London Preppy
I swayed unsteadily as I leaned out looking over the city lights. I was on a balcony and the sight of the capitol building, pink and sitting below me off in the distance, reminded me that I was in Austin. What floor am I on? What exactly am I doing up here?
I feel an arm around my waste and turn around to a tall guy that looks somewhat familiar. Slowly my memory falls back into place, and I remember walking with him, buzzing into this tower, and riding up several floors in an elevator. He says his roommate will be home in a bit, but that I can sleep on the couch.
We walk back in, and this stranger gets me a glass of water and a blanket. I lie down on the couch and try to retrace my night.
I left Kathleen to use the restroom. I saw Mitch. I couldn't find Kathleen. I left to escape the noise and try to call her. Blank. I saw Allison and I think I gropped Andrew. Whoops. He's a good sport though and surely knows it was in fun. Too drunk to get back into the club, just want to go to bed. I started to walk back to the club. Blank again. I am sitting on a bench, Kathleen hasn't called. I am now walking with this stranger.
I ride up the elevator, floor, floor, floor, 23, 24, 25. We get off. Blank.
The door opens and the lights flicker on. I am on the couch, where is the guy who brought me water? This must be the roommate.
Hi. Hello. Good night. I guess.
Blank.
Where is the bathroom? Let me show you. Okay.
Blank.
"You can't tell anyone about this. Ever."
I am back on the balcony again. It is 3 hours since I first was out here and noticed the capitol building shimmering up the hill. I realize I need to get out of here. Again, I feel an arm on my back. It is the roommate. The boy whose bed I left a few moments ago for need of fresh air.
How old are you?
23. Yourself?
25. What do you do?
I'm a teacher. You?
I'm in business school.
So you're not gay?
No. I don't know.
I need to leave. This is all wrong.
As I walk back to the door, he mutters something I think might involve the words girl and friend. I have no idea. I don't care. I need to find my shoes. I've lost a sock.
When did my life become one of those famous blogs I read about trendy, glamorous, gay, 26 year old New Yorkers? And why does it feel so much less glamorous?
I feel an arm around my waste and turn around to a tall guy that looks somewhat familiar. Slowly my memory falls back into place, and I remember walking with him, buzzing into this tower, and riding up several floors in an elevator. He says his roommate will be home in a bit, but that I can sleep on the couch.
We walk back in, and this stranger gets me a glass of water and a blanket. I lie down on the couch and try to retrace my night.
I left Kathleen to use the restroom. I saw Mitch. I couldn't find Kathleen. I left to escape the noise and try to call her. Blank. I saw Allison and I think I gropped Andrew. Whoops. He's a good sport though and surely knows it was in fun. Too drunk to get back into the club, just want to go to bed. I started to walk back to the club. Blank again. I am sitting on a bench, Kathleen hasn't called. I am now walking with this stranger.
I ride up the elevator, floor, floor, floor, 23, 24, 25. We get off. Blank.
The door opens and the lights flicker on. I am on the couch, where is the guy who brought me water? This must be the roommate.
Hi. Hello. Good night. I guess.
Blank.
Where is the bathroom? Let me show you. Okay.
Blank.
"You can't tell anyone about this. Ever."
I am back on the balcony again. It is 3 hours since I first was out here and noticed the capitol building shimmering up the hill. I realize I need to get out of here. Again, I feel an arm on my back. It is the roommate. The boy whose bed I left a few moments ago for need of fresh air.
How old are you?
23. Yourself?
25. What do you do?
I'm a teacher. You?
I'm in business school.
So you're not gay?
No. I don't know.
I need to leave. This is all wrong.
As I walk back to the door, he mutters something I think might involve the words girl and friend. I have no idea. I don't care. I need to find my shoes. I've lost a sock.
When did my life become one of those famous blogs I read about trendy, glamorous, gay, 26 year old New Yorkers? And why does it feel so much less glamorous?