Odyssey of the Mind
Yesterday was a good day, by all accounts. Though his enthusiasm about my idea to take the bus to San Antonio really impressed me, Mike and I decided to postpone that trip. Instead we got together bright and early on a seasonably warm Texican winter's day, and rerolled the day's plan into a "best of Austin" walkabout. We met at the MexicARTE musueum on Congress and 5th, and it wasn't too awkward, considering last time I saw him we snorted coke in the bathroom of Oil Can's and kissed on new year's day, and in the interim he suddenly contracted gonorrhea and told me he was taking a break from the scene. The news was a bit jarring; I wasn't sure if I should hang out with him after that. But, since I decided to go home to NH after my trip to Florida next month, every notion about who, why and how should I spend time with people here has changed. And I realized I can't take any male friend for granted, no matter how much their lives terrify and bemuse me. I don't have any time to make new ones, and I'm determined to not spend every last day here alone playing words with friends. Besides, he's cute and thinks I'm funny.
So in the afternoon we ended up on a double kayak which we rented, and it seemed as though that day everyone else in Austin had the same idea. I brought a giant can of strawberry margarita, but Mike didn't drink. He just smoked weed. Our conversation on the glistening Colorado river was broad, honest and whimisical, just as it had been any time we had seen each other since meeting on Halloween. It had been awhile since I had been stranded somewhere in a place with a boy with no external stimulation or escape. It indeed felt like a date, though I wasn't sure if I wanted it to feel that way, considering I was leaving. At the base of this romantic adventure, I realized I was only attracted to him because I was leaving, and hadn't really developed a more mature sociopathic crush on him, you know, the kind that I'm used to. Therefore, everything he said was processed without the usual weight of "how does this affect me?" and likewise, I wasn't wearing my usual filter of "can't let him see this side of me." It's not simply that I want to hit it and quit it, but more like I want someone, esp. a boy, to know I was here when I'm gone from this place. I know it's easier this way, to date fully knowing you won't have to commit, and I know I'm doing something wrong by not telling him I have plans to leave. This is my sick way of having friends in Austin. I'm hoping karma will go easy on me this time.
So after a long, hot and buzzed afternoon in the hot sun, and two blisters on my thumbs and a sore back, we parked the kayak and I convinced Mike to come to Oil Can Harry's with me on 4th street, because every Sunday they give out free cheeseburgers on the grill. He just happened to find friends there--friends, and some bartenders, who were overjoyed to see him after such a long hiatus (3 weeks) from the bar scene. This told me more about him than any kayak convo could ever have, but I just laughed to myself, and we drank Mimosas together which felt great on the back patio after our adventure. Mike didn't plan on getting drunk but he did, perhaps for me. And when he fell off the wagon, he really fell. As night fell and Sunday funday at the bar really heated up, he was buying us shot after shot, and suddenly he went from modest to loudest in the room. I keep telling him I have to work in the AM, and so he suggested we go to the park down the street and drink a bottle of wine before I went home, and naturally I agreed. It was interesting watching him unravel before my eyes. He kissed me in the park and we rolled around the grass, watching out for onlookers and occasionally the stars. I could sense his feelings for me swelling like alcohol in his bloodstream, and I was revved up too and wasn't about to can him cold. But I didn't have to, because right before the bus came Mike did it to himself, when he asked me if I slept with his friend Josh. And for once, I didn't lie. I was honest as a librarian when I told him I did indeed sleep with Josh. I said, "but you and I weren't dating." And he replied, "it doesn't matter, I don't think I could ever sleep with you." The dialogue we exchanged popped all the bubbles in our champagne glass, but it still left us with a warm, flat but potent wine. Before I got on the bus, we kissed again like a firm handshake, I knew I had changed the tune. But I'm not worried, panicked our upset about my honesty like I usually am, because this time I wasn't losing; it was getting me what I wanted for a change.
So in the afternoon we ended up on a double kayak which we rented, and it seemed as though that day everyone else in Austin had the same idea. I brought a giant can of strawberry margarita, but Mike didn't drink. He just smoked weed. Our conversation on the glistening Colorado river was broad, honest and whimisical, just as it had been any time we had seen each other since meeting on Halloween. It had been awhile since I had been stranded somewhere in a place with a boy with no external stimulation or escape. It indeed felt like a date, though I wasn't sure if I wanted it to feel that way, considering I was leaving. At the base of this romantic adventure, I realized I was only attracted to him because I was leaving, and hadn't really developed a more mature sociopathic crush on him, you know, the kind that I'm used to. Therefore, everything he said was processed without the usual weight of "how does this affect me?" and likewise, I wasn't wearing my usual filter of "can't let him see this side of me." It's not simply that I want to hit it and quit it, but more like I want someone, esp. a boy, to know I was here when I'm gone from this place. I know it's easier this way, to date fully knowing you won't have to commit, and I know I'm doing something wrong by not telling him I have plans to leave. This is my sick way of having friends in Austin. I'm hoping karma will go easy on me this time.
So after a long, hot and buzzed afternoon in the hot sun, and two blisters on my thumbs and a sore back, we parked the kayak and I convinced Mike to come to Oil Can Harry's with me on 4th street, because every Sunday they give out free cheeseburgers on the grill. He just happened to find friends there--friends, and some bartenders, who were overjoyed to see him after such a long hiatus (3 weeks) from the bar scene. This told me more about him than any kayak convo could ever have, but I just laughed to myself, and we drank Mimosas together which felt great on the back patio after our adventure. Mike didn't plan on getting drunk but he did, perhaps for me. And when he fell off the wagon, he really fell. As night fell and Sunday funday at the bar really heated up, he was buying us shot after shot, and suddenly he went from modest to loudest in the room. I keep telling him I have to work in the AM, and so he suggested we go to the park down the street and drink a bottle of wine before I went home, and naturally I agreed. It was interesting watching him unravel before my eyes. He kissed me in the park and we rolled around the grass, watching out for onlookers and occasionally the stars. I could sense his feelings for me swelling like alcohol in his bloodstream, and I was revved up too and wasn't about to can him cold. But I didn't have to, because right before the bus came Mike did it to himself, when he asked me if I slept with his friend Josh. And for once, I didn't lie. I was honest as a librarian when I told him I did indeed sleep with Josh. I said, "but you and I weren't dating." And he replied, "it doesn't matter, I don't think I could ever sleep with you." The dialogue we exchanged popped all the bubbles in our champagne glass, but it still left us with a warm, flat but potent wine. Before I got on the bus, we kissed again like a firm handshake, I knew I had changed the tune. But I'm not worried, panicked our upset about my honesty like I usually am, because this time I wasn't losing; it was getting me what I wanted for a change.