-At “Noreen’s,” on Scholes and South 3rd, I am sitting with about six of my ‘contemporaries’ or friends or acquaintances that I have known over the years waiting to order drinks. I’m uncomfortable, wearing the same thing I did last time I saw these people and I look around the room and the din from the restaurant sounds like a synth or an oven because everyone seems to be talking at the same time, in unison, and I get the feeling that when it is my turn to talk I will say something that nobody will get, let alone hear.
Eric walks in late with his new wife, Austria, a tan-god, who is wearing really tight purple slash black jeans and a “Fear” t-shirt, real vivid. Eric happens to be a success story to us but when he walks up to our table he looks like he is on edge, confused, wondering if some of us don’t remember the last time we saw him and had a good time, a time to remember. I say “Supps Eric” then turn to my half full glass of “RED”.
After chugging what was left of a pretty deece pinot noir that I mooched from the dinner party I start to feel dizzy from all of the gossip and bad appetizers so I excuse myself to the restroom and everyone doesn’t even notice me leave at this point. They all are vibrating together in a somewhat serious conversation.
In the mens room it is bright and there is a handsome man, probably nineteen or twenty, sitting in a chair by the sink on a laptop, his mouth still and open, then his eyes wide and green. I make eye contact with him for a second then go into the handicap stall to shit it all out. I had eaten a chicken parm sandwich earlier that made me hold in big farts all throughout dinner. I felt like I was fighting with my ass for hours preceding this moment. Torture, I could barely laugh at some of the funny jokes. I know that when I sit down on the toilet, positive actually, that I will let out a wide body involved fart, which will create some kind of intimacy between the ‘Derek’ bathroom servant and me. So what. I let it rip. The mist. I even laughed. I bet he heard more impressive ass-busting earlier anyway. It felt like such a relief that as soon as I ripped ass I didn’t even have to shit. My friend Nick refers to these incidents as “Negative Shits.” I don’t wipe, pull up my jeans, write “Moter to the Limit” in a sharpie above the crime scene and catch my breath then pace out the door not even glancing at the sink jockey.
Walking back to the table seemed really important for some reason. I’m tipsy, under-dressed walking in slow motion in a restaurant that is supposedly “really nice” but has only been open for like two weeks and I am kind of stoned and drunk, thinking about my favorite song and who the prettiest girl in the restaurant is or in the entire world. Try hard then feel stupid and intentionally frown as usual. Getting back to my table and into my chair was all that mattered. So I eventually spotted the posse, sat down in my cold chair and smiled.
“I negative shat in that room back there,” I whispered at Nick, who was sitting next to me and was in the middle of an argument when I interrupted him.
“It’s been like twenty years since I have seen you dude” i directed quickly at Amber, who is sitting very close to the left of me, my nose stabbing her neck. Amber is a girl that I went to art school with who I used to make fun of until I kissed her when I had a girlfriend and that changed my attitude towards her. Now I am nice and shit, really sweet to her. I feel kind of markish and transparent when I small talk with her. I feel like she can see right through all my bullshit and it bothers me that it doesn’t really make her angry.
“Well, Mr. Rocha, what have you been doing?” Amber asks.
“Drawing, reading magazines, wishing I were famous I guess Amber McQuestions, jeez.”
“You will be in the future you little shit, relax!” she screams across my face, embarrassing me, realizing that I will most likely be ‘infamous’ instead of famous.
I take this in and decide its time for me to leave so I start to give a round of “What are you guys going to do after this?” Nobody gives me word so I classically leave solo.
At that moment i was invisible to everyony except for Jasper, one of my best friends whom I never see because he is engaged and doesn’t really need to hang out anymore. Looking at him from across the table I feel happy for him. I’m suddenly happy that I know him and that he will probably always surprise me even though I see him rarely in the neighborhood these days and I am too involved in my own catalogue to care. We make eye contact and smile, raise eyebrows as high as we can and hold our hands in the air at the same time. This act caught the attention of the party and then the din got louder and the questions got longer and a few arguments broke out.
-patrick rocha 07
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