Let them Talk

As suspected, Roscow told everyone that I got with Ben.

"So, you kissed Ben huh?" Rosh said to me on the phone. She called me specifically to ask about it.

I had told her the day before that she should expect something like this from Roscow and his friends, but with her mind filled only with her happenings with Mark, she had paid my warning no heed.

"Errrr... no."

"Yes you did!"

"What, on the cheek?"

There was a silence, followed by a disappointed "oh."

"Well, Roscow told me you guys made out and stuff. Claire and I nearly killed ourselves when he said that!" She continued.

"I already told you what happened yesterday, and what he would say..."

"Yeah, I know. But I didn't expect the way he said it, he just seemed so serious and sure..."

Everyone had been drunk, or stoned, or both on Friday night. Rosh's disappearance with Mark had left Ben and I in a happy duo. Not that I was having a problem with this - he was buying me alcohol. Lots of it. Shots and spirit mixes. And he was (shockingly) even dancing with me. (I surprised myself by still being able to walk at the end of the night, and even remembered having the brief conversation with the cab driver on the way home. He was from Ghana. I think this all comes with the realisation that my life is no longer just mine to abuse, but Boy's as well.)

Obviously it's not normal for a drunk girl and guy (be they mates or enemies) to be hanging out in a bar, dancing and having fun without something of a sexual nature going on between them.

This was first made apparent when I was surprisingly mobbed from behind by Shick and company. (A delightful occasion for all, for I could tell Raymond that in reality I loved him and that I was sorry for calling him a loser a few months back, a situation which caused many problems. He told me he loved me too. Later, he gave me the fingers, and our mortal enemyship resumed.) At one point (before Jamie could, again, pinch my bum) Shick pulled me aside to ask me what was up with the "Ben" guy. I assured him we were just friends, and that Boy knew Ben and they were chums (sort of).

"Well good." He said. "Just checking up you know, 'cause he's my mate and all..."

"Of course - you know I would never do anything bad to him!"

I wondered, for a brief moment, had Boy been in my situation - if Shick would have done the same for me.

Much to our disappointment, the bar closed early. I had planned on going clubbing with Shick and friends, and we stood at the bottom of the stairs scanning the faces of the stumbling leavers, waiting for them to come down. After what seemed like an hour (but in actual time I doubt that we had been there longer than five minutes), we concluded that they were not coming and began walking in the general direction of nowhere.

The conversation somehow turned to MP3s, as Ben proceeded to tell me how disappointed he was that napster had shut down, and how he could not download songs with ease anymore. I shared my new search engine knowledge with him, and he quietly (in a Ben manner) persuaded me to download it for him in his office. There is a firewall on the university computers, and the program didn't work. After many tries, we gave up and decided to find some food.

Exit Ben's office. Encounter Roscow and friends. "Ooooooh." They teased, in the primary school manner. There was no convincing him that nothing had happened, so I gave up and left (Ben, as usual, was apathetic). Suddenly, I found the whole situation quite amusing. Roscow would tell people. People would believe him. And I would know that it was all lies. I had no desire to defend myself, there was just an overwhelming feeling of... satisfication.

As long as I was with Boy, and true to him with heart mind and soul, and he knew this, nothing this trivial would ever bother me.

Ben bought us meals at Burger King (I began to feel guilty for all the money he was spending on me) and we had an actual conversation. He asked me why I was sad, and I told him I was sad most of the time. I told him my thoughts on self mutilation, and was startled to find emotion behind his sharp icy-blue eyes.

"You look like you actually care." I accused him.

"Of course I care about you! You just told me you think about self mutilation. That's terrible!"

Careful munching of chips.

"You know, if it was a year ago I would probably have asked you out." He confessed. It was an odd drunken statement. I inspected his nose (which gets uglier the more drunk you get - oh what a terrible thing to say! But it's true...) wondering what kind of response one should give to such a statement.

"Well." I said finally. "I guess a year ago I probably would have gone out with you. And then Rosh would have hated us both for the rest of our lives."

"Yes, this is true."

I felt a little guilty for saying it, even if it was the truth. A year ago I didn't know him. I thought he was quite... superior, if he had asked me out I probably would have been bewildered enough to say yes. But was admitting that now, in this drunken, irrelevant conversation, wrong? Maybe.

Subtly, he changed the conversation to Boy, and all feelings of guilt and worry disappeared as I recounted to him our amazing snow trip, and how happy I had been. How happy I was with Boy, and how I couldn't wait until he got back. And then, I was happy. After accusing random people on the street of patronising me and half a glass of $2 watered down beer in a crusty bar, we shared a cab home (he paid).

In my warm bed, I decided I would sleep all of the next day, which would mean less waiting time until Boy got back. Smiling as I remembered what it was like to wake up and find him next to me, I turned the light off and, without difficulty, fell asleep.

(Incidentally I did sleep all of the next day: not only because I didn't want to wake up knowing that Boy wasn't around, but also because I was very, very hungover. It was not a nice feeling.)

previous - next; thanks, diaryland.