letter 15: alcohol


I am drunk right now, and thus, I may not entirely be able to remember things as they really happened. I know I remember telling you that, and that you shouldn’t worry about you telling me your dirty little or big secrets because in my drunken state, I may not remember it the morning after. But because you refused to talk to me unless I can remember them, I am trying to be sober for you right now.

You have to remember me for this, Miguel, I never tried being sober with anybody. Ever.

“Let us song a sing together.” You whispered in my ear.

I knew it wasn’t the liquor that I laughed. I just found that statement funny. “I do not think we knew one common song we can sing from start to end.” I told you, shoving away that idea. I turned to you, “I still do not know what color your eyes are.”

“I do not know either. I do not study my eyes.” You answered.

“Is it blue? Blue green? Green?” I said looking at you intently. In moments like this, Miguel, I worshipped the liquor. Liquor always makes people less uninhibited with what they want to say. Liquor can give me an excuse right now to kiss you and seduce you.

But I am trying to be sober for you. And I promised to be sober for you tonight, so I will not do that.

“They’re really beautiful.” I told you.

And you sang a really funny song; I cannot remember the tune right now. Besides, I really doubt you sang it correctly anyway. But I remember the lyrics, Miguel, and it is funny:

My eyes are green; that’s cause I eat a lot of vegetables;
It doesn’t have anything to do with your new friend.

“I am going to burn a cd for you with all my favorite songs.” You said after you got tired repeating the same lines. You must have realized how your sentence sounds because you asked me, “What are your favorite songs anyway? I could add them in the compact disc.”

“Oh, oh… I have one.” And I sang it for you, Miguel. I do not sing because my voice sucks. And I cannot blame it on alcohol, because, as you remember, I promised to stay sober for you. But it is a crazy night and the alcohol is really marching inside my body and I do not really care anymore if my voice sucks. Besides, you are not a good singer yourself, anyway.

No one hurt my fragile little mind right now; its tangled up, and don’t you know;
the pussy cat in me is curling up right now; but I’ll bloom from inside out…
And right now there’s a dust in my guitar, you fuck. And its all your fault.
You paralyze my mind and for that, you suck!!!

“…and it’s all your fault. You paralyze my mind, and for that, “I knew I looked at you, Miguel. “And for that…you suck.”

And you held that stare. You held that stare as my voice faded and what was heard was the distant banging of the bands and screams of the wasted people inside the bar.

We have so many romantic moments, Miguel. Why are you not falling in love with me yet?

“You are a really funny girl.” You murmured, smiling at me. “And I have a question. Please answer it directly: what do you think of me?”

“You’re an amazing guy but you are very inconsistent.” I told you. “And I think I remember telling you that already.”

“I cannot remember.” You told me but the twinkle in your eyes told me otherwise. You are teasing me again.

“You like to please every girl.” I spat out and you straightened up after I said it. “I mean, you are too courteous to a fault.”

“Help me understand. Why do you think so? Did you see me talking to a lot of girls and pleasing them?”

I tried explaining to you, Miguel that I did not. And that it is how I feel and I can be wrong with what I feel. Sometimes, you cannot logically or qualitatively assess why; you just feel it. I tried making you understand it the way I want you to understand it, but it was so hard. God, it was like I am describing an apple, and you are seeing oranges.

“Okay, okay, okay. I might be wrong. It is just my impression and Caster mentioned something before. He said you like birds. You know, birds.”

You looked at me. “You mean the ones with wings and a beak.”

“Girls.” I told you. “You refer to girls as birds back there, don’t you?”

You were grinning at me at that moment. “No. When we say birds, we meant birds.”

How can I make you understand, Miguel, that I am basing it on how I felt you are treating me without mentioning myself? I have always believed that if you do these things to me without the element of love, then you can do these things with anybody else. That is the only explanation I can provide myself to explain why we are still talking at this point and to refrain from misunderstanding your actions.

You said nobody knew the things I know about you; and that you really do not have plans sharing it. It wasn’t clear to me now if you explained why but whatever the reason, Miguel, I do not want to hear it again. Every positive thing that happened to us makes my grave one foot deeper under ground.

“So, that was it, uh?” you spoke up after a while and then you stretched your legs and lied down on the ground, resting your head on the cement. I inserted my hands as a pillow and you turned and stared at me.

“You don’t want to do that; you’re going to hurt your hand.”

“Maybe I do.” I answered you. The last thing I am worrying, Miguel, is hurting my hands. I have hurt the bigger part of my anatomy already that it doesn’t matter anymore.

“You’re so sweet.”

“Thank you.”

“I love you already.” You spoke up, smiling at me, staring at me.

I do not know if you are joking or if you are serious. But if you were serious you probably have said it a long time ago; or perhaps, you probably have kissed me already right after you said it. But you were just staring at me with that smile on your face, a smile I cannot read, a smile I cannot fathom so I gathered you were just joking, Miguel. I can handle jokes like that. Besides, I am relying on alcohol that I may not remember this so much the morning after. Oh God, make me forget this the morning after. “Well, I love you, too.” I told you, grinning.

I stretched my legs and lied down on the ground, alongside with you. You took my hand away from your head and pressed it with yours. “You have small fingers.” I told you, noticing it closely for the first time.

“I do. Just like yours.”

“But I am a girl and I am not tall.” I reasoned and enveloped your left hand between mine. “They are really small.”


We stayed silent for a while, Miguel, and your fingers closed on mine and mine on yours. I cannot remember how long time has passes us before we found our voices and started talking again.

And our hands, Miguel, stayed locked with each other. And for the first time since the first time, it felt so natural to be touching you like that. To be lying on the ground of a parking lot watching a starless sky. To be staring at each other and holding the gazes longer than normal. I fell in love with you and there is really nothing either of us can do about it. And that particular moment, in my semi-drunken state, I knew it for a fact.

author’s note: As they lied there, detached from everyone else and everything else, I began to see the power they have over each other is the conversations that drive them together. I watched them and saw something very beautiful; they were contented, taking that night as if it was infinity in itself. They look like they could lie there forever and they would not mind whether their backs started aching. And I worry for them, for opportunities for conversations like what they have right now are not common occurrences. Their time is not made for normal days; and everything not made for normal days cannot exist in such.


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