Vodka Diving (2)
My best girl friend's name is Sandra and she lives in South America. It isn't wise to talk in absolute terms when it comes to friendships and relationships but if I ever had to choose a girl friend, she'd be the one to get the number one spot. But as per right now, I really don't know what to think, or say or do. I'm so fucking upset and mad and angry and sad, confuse, pist off and mad and very very mad with her. And I'm half way through a bottle of merlot and it ain't doing the trick.
I'm so upset with her that I could. . . well, I couldn't punch her or anything like that because a girl should not be touched not even with the petal of a rose, but I could very well chock her to dead. Drawn her in my bathtub and leave her there to rot. Even if my downstairs neighbor comes back again complaining about the volume of the music, she could very well be meeting God this very same night.
There's a long version and there's a short version of this story; there's also a PG-13 version and an R version of it: I'm going to give you them all.
I met Sandra in college, in South America, during our senior year. I don't know when or how or why but we became friends in the whole sense of the word. We studied together, went out, got drunk, went dancing, drinking and driving, happy houring, talking on the phone for hours, she told me about her, and I told her about me and everybody I knew. We exchange advises and experiences, got high and also got sky high; she would see purple elephants hovering above us and I would lie on the floor holding my stomach while laughing like crazy and seeing washing machines raining down all around us. She threw up on me one day, she carried me home seventy times while I was in a black out. She cried on my shoulder more times than I can remember due to all her boyfriends and she introduced me "prospects" on weekly bases. We got so close that we even slept together, I'm not talking about sex or kisses or anything like that, we slept in the same bed like only really truly best friends can.
One day something snapped inside me, I quit my job (which BTW I got it thanks to her), cashed my 401k and moved to Southern United States. Why? Three years later I still don't have an answer for that question, but I end up over here. Sometime along the way she flew to London to attend graduate school and lived there for a year. Time and distance is the worse poison that can ever be injected into a relationship because it ends up reducing it to an e-mail every now and then, perhaps for Christmas and Birthday if you're lucky, and that's what happened to us. I'd get a message from her once in a while and I'd reply few months later. She'd do the same.
In Autumn 2003 I got a phone call from her, she was heading back to South America early next year and had just broken up with her two-year boyfriend. She was in tears one more time and I manage to make her laugh and forget about that useless bastard at least for a while. I invited her to come to North Carolina and spend some time with me, like in the good old days. She agreed and I rushed to book her a flight and to make plans for us. Late January '04 an airplane carrying her touched down in La Guardia, and she spent the next six days sight seeing in NYC and Boston. The following Saturday morning she descended on an escalator into the luggage claim area at Charlotte International Airport. With flowers in one hand, chocolates in the other and a fresh haircut from Supercuts I hug her like you can only hug your best friend. We hugged and laughed like only best friends do. She was coming to stay three weeks and three days with me.
Later that evening, after eating half the entire menu of Friday's, I told her something that would become prophetic: "After three weeks and three days seeing each other every single day, I bet you we're gona end up either loving each other or hating each other". We laughed.
My roommate at that time saw what was coming and moved his ass out of the house and into his girlfriends condo for the next three weeks, giving us free reign of the house. Sandra and I hung out like the good old friends that we were, remembering our time in South America and talking endlessly about pretty much everything between hell and heaven. We would go to bed together and would sleep like the best friends we have always been, a good night kiss on the cheek, perhaps two, crawling up together. I'd take the blanket from her, and she'd elbow me in the ribs trying to get it back.
She was leaving on a Wednesday morning, and that last weekend we were going snow skiing in the NC mountains, planning to leave Charlotte on Friday. So Thursday we had a little party between the two of us, our Pre-Sky Party, just one more reason to get drunk. Can't remember what we started drinking, but at some point I had the great idea of doing some Tequila shots. We toast for her and for me, for us and for our friends, we even toast for my roommate and for giving us free reign of the house, and even gulped down shots for the CD player. At some point we end up in an argument that evolved into a fight: she wanted me to drink Tequila with salt and lime, but I refused to do that and she got upset. And because she got upset for such a stupid thing I also got upset, and then she got more upset and I got even more upset. She end up in one corner of the couch and I in the other, looking at opposite walls of the room and letting the music go wildly loud in the background.
Are we gona end up fighting for a fucking piece of lime? -I asked her. She's a complete spoiled brat and didn't answer me, she just wanted me to bite those stupid juiceless limes but I was not going to do it; not after all that drama for a stupid piece of lime.
After an eternity I slide over to her end of the couch and hug her. She kept looking to an empty corner and I hug her even tighter, giving her little kisses on the cheek. Words are just so fucking unnecessary most of the time. . .
We end up kissing right on that couch. . . and kissing and kissing and kissing like if there was no tomorrow. Little kisses first, more kisses, French kisses, a hell of a lot of French kisses and deep breaths; our hands busy feeling and discovering each other like kids on Christmas day. We kissed and touched one another with such frenziness and determination and warmth as only two lovers on a mission to melt the Artic ice sheet could. We went to bed that night as friends, best friends, and woke up the next morning as lovers: lovers, cronies, accomplices, partners in crime, comrades; but above all best friends, with the insight of sex. We gave to one another the gift of love that night, mixed with lust and served boiling hot.
If I ever have to choose one word to define my love life up to this point, it would be farewell.
Wednesday morning arrived and with it her flight back home. That very same day in the evening, Charlotte saw the worse snow storm in the last sixteen years causing all gas stations and grocery stores to run out of beer and milk, and all flights bound to and from Charlotte were grounded. At that time she was safely back in South America and I was stuck in Southern US.
Fastforward to yesterday when I got an e-mail from her, sent to a couple dozen people. There was nothing in the body of the message but an attachment: an invitation card to her wedding.
"Yeah, I can tell that you guys were such a good friends after all, ah?" -you'd be thinking.
Let me go back to this very same post and quote myself when I said that time and distance is the worse shit that can happen to any relationship between two human beings. She left more than a year and a half ago and we both went on with our lives after some very VERY fucking painful months of longingness and despair. We started writing and calling each other on daily bases, but if you've ever had to face the power of time and distance you'd know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, you don't know how much I envy you. Our relationship grew cold and the number of e-mails came tumbling down to one every few months, perhaps a Christmas and a birthday note, just like it had happened before. I was not planning in going back to South America and she wasn't planning to move to the US. Is just a matter of putting your feet on the ground after all and letting gravity do the rest.
Back to yesterday again and her e-mail; and fastforward to today and how fucking upset I am that she didn't call me or e-mail me telling me about it. I'm fuming that I got to know through a collective message copied to maybe even the security guard of her office building! After our kisses we didn't mention our relationships as open as we did before, but fuck we had something that I treasured and stored among the sweetest memories in my life; we were, or perhaps the right term is that we had been best friends for a very long period of our life, how the fuck am I not gona be upset about that lame and collective e-mail?!
I'm so upset with her that I could. . . well, I couldn't punch her or anything like that because a girl should not be touched not even with the petal of a rose, but I could very well chock her to dead. Drawn her in my bathtub and leave her there to rot. Even if my downstairs neighbor comes back again complaining about the volume of the music, she could very well be meeting God this very same night.
There's a long version and there's a short version of this story; there's also a PG-13 version and an R version of it: I'm going to give you them all.
I met Sandra in college, in South America, during our senior year. I don't know when or how or why but we became friends in the whole sense of the word. We studied together, went out, got drunk, went dancing, drinking and driving, happy houring, talking on the phone for hours, she told me about her, and I told her about me and everybody I knew. We exchange advises and experiences, got high and also got sky high; she would see purple elephants hovering above us and I would lie on the floor holding my stomach while laughing like crazy and seeing washing machines raining down all around us. She threw up on me one day, she carried me home seventy times while I was in a black out. She cried on my shoulder more times than I can remember due to all her boyfriends and she introduced me "prospects" on weekly bases. We got so close that we even slept together, I'm not talking about sex or kisses or anything like that, we slept in the same bed like only really truly best friends can.
One day something snapped inside me, I quit my job (which BTW I got it thanks to her), cashed my 401k and moved to Southern United States. Why? Three years later I still don't have an answer for that question, but I end up over here. Sometime along the way she flew to London to attend graduate school and lived there for a year. Time and distance is the worse poison that can ever be injected into a relationship because it ends up reducing it to an e-mail every now and then, perhaps for Christmas and Birthday if you're lucky, and that's what happened to us. I'd get a message from her once in a while and I'd reply few months later. She'd do the same.
In Autumn 2003 I got a phone call from her, she was heading back to South America early next year and had just broken up with her two-year boyfriend. She was in tears one more time and I manage to make her laugh and forget about that useless bastard at least for a while. I invited her to come to North Carolina and spend some time with me, like in the good old days. She agreed and I rushed to book her a flight and to make plans for us. Late January '04 an airplane carrying her touched down in La Guardia, and she spent the next six days sight seeing in NYC and Boston. The following Saturday morning she descended on an escalator into the luggage claim area at Charlotte International Airport. With flowers in one hand, chocolates in the other and a fresh haircut from Supercuts I hug her like you can only hug your best friend. We hugged and laughed like only best friends do. She was coming to stay three weeks and three days with me.
Later that evening, after eating half the entire menu of Friday's, I told her something that would become prophetic: "After three weeks and three days seeing each other every single day, I bet you we're gona end up either loving each other or hating each other". We laughed.
My roommate at that time saw what was coming and moved his ass out of the house and into his girlfriends condo for the next three weeks, giving us free reign of the house. Sandra and I hung out like the good old friends that we were, remembering our time in South America and talking endlessly about pretty much everything between hell and heaven. We would go to bed together and would sleep like the best friends we have always been, a good night kiss on the cheek, perhaps two, crawling up together. I'd take the blanket from her, and she'd elbow me in the ribs trying to get it back.
She was leaving on a Wednesday morning, and that last weekend we were going snow skiing in the NC mountains, planning to leave Charlotte on Friday. So Thursday we had a little party between the two of us, our Pre-Sky Party, just one more reason to get drunk. Can't remember what we started drinking, but at some point I had the great idea of doing some Tequila shots. We toast for her and for me, for us and for our friends, we even toast for my roommate and for giving us free reign of the house, and even gulped down shots for the CD player. At some point we end up in an argument that evolved into a fight: she wanted me to drink Tequila with salt and lime, but I refused to do that and she got upset. And because she got upset for such a stupid thing I also got upset, and then she got more upset and I got even more upset. She end up in one corner of the couch and I in the other, looking at opposite walls of the room and letting the music go wildly loud in the background.
Are we gona end up fighting for a fucking piece of lime? -I asked her. She's a complete spoiled brat and didn't answer me, she just wanted me to bite those stupid juiceless limes but I was not going to do it; not after all that drama for a stupid piece of lime.
After an eternity I slide over to her end of the couch and hug her. She kept looking to an empty corner and I hug her even tighter, giving her little kisses on the cheek. Words are just so fucking unnecessary most of the time. . .
We end up kissing right on that couch. . . and kissing and kissing and kissing like if there was no tomorrow. Little kisses first, more kisses, French kisses, a hell of a lot of French kisses and deep breaths; our hands busy feeling and discovering each other like kids on Christmas day. We kissed and touched one another with such frenziness and determination and warmth as only two lovers on a mission to melt the Artic ice sheet could. We went to bed that night as friends, best friends, and woke up the next morning as lovers: lovers, cronies, accomplices, partners in crime, comrades; but above all best friends, with the insight of sex. We gave to one another the gift of love that night, mixed with lust and served boiling hot.
If I ever have to choose one word to define my love life up to this point, it would be farewell.
Wednesday morning arrived and with it her flight back home. That very same day in the evening, Charlotte saw the worse snow storm in the last sixteen years causing all gas stations and grocery stores to run out of beer and milk, and all flights bound to and from Charlotte were grounded. At that time she was safely back in South America and I was stuck in Southern US.
Fastforward to yesterday when I got an e-mail from her, sent to a couple dozen people. There was nothing in the body of the message but an attachment: an invitation card to her wedding.
"Yeah, I can tell that you guys were such a good friends after all, ah?" -you'd be thinking.
Let me go back to this very same post and quote myself when I said that time and distance is the worse shit that can happen to any relationship between two human beings. She left more than a year and a half ago and we both went on with our lives after some very VERY fucking painful months of longingness and despair. We started writing and calling each other on daily bases, but if you've ever had to face the power of time and distance you'd know what I'm talking about. If you haven't, you don't know how much I envy you. Our relationship grew cold and the number of e-mails came tumbling down to one every few months, perhaps a Christmas and a birthday note, just like it had happened before. I was not planning in going back to South America and she wasn't planning to move to the US. Is just a matter of putting your feet on the ground after all and letting gravity do the rest.
Back to yesterday again and her e-mail; and fastforward to today and how fucking upset I am that she didn't call me or e-mail me telling me about it. I'm fuming that I got to know through a collective message copied to maybe even the security guard of her office building! After our kisses we didn't mention our relationships as open as we did before, but fuck we had something that I treasured and stored among the sweetest memories in my life; we were, or perhaps the right term is that we had been best friends for a very long period of our life, how the fuck am I not gona be upset about that lame and collective e-mail?!
Jean-Francois was drunk at 9:43 PM
1 Comments:
an EMAIL wedding invitation? that is so completely bogus and not to mention just plain bad manners.
although i can empathyse(sp) somewhat - distance plus longing minus equal longing on the other end equals five months of wishing a crane would fall on my head and crush me. bad bad combination.
sera que estoy muy cansada pero tu cuento me da ganas de llorar!
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