Anything for you baby.

I hung up the phone and hopped on the tube. I sat planning my next tasks—ok, so when I get back, I need to put money on my internet account. And when I’m done with that, I’ll get online to talk to Craig. God, I miss him. Five days. Hmm, I am thirsty. I wonder if there is a 24 hour place next to my hostel… Juice, water, or wine? Maybe I should run tomorrow. I have to finish that paper and send it in.

As I continued on with my inner monologue, I looked around blankly at the people crowded going to similar destinations. There were the preppy drunk Euro frat-looking boys (which is nonsense really because they don’t have Frats out here) all wearing the same shoes and I began to wonder if they planned something that ridiculous because clearly they were all drunk and stupid. I looked at a man with sunken English eyes until he stared back at me. A family sits across from me. The two sons are spitting images of their father. Both boys are thick and meaty with soft brown eyes and a sense of curiosity. They avoid my stares. Some mixed couples jump on and the girl with blond Renee Zwelleger hair and bad teeth screams for nothing. She holds some tall can as if it were some extension of her arm.

Inner monologue shifts to last night. The Last Night. Tonight spurs the first night alone. Oh, no. The drinks. The delicious meal with the boys. The girl with the boobs that almost fell out of her shirt when she talked. 2 glasses of wine, 2 pints of beer, 1 tequila shot, 1 jack and coke, and a double shot of gin and tonic and I’m … a whole new person. A night spent passed out on a couch and I wondered how I got there. Oh yeah. and thomas.

During my drinking rampage, the girls from our flat had just gone over to this schmoozy bar that charges too much for drinks and plays as if it were really ritzy, when it’s just… another overrated nice-looking bar. “The place flooded. We were told we could go back. Oh hey, Chelsea, Thomas says bye.” Thomas. See, we went to this schmoozy bar one drunken night a few weeks ago because you could get in for free before 10:30pm. And then we found out every drink was about 6 pounds (which translates into 12 dollars a pop for us Americans, folks) and they also ended up being very stingy on their alcohol. By then I was kind of over it. We sat glossing over the drink menu, wondering what our one drink for the night would be. I looked up and saw him. He was this charming looking boy coated behind square black-rimmed glasses and curly hair. The lighting was bad but I swore he was looking at me. Wait. Was he looking at me? I was with plenty of attractive girls; I couldn’t understand why he wouldn’t.

I was made fun of because the phone was my best friend. I was always waiting for Craig to call and we were always texting. “miss you” “love you” “wish you were here” Really queer stuff like that. I checked my phone. Nothing. No text or no phone call. I put the phone in my purse and stood behind my friends as they ordered from the attractive boy. I waited for them to leave the counter before I made my decision. I waved him over. Hmm.

“What do I want?” I smile at him.

“hah, well… I don’t know what you like.” He smiles back.

“Well, I can tell you I like alcohol. So make me something. Make me something strong and make it good because I am only buying one drink.”

“A Mai thai?

“what’s in it?”

“Alcohol.”

“Sounds good. A Mai thai.”

He makes my drink and I smile coyly. What am I doing?

He sets it in front of me. “Tell me if you like it.” I sip. “It’s not bad.” “good,” he says.

I walk away. I need to buy more drinks, I say to myself. This is going to be a long night.

Two drinks later and I’ve opened a tab to keep on with my naughty habit (at this point, it’s not about the drinking anymore). Every time I would walk up, I would ask him what’s my next drink and we eventually made small talk over the mojito. He was 28 years old working for a film editing crew where he did minor movies and music videos that I’ve never heard of and could have been equally not impressed either way. He worked as a bartender here only on the weekend and he was busy and single, as far as I was concerned. I was there studying theatre, I said between people’s orders. I screamed “I WANT TO BE A TEACHER” over the American rap. I do? I thought. On my last sip of my last drink, I said “well, that was my last drink. Now, I don’t have an excuse to come over and visit you.” He looks a little thrown off and smiles. I had already started to walk away and I flip the hair and smile. God, long hair is cool sometimes. I see him before I leave and drunkenly write my number down. He’s going on holiday next week but wants me to come next weekend. I said I’ll try. I don’t.

He doesn’t call.

THOMAS. From the bar we are at I see Thomas on the corner smoking a cigarette. I cross the street with my gin and tonic knowing I look absolutely a mess but whatever. “HEY” I say. He took up smoking ever since the ban started, he tells me. We talk about my last week and he says sorry he hasn’t called, he’s been busy. I believe him because he’s sweet and he told the girls to say bye to me. He wants me to come in the bar when the floor stops flooding. I say maybe but I don’t want to pay. He puts my name with the bouncer and I have an in. He is so cool under the lamp light. He talks in this soft posh accent and his kind smile exposes his disk-like teeth. He inhales and exhales every so often like a boy who’s just taken up smoking. 28 years old and I’m sure they are all that age here. I see him before I head back to the flat and tell him I am just going to change. I had every intention of going back. What am I doing? I thought. This can’t go anywhere

I didn’t end up going back. I blacked out and woke up on a couch on the flat. Cool.

I remembered that I forgot to see him. I felt bad. What a shitty thing to do, have him get me in for free and not go. I have to apologize. I don’t have his number. What’s today? Sunday. He’s working. Maybe, I should leave him a note, I thought instinctually. What? Would I really? Could I? I fought myself for three stops.

He did tell the girls to say bye.

I have to go by, it’s only polite.

Only stop by. Apologize. No drinks. I was in yoga pants and cut off sweatshirt. I wasn’t that impressive anyway.

What about the boyfriend?

What about him? Nothing happened. Nothing is going to happen. I never did tell him I had one. I began to feel guilty. It’s just a note, I coaxed myself. Only words left on a piece of paper. I wondered if I should assume that I would leave a note. What would I say? Should I write it now? No. Shut up inner monologue. Be patient. Be impulsive. We’ll see.

I get off at Gloucester and already it feels foreign. The street is warm and inviting and more rowdy as I have ever seen it. Someone from the apartments is playing AFI loudly and unashamed. On the corner is the place that I think might be a hostel because masses of boys drink there and hustle girls as they walk by in their high heels as they attack the night. I walked and wondered why I wasn’t nervous. Why would I be anyway? I was just going to apologize.

I walk up and ask the bouncer if Thomas—the bartender—is there. The bouncer looks at me and says he doesn’t know, but he remembers me from last night. He unhooks the clasp and lets me in. I thank him, surprised he even let me in. I walk down to the bar.

He’s not there. Figures.

“Is Thomas here tonight?”

“Not yet. About twenty minutes or so. Did you want a drink?”

“No thanks. I’ll just wait for him.”

Perfect, I think. I’ll leave a note. Hopefully he doesn’t come down while I write it. I grab a cocktail napkin, like I’ve always wanted to do, and start to jot down a message.

“Thomas—Looks as if I missed you. It was so nice to see you again. I apologize for last night, I was a bit… distracted (translating blacked out—and no, I didn’t write this part). You should give me a ring if you’re not busy this week. Cheers, Chelsea.”

Non-committal. Nonchalant. And even pretty savvy for having been written on a cocktail napkin. I leave the note with the other bartender. I thank the bouncer. And I head to the tube to get off at the next stop. I walk away thinking, what am I doing?