy?" I knew he meant Vanessa, who was I kidding?

"You're not kidding anyone, Sarah. That girl. The one you gave my coke to." Inhale, swallow. "Yeah-her."

My mood somewhat darkened, a grudging disappointment in Trollo was bringing back the darkness. "Upstairs, peeing or pooping or puking or all of the above. I don't know. Things were getting good and she felt like a mandatory pit stop was in order."

"Probably has the shits real bad." Trollo nodded, looking truly convinced by his own words. "First time I did coke, I had the best shit of my life."

"I remember. You came back and gave me and Cassy this really long discourse on the pleasures of the ass, and why shitting would probably never be the same way again because you just had an orgasm while doing it."

Trollo nodded. "Good memory." Inhale. "So I bet she's just taking a shit."

I shrugged. His reasoning was solid, but I didn't feel convinced. A guilt stricken paranoia and a strange woman's intuition lead me to believe that an urgent poo was not at the bottom of Vanessa's sudden need for a john. "She looked a little upset - her eyes were a little tired looking, she might have been sick." I didn't want to say it aloud, because that would make it real, but I really wanted Trollo to know what I was really thinking. I wanted him to hear my confession, absolve my guilt, and tell me I could have more of his coke. "Maybe she was just trying to get away from me."

He shrugged. That was it. It was a slow, drunken shrug, and I kind of suspected he didn't hear me right away either from the noise or alcohol induced ADD. "Anyway, her brother told me to find the bitch and tell her that they're leaving soon."

I took the news a little too hard. All my fears of fading away into the mediocre abyss, of never advancing beyond in my life socially from this exact moment, came back to me all at once and sunk my soul like a dead rat in a barrel of rusty rainwater. My voice was barely a whisper. "She's leaving?"

Wildly gesturing with the grace the betrayed his blood-alcohol content, Trollo was blind to my apparent heartache. "Find her. Find her and bring her," Inhale. "Here." Inhale. "No, bring her out front. Her brother is waiting." Inhale, swallow. "For her. Go."

"Going, going." My limbs were ok about leading my body upstairs, but my brain was complaining. My heart was screaming bloody murder. As a boy walked past with me fishnets on I barely noticed, my own emotions drowning out even my thoughts. I was on the come down, so bad. Otherwise, there'd be no other rational reason for feeling this way.

Yearning for escape, the coward part of me wanted to say 'fuck it' and walk away. Forget about Vanessa. Don't go upstairs. Go to the pong table and find some other girl to court for the night. Or better yet, don't find anyone. Just get wasted - that way, when Vanessa comes downstairs in her own time and finds me, my blurred vision and incoherence will make the awkwardness of it all completely beyond me. Beautifully beyond me.

When I got upstairs, Vanessa was not in the line, so I assumed she was still inside. I nodded at one of the other girls in line. Her name, if I remembered correctly, was Sharon, but everyone called her Sherry. I was never sure if her nickname ought to have been spelled 'Sharry' with an 'a' or 'Sherry' like the fortified wine from Spain, but I always mentally strung it like the latter. While I never had a crush on her, I never had a problem admitting she was beautiful; however, straight as an arrow. "You know who's in there?"

Sherry shook her head at me, blinking frequently and slowly. I wondered if she recognized me. "Wasn't paying attention."

That sounded about right. Luckly, the door to the bathroom opened and my curiosity was about to be set to rest. Sure enough, it was Vanessa, looking bemused about something. I couldn't explain it, exactly. There was a few seconds before her eyes landed on me, and I could see them look around wildly, a brightness in them, as though wanting to see if anyone was watching her. When she found me, her eyes remained unchanged.

"Back already?" Vanessa kind of launched herself away from the bathroom as the girl behind her charged forward, like a drunken breaking-of-the-seal changing of the guards.

I nodded. "Your brother's ready to leave. He's downstairs."

Her face was blank. "Oh. Now?"

Once again, I nodded. The more I drank, the more I nodded. It wasn't that agreed with more - in fact, drinking kind of made me disagree with people just to see how pissed off I'll get them - but that I needed the constant reminder that I was in a conversation, and that I couldn't zone out into a drunken heap of confusion quite yet. I nodded and didn't say anything.

Vanessa was silent as well, seeming to have no desire to go downstairs to meet up with her brother and finish the night. My mind more than my vision was blurred, and it prevented me from reading her correctly. I wanted to read her lack of enthusiasm as sadness for leaving me. I wanted to read it as a shy way of telling me to make my move now or forever hold my peace. But for every fancy little heartened wish, there was the debbie-downer of my conscious. That bitch just sat there and made sure I knew that Vanessa was probably still feeling a little sick, not in the state to go down the stairs. Or maybe she was just feeling really awkward about letting me down before she leaves. Or maybe she was afraid of what her brother would say when she met up with him. Or maybe -

"You feeling better?" I had to shut my mind up.

She smiled at me. My heart melted. Maybe the worse of the come down had past. "I puked. Not gonna lie."

"I'm sorry." I couldn't think of anything else to say. Did she blame me? Would it be so wrong if she did?

My thoughts were magically silenced as her smile grew bigger. "Don't be. I had a great time. In fact-" She paused as the sound of glass breaking in the bathroom startled her. I figured it was probably some drunkard's cocktail glass that got left and then knocked over by another drunkard. These things happen all the time; I wasn't concerned. When Vanessa saw I wasn't concerned, she continued on. "In fact, I kind of feel bad."

I blinked, an uncomfortable lump growing in my esophagus, raising to my throat. I hoped it wasn't a burp, because now would be an inappropriate time to let out one. With the same conviction, I hoped it wasn't tears. There was no reason I should feel so emotional about this girl. She was cute, sure. But there was no kissing, no holding hands, not even verbal confessions of attraction. There was absolutely no reason for me to be feeling defeated like this. I tried my best to hide my pain under my typical comedown of coke plus alcohol routine, but I was finding it hard to focus. "About what?"

Shrugging, Vanessa broke eye contact with me. "I was having a good time. If my brother weren't leaving-" It suddenly became evident that several of the girls in the bathroom line were watching us. Sensing her discomfort, I started the trek down the stairs and gestured for her to follow me. Vanessa felt confident enough in her footing to attempt the task and hold a conversation at the same time - a bold move, considering her recent drunken spew. "I'd have liked to say. You're fun, I like you."

I smiled although she didn't see it. "I like you, too."

We reached the bottom of the stairs in something of a hushed blush. I knew that a mere 5 steps away was the front door, leading Vanessa to her brother, and out of my life. "You're coming back to more of Trollo's parties, right?"

"When I can."

"Good." Nodding, I felt at the bottom. It was an emotional bottom, nor was it a chemical bottom. It felt more like I was at a baseline, a starting point to which I could climb up the ranks on. I had no idea if Vanessa felt the same way about me, but at this particular moment, I didn't care. Whether this was the first and last I saw her, or the first time in a million times of seeing her, I knew that this was the last time I would see her for the night, and that alone seemed to warrant a bit of flare. I wanted to kiss. Do it just like the movies: the lovely young female leaving, perhaps forever, only to receive a killer kiss. Mentally, the scene was hot - only my brain immediately halted at the appearing of an open mouthed kiss as I remembered her recent confession of vomit. I was both relieved and saddened by this. I sighed. Without further intimidation or reconciliation, I leaned over and kissed her forehead. It was a move so chaste, so innocent, I felt in my heart that even the straightest girl in the world would find no fault. And surely - surely my Vanessa, who had spent the entire night with me, drinking with me, laughing with me, would hold little fault against such a move. I quickly moved away, incredibly nervous. "Now make sure you eat something when you get home. You'll thank yourself in the morning. Drink water, powerade if you have it."

Clearly a bit surprised by my kiss, Vanessa - who was blushing - nodded and looked down, mumbling a "thanks" before heading out the door.

Honestly, that was the last time I saw her.

When I awoke the next morning, I had endowed to me a ripping headache and no small amount of shame. Hangovers and shame were common experiences for me. As I covered my head with my pillow, doing my best to block the light, my mind immediately brought back the images from last night. Flashes of Vanessa, being introduced to me. I remembered how I felt when I saw her and I felt ashamed. I remembered the look in her face as she came out of the bathroom. Then, I had read it as alive, now I read it as half asleep and full of dread. I recalled her flighty escape after I kissed her forehead. Was it due to fatigue? Embarrassment? Awkwardness?

About an hour later, I made myself get up for a bathroom break and noticed the broken glass in the corner - a broken beer bottle - and moved on with my business. As I sat on the toilet, done peeing but having little motivation to move off the seat, my brain defaulted on thinking about Vanessa was doing. I felt nauseous - I needed to stop caring about Vanessa. Torn between the adoration I felt for her and the growing shame over my infatuation, I found myself just sitting there, my pants down, having flashbacks. The memory of her smile warmed my heart, but the reality of my hangover made it feel like I was sick the entire night. Kissing of her forehead at the end of the night ignited delicate wishes of a partner, of having someone I could freely trust my physical body to. Sighing, I wiped and pulled my pants up.

I knew it then. Vanessa was a light in my memories. Of all the shit that a person could drown in, every now and then you have a memory that is pure light. These kinds of memories have a tendency to float in and out of your consciousness randomly, for the rest of your life. My hangover still prominent, I could totally see myself twenty years from now - single or having a lifelong partner, didn't matter - and thinking about Vanessa. Thinking about her laugh, her smile, the way things never happened between us. Such a pretty face, such a prominent impression. Would she remember me? It seemed unlikely. For all her light, for all her ability to stick in my memory, she had something I could never have: a way of thinking, a way of acting - a certain way of approaching life.

As I returned back to bed, I tried to turn my thoughts elsewhere. I wish I was stoned. I wish I was drunk again. I wish I had gotten laid last night. I tried to hate Vanessa - hate her for silently rejecting me. Hate her for leaving. Hate her for going to the bathroom when she did. But as all lights in your memory always have a way of doing, they float to the top. They float to the top of your opinion, to the top of your vision. As I wished for sleep to take me away, Vanessa floated right over the memories and the emotions and just reached the top of everything. There was, a light at the top, perfectly framed in my memory, sitting on Trollo's back deck, smiling, and waiting for me to make the next move. Always she was there, waiting for me.

My headache penetrated the image, but the feelings remained: someone was waiting, where was I?

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And may your life be rich with tales and follies.

Alone.