You probably won't agree with what I did. I don't like that I did it but it happened and that's as real as I can be. We all make mistakes and I considered not telling the second half of this chapter but that would be lying. I know that many people will have opinions but know that I still feel awful. Don't judge me too harshly. All the love, Artie.
*****
It was a week of not leaving dorm except for class and even then it was a toss up. I was the king of not going to class before 10:30 even though my classes started at 9:15. It was a week of subsisting on Froot Loops and Cheez-Its mixed together. It's delicious, really the saltiness mixed with the saccharine taste. Still, I didn't usually allow myself artificial foods. I didn't sleep and thus was more productive than I had been in weeks—hell months. Pages flew by me. My school work was done and writing was my only refuge. I threw myself into my work so I wouldn't have to think.
I had turned off my phone, scaring my mother when she couldn't reach me easily. My mother always did have the tendency to hover over me. But I wasn't about to talk to her. She would have picked up on my melancholy and I wasn't going to tell her about Ian, about my idiotic expectations.
I was truly alone for an entire week and though I spent most of freshman year that way, having friends and then feeling alone was devastating. I knew this was self-imposed, but I needed time away from the Lambda guys. I didn't want to see Ian because I didn't know if I would be angry or try to seduce him away and I didn't want to see anyone else either.
I made it all the way to Thursday evening before there was a knock on my door. Drew barged in moments after I opened the door. He shoved me toward the bathroom and demanded, "Shower and get dressed." Fucking fine. I didn't look into the mirror, I knew I would find my eyes sunken and in the midst of deep purple bruises. That wasn't Ian's fault, that was just my own insomnia. My brain just hates letting me sleep, always had. Plus, I was always more creative late at night which led to self-imposed abstaining from sleep.
I dutifully scrubbed myself down and threw on clothing before presenting myself to Drew. I seemed to pass inspection.
"Where's your phone?" He asked.
It was on my desk and off. He didn't need to know that I had shut down Imessage on my laptop and turned off notifications on Facebook. I wanted to wallow in feeling betrayed despite having no reason to. We weren't a couple. I had no right to feel jealous and angry. But I did.
Turning my phone on was a revelation. I had gotten 15 texts from Drew alone, growing less frantic and angrier. Most of my pledge class had reached out to hang or something. I had a few texts from Sean, surprising but flattering. I felt like a dick for not talking to him, in class I had only said a few words. The most surprising were the 7 texts from Ian. I didn't open them.
I held my phone up for Drew, "Got it, now what?"
"Now, we go to the bar."
"I have class tomorrow; it's a Thursday."
Drew laughed off my concerns, "C'mon Thirsty Thursday! Live a little, Artie. So you might be a little hung over tomorrow. At least you'll sleep a drunken blissful night tonight." While sleep sounded good, I'm sure my doctor wouldn't be down for me self-medicating.
"You know I'm twenty right?
Drew ushered me out the door, "Yes. But Emily bartends so it's not like you won't get served."
I shrugged and let him lead me. April in Boston is still fucking confusing. One day it's highs in the 80's and the next it snows. No way to plan an outfit. Nevertheless, we were having one of those highs in the 80's moments and the streets were packed with students, residents, and tourists out for a good time. Drew strode through the crowds easily and I followed in his wake.
The section of Commonwealth Ave. where I live is known for two things: tattoo parlors and bars. They frequently had the same clientele. Drew issued instructions out of the side of his mouth as we approached The Dugout Café, "If another bartender asks to see your ID just motion Emily over. All the bartenders do it for show but they know the deal. The most important thing is that the place makes money."
I had never bothered to get a fake ID. I had nearly 25 brothers of age who were totally willing to buy for me if I wanted but the parties had booze for free. Having a fake in Boston was just asking to get written up. Most big clubs and bars had box scanners that wouldn't be fooled by even the best fake. You had to go to a shitty dive if you wanted a fake to fly.
Literally underground, I stepped into an already lively bar despite the sun still being pretty high in the sky and it being a weekday. It was also the biggest dive bar ever; sports memorabilia was affixed to the walls and the darkness made it tough to see. I wished I could see though, the whole place stunk of stale beer and I could feel the tread of my shoes sticking to the ground.
The bar was dingy and the people there were too, already piss drunk and unapologetic about it. Crowding the bar were rough and tumble men, the kind that I find the most annoying and the ones trying to hit on Emily. I've never been a protective, caveman style guy but seeing Emily, so pretty and petite, having to ward off the advances of huge guys pissed me off. Drew was calm just pushing elbows and man-spreaded knees to the side to make room for me and him. Emily gave a dazzling smile before asking us both for ID.
Dutifully I gave up my ID which clearly proclaimed me to have 8 months before being legal. She made a show of scanning it before thrusting it back with a cheery, "What can I get you?"
"I'll have a rum and coke and Artie will have a vodka Redbull," Drew said confidently. That drink wasn't something I had often. Drew shrugged at my questioning glance, "You want to get drunk? That's the best thing for it. Can't order you a Long Island Iced Tea here but this will do."
I merely shrugged and accepted his wisdom. We had clearly cut in the line for drinks with meatheads looking for pitchers to be refilled. Perks of knowing the bartender. Emily slid me my drink with a sympathetic, "So... how are you doing?"
Jesus. Was I that pathetic? Yes. I had spent a fucking week alone sad that the biggest fucker on campus didn't want to stick with me despite the preponderance of evidence he would definitely be fucking other people.
Taking a large swig of my drink I answered, "I'm doing great."
She smiled sadly, "It's just he needed to be touched. He's weird that way. Never feels complete without it."
Her words confused me and I doubted that they were true. Ian never seemed hungry for attention. He was effortlessly cool and due to that girls swarmed to him.
