on a rambling post of one night...

Last night*.  Drinks out with the Gotham girls.  I ordered a Gin, lime, soda and sour.  It tasted like lemonade, like something you'd drink quickly after a long, hot walk.  And so I drank it quickly even though the subway ride wasn't long or hot.  And then I had two more.  Add a shot of whiskey, a shot of something suitable "for four cute girls" from the bartender, and I turned into the version of myself who sang along loudly and boldly with the band. 

This morning I was neither loud nor bold.  My head was heavy and my stomach, which only held alcohol and half of a side of french fries, was angry.  I don't do this anymore.  At a wedding last month I had two glasses of wine over six hours and called that a party.  So if that was a party then, in my world, last night was Mardi Gras.

I was not alone.  The other three were in the same state as we eased our way out of the comfort of the bar and onto the street.  We said goodbye as Kate and Chantal walked in one direction and Rosa and I made our way in the other.  Rosa's hand was in mine, her small frame teetering between upright and falling over, and she wouldn't let go.  I clasped her tighter and hailed a cab, gave the directions to her place and then, once she was out, to mine.

The cab driver asked how my night was and I told him that I had probably drank a little too much but that it was great.  That I met these women a year ago in a writing class and we had become friends, stayed in touch, and that my nights out with them were some of the easiest and most fun.  He told me that he wasn't really a cab driver, that he was trying to be a personal trainer but that no one wanted to be trained by an Indian man.  I said he was wrong and over-enthusiastically told him that I'd be happy to be trained by an Indian man.  He gave me his card and I wished him luck as we pulled onto my street and I paid the fare.

Opening the door to the apartment felt strange.  The lights were on and Mike sat at the table with the laptop open doing work.  That room, in that minute, felt like a different world.  Like these two things could not have happened in the same night.  Mike, writing a lesson plan and putting in his attendance records at home and me, dancing along Baxter Street after several hours in a dark bar.  It reminded me that on any given moment there are these planes of being just gliding over each other.  All these thousands and millions of moments and people in one night.  I was most definitely looking into it too much.  Drinking and dancing and singing along will do that to you.

I dropped my bag on the floor too loudly, whispered an apology to the neighbors below us for the noise, kissed Mike hello and goodnight, and went to bed. 

*technically "last night" was several weeks ago. I just haven't posted since I wrote this.