This is how I remember you (and maybe forget you)
Part I — The poor exhaust system with poor social skill
It wasn’t an ideal place to meet a stranger — though you’re not that stranger frankly because I’ve heard quite a lot about you from colleagues and saw your artefacts in many documents shared in the team. You came unnoticed, smiled awkwardly to some people, probably because that’s the first time you saw them, including me. The place was an old wet market that becomes an over-glorious place for lumberjack bearded hipsters and modern day hippies to hangout.
Exhaust system was never the strongest in this place and it seemed like we’re in a race to breath. I was dripping at some point; not sure because it was so humid inside or tired of preserving my energy while at the same time observing some people that came to this place to fetch a wedding invitation from our former colleague.
You lit up a cig when a friend was asking how things were with you lately.
Same old, same old. At least, that person we-know-who wasn’t there.
I heard you saying that. You smiled at me; we didn’t look in the eye. The hint of cynicism from your answer, the tone of your voice, and better yet, accentuated with the smokes that you exhaled deep from your lung, I know that can make two of us when looking at how work life is. You presumably also thought that work-life would never be balanced; we’re just trying to find any workplace that’s tolerable the most. Where you can work with the people, and feel appreciated.
Part II — The cheap wine
All of us were sitting in circle, but I can tell there was a group within the group. A friend who’s always been the enabler in the group kept trying hard to come up with general talks to glue us altogether. Boy was it an art on itself. I can see he’s gradually giving up and resort to buy cheap local wine to just brighten up the mood. I and a friend were most of the time only giving commentary to whatever these blokes gotta say — though mostly make fun of them and secretly judging their train of thought. Something that I can be only comfortable to share with this particular friend of mine.
You sat in front of me. Also trying to just fit in to the rest of these bunch. Sometimes laughing at the jokes that I didn’t think even remotely worth a laugh, but hey, it’s an effort I should appreciate. You chipped in the money to buy the drinks and I took opportunity to just tease you; that you have to pay more than the rest of us because your workplace is the most established one. You didn’t mind.
The conversation was easier when alcohol already involved. I always believe that alcohol is social lubricant. You were telling about the design process that mostly involved field user-research — not designing per se. I was listening attentatively. Some other folks were busy talking about the mission of a startup that becomes the upmost factor when they changed workplace. Touche. Frankly I didn’t really care about your design methodology though I looked attentively nor this over-used startup mission talks that I’ve heard a hundred times. The place was too hot — unfortunately not steamy, that I was too busy to just wipe my face. I threw an idea to just move to a bar somewhere nearby because it was not that late at night. And so we went.
Part III — The cheap thrill
The bar was packed with young adults whole life is dull, I can tell, and the easiest resort is to drink the night away. Just like us. A friend ordered a bottle of Hendricks. Combined with the loud music that comes from a local band that plays top 40s, the night was easily taking off of the edge from us. I didn’t remember correctly the discussion on the table until a friend brought that classic never have i ever game — so classic of a game to just bring a cheap thrill and get to know a person deeper without guilt just because we were drunk. There were 9 of us — where 2 were busy consummating their desire as they were dating. So you and me were joking about building an invisible wall to just un-see whatever they were doing and if they happened to be somehow disappeared, it was just an adult thing happened.
You asked where I stayed in the middle of that cheap thrill game.
Somewhere in Cipete, Jakarta Selatan.
Oh, that’s near to my house. Let’s get a cab together. You said.
I nodded. Smiling inside my stupid heart. Maybe because the light was dim, we both were intoxicated, and the drill was so cheap, I found you entertaining whenever answering some cliche questions without another cliche answer. Even more cliche because this curious friend put another rule to allow others further questioning the person based on the answer.
So you never have threesome in your life. A curious friend asked you since you didn’t drink to the question. I kid you not when I told you that this cheap drill was lousy. And this curious friend was only pointing atyou all the time so I was aware of the situation.
I’m not that wild but I ain’t vanilla. You said that.
Only me and another friend were giggling when you threw vanilla term. I can see the confusion in other friends’ face as maybe that term wasn’t common by many. It’s almost like you don’t know what you don’t know.
Part IV — 2 bottles of Hendrick’s deep and even cheaper thrill
The volume in the bar was presumably at its peak that we barely can hear each other. The curious friend moved right beside you, while you squeeze your arse right beside me so we can talk. I asked for your cigarette, and you lit it up for me. I wasn’t very comfortable with the tight seating arrangement so I got up to dance in front of our table. You unexpectedly followed me and we danced to the music I didn’t even remember. Since you were tiny and I was taller than you, there were always this moment where I had to protect you from people coming back and forth in front of our table.
You put your hand on my shoulder. You said something, but I can’t hear. I can only remember you smelled like cigarettes, but I didn’t mind to stay close.
The curious friend poured another glass of gin tonic for us and called us to just sit. It was still the same arrangement. You, me, curious friend while others couldn’t care less about anything rather than drinking.
The curious friend started again with question game. This time, the drill was even stronger. I can tell that it was a good call since everyone seemed to participate and enjoy the question thrown — even the most personal one. Until this question popped up, and pointed to you.
If you have a choice to just experiment with anyone here, who would you choose? The curious friend asked. I fully understood where he’s going with this question.
You complained. Shouldn’t work like that, it’s gonna be awkward when we meet again. You should change the narrative.
Ok, what about… if you have to choose between girls and guys, which would you choose to experiment with?
You glanced at me. There were only 3 of us girls in the table. The other one was busy with her guy — our friend too. So there are 2 of us left.
Hm.. since I’m in a het relationship right now, if I’m allowed to have an experiment, of course it’s with a girl.
I wouldn’t lie, I was smiling ear to ear. But that was also very politically correct answer to rather obvious, if not dull, question. So I took it lightly. What’s weirder was because the curious guy approached to congratulate me — gave me handshake for whatever reason.
I was annoyed. Partly drunk because I’m always becoming raging drunk when it’s deep enough. Partly due to that unnecessary gesture from the curious friend; I had this idea in my mind that he might assume I was targeting you. Yes, you are attractive, but I wasn’t that low yet to just play this drilling game to get into your pants.
I was telling the others I was ready to go home and just cancelled my plan to share a cab with you, as I would hitch a ride from another friend. You followed me out and decided to also hitch the same ride. Expectedly, the curious guy followed us to hitch the same ride.
When I think about it again, it was funny how all of us were squeezed inside an old car. And I chose to just sit in front, just because I couldn’t stand how this curious friend can’t keep digging deep about you.
Part V — The cheap me
I’ve lived long enough to know that I should’ve put behind of my head everything that happened during drunk nights. Your touch on my shoulder, your legs crossing to mine, your glaring smile to me every time you noticed a rather stupid question coming in the game, just that little things that apparently still instilled in my head.
But instead of being a sound and reasonable person that I’m always proud of, I turned myself into a clown and inviting myself into trouble with my brute honesty about you being an attractive human being, and proceed to just keep you in my proximity even months after.
It was pouring hard outside when we called it a night after having drinks with some other few friends who’s not from the same peer as previous group. I was driving you home when I elaborated about my choice to become atheist — it simply feels safer to just believe in mathematical equation behind the mechanics of this world creation rather than blindly believe of a higher force that suddenly switch on the button to create this whole universe. You argued that there should be even a creator for math equation, while telling me to stop because it’s already in front of your house.
I sealed off your argument with my lips — with a split second of pause prior to it to ask if it’s allowed. It was primal and I can tell every fibre of my being just dissolved into molecules when that unspeakable emotion from both of us, that mostly contributed by our consumed alcohol, was exchanged and went deeper than only meet the eye.
We bid good bye. I drove home. Thinking about what had happened. Wanting more of that kind of primal suspense. But our expectation is sideways; or presumably since I never asked your expectation in the first place. I called you out and it was ugly on my side as I can’t make sense of what I’ve done and become.
Funny enough, long after becoming a vivid fan of self-loathed prick of Woody Allen, I’ve probably become the epitome of Alvy Singer myself.
