I was reading Friedrich Nietzsche’s Thus Spake Zarathustra, entranced by the deep and trenchant prose of the book when I heard my roommate’s voice from the living room calling me. I answered with my monotonous what’s up─The kind of “what’s up” I usually answer back when I don’t want to be disturbed.
“Hey, get dressed you’re going with me.” He screamed.
I opened my door and there stood Jim, with a half-empty bottle of cheap vodka on his hand, his face was red, his feet were covered only with socks.
“We’re going to a party.”
In that instance, I conjured images of wild drinking college students, crazy kids making out and the possibility of meeting new people besides my on and off girlfriend Lindsay, whom I haven’t spoken with for almost three weeks. I wasn’t really in the right frame of mind to be going in some party that we’re not even invited. But still I obliged; I thought I owed him some sort of hanging-out privilege because he was partly upset about his party that failed earlier that night. I put on my black The Cure t-shirt, jeans and my new shoes. They were Vans sneakers with white rims that I have been meaning to buy for months. I have just gotten them two days earlier.
“Don’t wear your shoes, it’s a Japanese party.” My already inebriated alcoholic genius of a roommate informed me. His voice was dead as a dial tone. “There’s gonna be a lot of hot Asian women there, Jake”. His face suddenly went from a frown to a sadistic smirk. He finished his last gulp of vodka.
“I don’t care; I’m still going to wear them. I like these shoes; where’s the party anyway?”
“It’s just two houses from us.”
I had a baffled look on my face.
My roommate and I went on with the show and gate-crashed─ just for shits and giggles. A bunch of Japanese students were sitting by the front porch; some of them were speaking in broken English smoking cigarettes, some where drinking beers and some where speaking their native tongue of Japanese. Jim and I just stood there, trying to blend in, though it was fucking impossible to do so. We didn’t even look slightly Japanese for Christ’s sake. One of the Japanese guys who introduced himself as Akira was already obviously drunk that he hit Jim’s chin─ in a friendly and jovial manner I think. My roommate and I excused ourselves from the crowd and entered the house. Shoes of different styles and designs were piled up by the door way. As a sign of respect, I voluntarily took off my shoes, walked around the house with only my socks to cover my feet. Jim and I separated for a while. He went to the living room, looking for the guy who invited him in the first place while I was stuck by the kitchen, scrutinizing everyone, especially the girls, who happened to be in not so many words, stunning. There was another Caucasian guy in the party who knew how to speak their language, so he was lucky. He was lying on the couch, talking to this itty-bitty hot thing. She was cute, In my standards anyway.
“Here” Jim handed me a bottle of Budweiser. “Who’s the man?”
I took a swig and smiled. It was funny to see Jim act all cocky, wanting to fish some sort of compliment. Even if I gave him one, an honest compliment, he would never remember it anyway. “Thanks; you’re the man!”
Five bottles of beer later, I caught myself leaning against the refrigerator, talking to the cute itty-bitty thing. She introduced herself as Aya. Aya had dimples on both corners of her mouth and her hair lusciously pulled back. She was wearing a denim jacket and dangling earrings that made a tingling sound each time she turned her head. Aya barely spoke some English but her hand gestures and facial expressions made us understand each other; her body movement said that she was having a great time. I was captivated by the way she spoke to me, like everything that I said was funny─funny as in hilarious. Not funny in a condescending way. I was trying to be funny, which made me feel good because all of my shtick seemed to work. I took another Bud from the cooler across me while Aya finished her glass of tequila.
“Want some more tequila?” I asked.
Aya nodded and smiled.
I took another plastic cup from the counter and poured her another one. We sat side by side by the refrigerator and she and I just looked at each other. Aya rested her head against my shoulders. I showed her my tattoos on both of my wrists. On the left wrist was the Cross of Lorraine, an occult symbol which looked like a double cross. And on the right was the Unicursal Hexagram, another occult symbol that somehow resembled The Star of David. Her hands glided gently on my tattooed wrists and she wondered if they hurt. I said it did.
“You are very nice.” She said giggling. “What is your name again?”
“Jake.”
My mind was detached from myself, which was a sign that I was already in that blissful state called drunkenness. I saw my roommate standing right beside me, talking to one of the girls. We looked at each other. He raised his eye brows, nodded, telling me that he was a genius for dragging me to the party.
“Aya, meet my roommate Jim. Jim, meet Aya. Don’t you think she’s cute?”
Aya just smiled and blushed. Well, she was technically blushing before I even introduced her to Jim anyway. She was drunk in a happy sort of way.
“Yeah, she’s very cute.”
From what Aya told me, kanpai is the word Japanese people use when they mean “cheers”. So I invited them both to have a kanpai moment with me.
“Kanpai!!!” The three of us laughed.
Everything was going smoothly until this half-naked toothpick-shaped guy entered the kitchen carrying a huge box of wine. He was inviting more drunk people to drink directly from the box. Each person who passed by the kitchen was forced to drink. Aya and I were sandwiched together by the crowd that was forming around us. I finished my Bud and she was now drinking Kahlúa with milk or milk with Kahlúa. Anyway, the point was, she was drunk already.
She was just too cute. Each time I looked at her, I just wanted to kiss her lips and squeeze her tight. In that moment of inebriation, I have forgotten my insane ex-girlfriend Lindsay, who, if I wasn’t mistaken, was drinking that night as well, trying to woo some guy to sleep with her. I love her but she’s a mess.
I got out of my self-imposed trance and once again Aya and I were alone at the kitchen. We both stood up. I gave her a glass of water. My arms were wrapped around her, just to make her feel comfortable.
“You are very nice.” Aya reiterated, “Can I … get … your number?”
Goddammit, I’m enjoying this party.
I gave her my number and she started dialing on her cell phone.
“Whoa, you’re way too fast” I said. “You don’t waste your time do you?”
We both laughed.
A young Japanese guy with a striped long sleeved shirt arrived at the kitchen. He was clearly possessed by the gods of alcohol because he was calling me “pussy” and “motherfucker”. Though he was throwing profanity at me left and right, he was amusing. I took it as terms of endearment. His arms were all over Aya and I just stood there not knowing what to do. I felt out of place. The guy, whom I cannot remember his name, only his scent, which smelled like one of those metrosexual perfumes most men uses these days, took the big bottle of Kahlúa and dared anyone to drink directly form it. This guy, who looked like one French fry short from becoming obese, drank first. Everyone was cheering for him.
“Kanpai!” I screamed.
Three more guys took swigs of the alcohol. The guy with the sweet scent for long sleeved shirt looked at me. He shoved the Kahlúa bottle to me. “Drink up, pussy! Motherfucker!” I took the bottle from him. I took 4 or 5 gulps until I finally gave up. The guy and Aya gave me a hug.
“I love this guy.” I said, pointing to the filthy-mouthed instigator. “Hey, stay put guys I just need to go to the bathroom”
The line at the rest room was long. I stood there and lingered for a moment. There’s comes a time when a guy’s got to go so I ran to my house and relieved myself of piss and beer. My consciousness was a blur as I stood there by the toilet, thinking whether if God was really dead. I knew my ex-girlfriend was, in my head anyway. As soon as I got out from the bathroom, my eyes focused on the couch in the living room. I sat on the couch and turned on the TV─ to the History channel─ and rested for a while. The flickering lights of the television made me somnolent. I passed out with the thoughts of Vlad the Impaler drinking absinthe with Nietzsche while they try to have a kanpai moment with me and Aya; her earrings making a jingle only I could hear.
My room was a mess for almost three weeks. It started to look like a disaster when Lindsay got me into a sudden case of heartbreak; as if I lost the will to pull myself together. The room was decorated mostly by junk: paper scraps, dirty clothes, books, my guitar and keyboard. I wish there was a method in the madness of putting all my stuff, but there wasn’t. I was about to go a friend’s house when I suddenly realized the error of my ways. I looked underneath the bed, underneath my study desk, out on the living room, the kitchen, the bathroom. No sight of it at all. My new pair of shoes was missing. I was throwing verbal karate on myself for being irresponsible: Stupid!
Moron
! Idiot!
I tried to remember the last time I have worn my Vans. And then it came to me: Party. Alcohol. Aya. I wanted to perform hara-kiri for letting alcohol get the best of me.
I went straight to my neighbor’s house. I knocked three times. No answer. I left a note on their door step, saying that I have left my shoes the night before. Just as I was about to leave, this Japanese guy came out of the house, still in his boxers, looking at me in a manner that I couldn’t quite understand. I just stood there, trying my best to communicate with him. But it was in vain. He kept turning his head left and right; I couldn’t quite understand if he meant that he didn’t understand what I was saying or he didn’t know where my shoes were. I was running late and I couldn’t take the failure to communicate charade so I just barged in the house. People were still crashed in the living room; passed out from the night of decadence and debauchery. The guy in his boxers walked towards the kitchen, scratching his hair in annoyance or confusion. When I turned my head─ just to look further around the house─ I felt something blunt landed on my right cheek. “Pussy motherfucker” the voice said. Right then and there, I realized who did it. My consciousness was again a blur but this time not from the alcohol but from a fist that came from the guy whom I was familiar with; his scent was palpable in the air. I was lying by the doorway; my nose was painting a colorful shade of red on my face
