It took about 10 steps to reach my apartment, but when I got there, the front door rejected me. The two girls inside had turned the locked. Through the door I could hear their surprised giggles when I jerked the unwielding doorknob, much like how second graders react when they hear the word "poop." After they unlocked the door, I grabbed a cold beer and noticed the sparkles now covering my weight machine. They had come off as the girl in the black glitter dress messed around with the levers and pulleys on the machine. The other girl, in a black power suit, said they locked the door so I wouldn't see spread eagle as I walked in. Then they had a laugh, the girl in the black glitter dress and the girl in the black power suit.
Black glitter dress. Black power suit. Me in my black suit pants. We were all dressed in black.
We discussed who would be sober enough to drive in an hour. None of the guests next door knew how to get there, so I decided that I would put my beer back in the fridge and lead the line of cars. I would take the others over in an hour. The girl in the black power suit nodded in approval. Then there was no more laughter. It got quiet rather quickly.
For a brief moment, we had distracted ourselves from the real reason we were together. This girl in the black glitter dress, this girl in the black power suit, I had never met them before. But we were an instant united front, bound for reasons that would make us wish we hadn't yet met. We left my apartment to get ready to bury a loved one.
To bury a woman who died too young, too quickly, too soon.
To bury the mother of this girl in the black power suit.
I'm still relatively unsure of myself when going from Point A to Point B in New York, but on this Friday night, I found the bar in uptown Manhattan with no trouble. As the bouncer took a closer look at my Florida ID, a girl screamed from my left, "It's a fake! Don't let that bitch in!" She was merely a drunkard who didn't deserve my attention, but had she not yelled in inebriated impulse, I would have missed the
We had pitcher upon pitcher of Killian's, a beer pong table, front row seats to a drunkard violently dragged against the ground by bouncers, some overall good times. Things got even better when my buddy Hubbard arrived, sat down, and proceeded to talk me up to the girls at our table. I had a ball pretending to be embarrassed, my face saying "Oh, come on now, stop!" while inside I discreetly told myself, "This is what friends are for, and damn she looks impressed!" When it came out that I may soon be working on my Ph.D. in New York, the girl looked pleasantly surprised, and the others nodded in praise. Inside, however, I felt some of the nerves, frustration, and fear I had travelled 3 hours to escape.
I didn't tell any of them that I had one week to solve a problem with my class schedule, an issue that would push my graduation date back a full year if not resolved. All my talk of leaving Pennsylvania in a year, of pursuing a life in the greatest city I've ever known, it would only accentuate my failure of not backing up my boasting if I couldn't get my shit together. The mystery of where I'll be one year from today is exciting and will be worth it if I end up some place meaningful. To be at a standstill, delaying the next step one year, would feel like I wasted a vital year of my twenties.
For a brief moment, I had distracted myself from the reality that I faced the possibility of putting my life on hold for one more year. I tried not to think about what I couldn't deal with for another few days. New York was one of my points of solace, where I could escape from everything I didn't want to face.
The mess in your home doesn't clean itself up while you're away on vacation. I couldn't avoid what faced me in Harrisburg.
The cute Irish girl and her not-as-cute Irish friend were no longer in the lounge by the time we returned to the hotel. They must have gone to bed early, as I noticed they had already changed from their evening wear to booty-hugging sleep wear before Hubbard and I had stepped out for a quick bite. Either way, we would call it a night at the bar in the hotel lounge. We'd shared in enough wild moments over the previous few days; it was time to sit back and chill.
Even though we're friends from high school, Hubbard and I rarely talk about the good old days of our adolescent years. Most of our talks focus around women, the future, the arts, and mocking lead singers who have disgusting tones to their voices (our personal favorite is the guy from New Found Glory). But as we sat 2 amongst empty tables for 4, the memories and archived tales came one after the other. We tested each other with scenarios, and without fail we were able to fill in the details of each memory:
The time when we found a decapitated stuffed puppy dog on my doorstep, along with a note that read, Leave me alone or you'll end up like Rudolph. Amelia, when we knew our friend Amelia was being set up, and after a few hours of sleuthing, we got confessions from the girls who set her up by the next afternoon.
The time when Pudge shed a tear, one single tear, after getting in a fight with Little Hubbard. And we all laughed.
The time when Hubbard said in the middle of a serious conversation, "I like the dick."
(That last one actually happened last weekend, but I had to get that out there! Seriously, who starts a random sentence like that? I like the dick?)
It felt great to laugh about old times with someone also sharing in present times. We were men remembering when we were boys, grasping pints of Guinness in the hands that once held marching band trumpets. Enjoying the simpler things in life in the middle of a ritzy New York City hotel. Not a stressor in sight. At peace with the world.
For a brief moment, he had distracted himself from the depression, anger, and confusion that had plagued the past 6 months of his life and, in turn, our friendship. No matter how far we deviated from the subject, I knew it was inevitable for his breakup to come into the discussion again. Sure enough, there was a brief pause in conversation. I filled the space by sipping on more Guinness. When I put my glass down, he looked over with that glassy gaze and said a simple phrase that contained every emotion we had put on hold.
I miss her, man.
We all have those moments, a time we spend keeping ourselves busy to avoid what we fear to face. Points in time come where our problems seem to have culminated and encompassed our every minute. We look at everyone around us, arms around their wives or reading on an outside bench, and we ask ourselves, "Why can't life be as simple as that?" So we try to take a breather from our everyday pressures, keeping ourselves occupied with an array of activities as to disallow our minds to go anywhere else. This is ulimately a short-term solution. In a sudden moment, your mind will slow and have no choice but to remember the very things you're trying to forget.
Going away from your everyday life and having fun doesn't give you a pass from the responsibilities and hardships of life. You're running in a track circle, and before you know it, you're in the same spot you ran from, and everything left at the starting point is still waiting for you. But at the same time, dealing with the responsiblities and hardships of life doesn't always give you a pass from going out and finding your own enjoyment. Often we get stuck dedicating all our time to the problems in our immediate future. They encompass our every thought to the point where it feels as though nothing else can be done until this problem goes away. Sometimes this is true. Many times it's not. When it is, we have a duty to act as we should, combat our issues in the best way possible. When it's not, sometimes it's necessary to give ourselves a break, a time to enjoy the people, the happenings, the little distractions that make life worthwhile.
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