Zero Technique

I thought, This is gonna be a good start, us sitting here all cozy with the reggae playing softly in the background and tons of alcohol to keep things relaxed. I took two gulps of my Red Horse and tried to think of something to say.

She cocked her head to the side, so pretty in punk. The pins and studs on her face were sparkling, halogen light bouncing off them like crystal dewdrops on a new morning. “Are you falling in love with me?”

I had no clue. Had she read my mind? What were these fluttery rainbow wings tearing out of a cocoon in my guts? I had a feeling this was going to be more difficult than I’d planned.

She leaned forward on the bar table with a Mudshaker in hand, eyeing me closely. “Spit it out, boy. You haven’t said a word since we got here.”

My voice snagged a nail in my throat and refused to let go. I sputtered then took another swig of my Red Horse. Cold comfort. I’d drunk too much. All shields were down, my façade posse was on break, my head was drugged up senseless and my mouth on two shot glasses of anesthesia.

“If you don’t want to talk, then fine. I’m just sitting here.”

She leaned back, crossing her arms and pouting at me all rose lips with silver thorns. I had to do something. Spool running out of thread, my brain searching for the dictionary, for anything that might exhale a contribution to her increasingly-uncomfortable monologue.

“I’m waiting, boy. This drink won’t last all night.”

There! The words were coming now, hard and slow, but they were coming, something to the tune of I drew a picture of you last Monday at the DJ Kazoo party and I made it into a painting and it took me all day to find the right colors but it’s right here in my backpack and I wanted to give it to you and say all sorts of things but we’ve been sitting here staring at each other for two hours and now I think I’m too drunk to even stand, but girl I think you know what I mean when I look at you like this, wait, maybe not like this...

“I...”

“Well?”

I had a good time last Monday.

“Uh...”

She stood up as I heaved all over the table. Shit. Not going to work right now. “Oh my god! You ate nilaga for dinner! It smells like fuck!"

Too dizzy. And it wasn't nilaga, girl, it was potchero.

"Napkins, please!”

Okay, not a good start. Not a good start. Please rewind and re-do. I’ve got a painting in my backpack and the puke’s now starting to seep in...