Irrational
The evening started pretty well: The Glamorous Life of Sachiko Hanai was hilarious and filled with gratuitous sex scenes featuring a nicely-proportioned Emi Kuroda; after which, Shermaene, the boys and I went off for a quick night snack.
Seated in a blindingly-lit booth and munching on burgers, chips and shrimps, the conversation was pretty much limited to reminiscing, since three of us were from the same school, and another three of us had been an Unholy Trinity for the past decade.
Just before we flogged the old conversation horse to its bloodiest limit, Jason left for a quick loo-break. Shermaene turned to Germ and remarked, matter-of-factly with a smile, "They look like a couple." Then she turned back to me and repeated: "You two look like a couple."
Since I thought I'm too old to giggle coyly and refute her statement, I chose to reply with a noncommittal shrug, just at the moment Jason came back from the loo.
Shermaene's passing remark was soon forgotten as the three of them thought hard for the next hangout spot we could all head to at the early hour of eleven ("We're gonna queue till midnight if we go to Zouk." "Yeah, and I don't think we'll get seats at Wine Bar."), but it haunted me. It was all I could do to not put at least a mile between Jason and myself.
So I begged off, pretending irritation at their indecision and citing exhaustion from having been up since five plus that morning. I broke away from them and made to cross the road to get to the nearest cab stand, but Jason grabbed either my bag or my arm (I don't remember), which triggered my hypersensitive flight instinct. He said, "Since when have I let you take a cab home by yourself in the night?"
The answer is never, but I'd answered "leave me alone", in addition to "fucking Let. Go". I like to think I didn't say that in a grouchy, piss-off tone.
He tailed me all the way to the cab stand and tried to get me to join the three of them for a drink (they eventually went to Soundbar). For the first time in my life that I can remember, it wasn't hard at all for me to say no.
Opening the door of a cab, I looked at him and told him seriously, "I really want to go home by myself."
And I did.
As I chased the moon in the backseat of the cab, a text came from him, telling me to let him know when I got home. I deleted the message.
After I got home and had just stepped out of the shower, my cellphone, still in my bag, rang. I let it ring; I didn't have to guess who the caller would be. When the ringing stopped, the phone beeped, announcing a new text. I left my cell in my bag for the rest of the night.
This morning, I finally checked my phone - the missed call was indeed from Jason, and the text was from Germ, telling me Jason wanted to know if I got home. I deleted the message.
If I were to give in to my impulses and reflexive responses, I'd have deleted the friendship as well.
I've never been to paradise, but I've been to me - and I've never been a rational creature.
Seated in a blindingly-lit booth and munching on burgers, chips and shrimps, the conversation was pretty much limited to reminiscing, since three of us were from the same school, and another three of us had been an Unholy Trinity for the past decade.
Just before we flogged the old conversation horse to its bloodiest limit, Jason left for a quick loo-break. Shermaene turned to Germ and remarked, matter-of-factly with a smile, "They look like a couple." Then she turned back to me and repeated: "You two look like a couple."
Since I thought I'm too old to giggle coyly and refute her statement, I chose to reply with a noncommittal shrug, just at the moment Jason came back from the loo.
Shermaene's passing remark was soon forgotten as the three of them thought hard for the next hangout spot we could all head to at the early hour of eleven ("We're gonna queue till midnight if we go to Zouk." "Yeah, and I don't think we'll get seats at Wine Bar."), but it haunted me. It was all I could do to not put at least a mile between Jason and myself.
So I begged off, pretending irritation at their indecision and citing exhaustion from having been up since five plus that morning. I broke away from them and made to cross the road to get to the nearest cab stand, but Jason grabbed either my bag or my arm (I don't remember), which triggered my hypersensitive flight instinct. He said, "Since when have I let you take a cab home by yourself in the night?"
The answer is never, but I'd answered "leave me alone", in addition to "fucking Let. Go". I like to think I didn't say that in a grouchy, piss-off tone.
He tailed me all the way to the cab stand and tried to get me to join the three of them for a drink (they eventually went to Soundbar). For the first time in my life that I can remember, it wasn't hard at all for me to say no.
Opening the door of a cab, I looked at him and told him seriously, "I really want to go home by myself."
And I did.
As I chased the moon in the backseat of the cab, a text came from him, telling me to let him know when I got home. I deleted the message.
After I got home and had just stepped out of the shower, my cellphone, still in my bag, rang. I let it ring; I didn't have to guess who the caller would be. When the ringing stopped, the phone beeped, announcing a new text. I left my cell in my bag for the rest of the night.
This morning, I finally checked my phone - the missed call was indeed from Jason, and the text was from Germ, telling me Jason wanted to know if I got home. I deleted the message.
If I were to give in to my impulses and reflexive responses, I'd have deleted the friendship as well.
I've never been to paradise, but I've been to me - and I've never been a rational creature.
posted by s at 02:22
1 Comments:
why didnt you just set the record straight with her, then?
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