I should've just touched by Christine Keyonzo
Spaces in rooms.
I currently don't know the person next to me but
that won't remain a matter of fact very long. My friend's friend. They're in
the same club. So some space but it's minimal, familiar and impersonal all at
once. Peer pressure has me feeling goooood.
I've been pretty drunk before but this was one
for the books. Plus my roommate had this strange focus. She was hell bent.
"Kwani umekosa kazi. Kwenda!"
Some guy I know pretty well, i wouldn't go so
far as to call him, a friend, but i know him. Had this young impressionable
freshman pressed up against the wall. Know the girl too. They were snug in the
corner of some abandoned construction site. Yeah yeah it was that one who got
handed around a bit after that. In any case.
I uh, I, there were some undercover lusty
glances and some wandering fingers but I held my own. Shared a spliff with
another guy. It was pretty bad. I promise I’ll quit. What can I say, I try
(check my twitter).
So i leave that space and search for a suitable
distraction. They started taking pictures that might express elevated forms of
joy right now but will most definitely express regret in the morning. I spotted
my roommate right in the fray. I stayed away from that.
Which doesn't leave me with too many options.
See, the booze hadn't reached its high yet and i was aware of most things
happening around me, by the way that intoxicated no man's land is the worst.
You can't talk to the sober guys because you are still kinda drunk and the real
wasted people are just a tedious affair.
I promise I’ll quit.
I ask myself one of the most important questions
to ever occupy a young adult's mind with its gravity, “now what?" But it
like most things here are a dead end.
Defeated by the void in that question I set
myself on the fucking curb with the blackout baby alcoholics and moochers. But
everybody's a moocher, really, even me. And i suddenly feel sorry for myself in
profound ways.
Some weed head, Andrew is it, emerges from the
bush. This guy, the guy has one of those asses they use to advertise men's
running tights. I look.
By some act of God he settles himself next to
me. His eyes are blown out of the water, look like dinner plates.
He tells me he knows me from somewhere,
I tell
him it's a small school.
He says ni changamke,
I say I loved Native Son
He gets up and leaves.
I look once more.
Like I said, dead end. I even get the urge to
put my hand down the front pocket of my classmate's jeans just, yes just
because. I can't figure out the reason why.
Whatever.
Then comes opinionated, gutsy Sheila. I don't
recall ever seeing her at one of these shindigs. I kind of hate her a little
bit now. Don't worry though, that says more about me than it does her.
She's a rubble rouser that one. She blinks a few
times like she's trying to clear the fog, and proceeds to crush my rib cage
with the force of the hug she gives me. Like, suddenly, she knows me like that.
My eyes trail after her limp wrists. Is that supposed to be attractive?
Absolutely no space there.
Time to call it a night then. The usual suspects
were covered. Roomate's nowhere to be seen but that's nothing new, I think
that's sambuca down the front of my shirt and I need to pee, urgently.
Hey, but it wasn't a total bust, I still have my
dry spell record and dignity intact. Stuff that doesn't mean much in the scheme
of things.
I go on a
hunt for my other friend who I came with. She wants to have fun and my
definition of fun right now is my duvet. So i leave with one last glance at
'same club guy', he has head on a girl's lap on some steps in that cosy
seclusion. You know the one I’m talking about. He tells the girl "huna
bahati leo. Maziwa yako ilisha oza." I don't know what that means but it
does not sound pleasant.
But I know him enough now.
Later that night I’m lying in bed thinking ' I
should've just touched.'
No comments:
Post a Comment