Crying at the discotheque

“I don’t get how I got this shit,” I say with my head laying on the kitchen, feeling as though my energy is being funneled out of my chest through a swizzle straw.

“I guess we all got the same virus,” my dad says as he’s drying a dish.

I raise my head up from the table in an investigatory nature. My hair is in a messy bun and my mouth tastes like the kale I threw up all night. I’m wearing a worn out t-shirt that has a hole in the breast area. My nipple’s poking out through it. I notice and though I don’t care, out of curiosity, I tuck it back in my shirt. It has no place in the outside world.

“You know, I probably got it from you. You were vomiting the day before, and then I went to poop,” I lift my head even higher from the table, “and the water probably shot back up and the bacteria went inside me and now, look.”

My dad looks at me in silence as he makes an unsettling look, “it’s not because of the toilet water.”

“Well, I have no other rational explanation for it,” I drop my head heavily back onto the table.

---

 

“Out of everyone, he ruined you the most, I think,” my friend says as we look out at the Danube River, sitting on a park bench.

“Yeah, I know,” I reply flatly.

“No one else invested that much time an–”

“I know, I know,” I say, cutting him off. “But, now, I feel so much better not seeing him, you know, it’s been a year since I’ve hung out with him.”

“Yeah, that’s the best for you.”

A few minutes pass. I look at the time, it’s 2 am.

“Okay, I’m off, I gotta go to sleep,” I announce as I yawn, getting up from the park bench.

“Alright, I’ll give you a shout in a couple days, we’ll chill,” my friend says as he puts out his hand.

“Sounds good,” as I shake his hand.

I’m walking home, heading up to pass through the city park. The entrance of the park is laced with thick prickly hedges, as I place one foot into the park, my phone rings.

“Where are you?” Tijana says.

“I’m just walking through the park, going home, where are you?”

“I’m at the park, just wait, I’m coming to get you.”

“Who are you with?” I ask as I see Tijana walking around the corner towards me.

“You’ll see, just come, it’s a fun time,” she says into the phone as she waves to me.

I keep talking to her on the phone and end up standing in front of her with my phone still stuck to my cheek. 

Tijana’s wearing a black and white psychedelic dress. The dress covers her chest, however, her tits somehow manage to look even bigger than usual. We walk back towards the group she’s hanging with, as I approach, my eyes set on one of the guys there – the hair on my arms immediately stands up.

“Cao, Natasha,” the guy says as he kisses me on the cheek, holding a half-empty bottle of Rakija in one hand.

I haven’t seen him in months. He looks thinner and sadder then I remember. His cheeks look concaved, yet there’s still a dim light in his eyes. We stand for a moment, facing each other in silence.

“Guys, let’s gooooo!” Tijana says enthusiastically.

I quickly turn my head, “I’m gonna go hom–”

“No, no, you’re coming with us, just for a little bit,” as she takes my hand and pulls me towards her car.

I’m sitting in the back seat of her car with a breakdancer to my left who is listening to some annoying song on his portable speaker, a drunk skater boy seated in the front passenger seat, Tijana in the driver’s seat, and the guy to my right. Because of his height, the guy’s legs are pressed up next to mine, making the side of my thigh slippery with sweat.

“Cao Natasha,” the guy says to me.

“How are you?” I ask, shifting my thigh.

“Great,” he lethargically says while looking at his bottle.

“What have you been up to?”

“What have you been up too,” he says mockingly, “you’re so boring.”

In the background, everyone is laughing loudly, competing with the shitty music that’s playing even louder. I’m sitting in the middle of the back seat in silence. The guy’s arm moves my hand around his neck as he lowers his head onto my chest. I hug him with my other arm. Tijana and the other’s continue their laughter as I stare straight ahead through the window, cradling him. He lifts his head up and kisses me on the cheek, I stroke his head as he places it back onto my chest. He lifts his head up again and kisses me on the cheek. He’s head falls back onto my chest as he falls asleep. My eyes are watery and I continue to stroke his head until we arrive at the club.

“Maybe we should leave him in the car to sleep,” I say.

“No, no, he’ll be fine, I’ll wake him up,” the breakdancer says.

The guy wakes up and stumbles out of the car, holding the bottle of rakija. He opens the bottle, takes a chug and tries to put the cap on. I take the bottle from him and tell him that I’ll hold onto it for him. I leave it in the car.

I push the bamboo door open and walk into the club. It’s an outdoor club that’s filled with blue strobe light and cigarette smoke. People are dancing on empty oil drums and wooden tables, while in the corner there’s a dance off between some guy with a tear drop tattoo on his cheek and another guy with a man bun. Our group splits up. Tijana and I begin dancing on a bench beside a white girl with cornrows, she doesn’t know any of the words to the song “California”. As I’m dancing on the bench, a small Nigerian man is standing below me, with large white eyes, trying to mimic my dance moves.

“You dance nice, girl.” he yells at me with a thick accent.

“Thank you,” I yell back.

“Come and dance with me, baby girl,” he says as he jerks his hips.

I smile back and shake my head.

I overlook the small Nigerian man and see the guy, falling asleep in the corner. I jump down from the bench and head to him.

“You have to wake up,” I say, shaking him.

There’s no reply. I pick up his wallet and house keys that are laying on the ground, next to his feet. I tuck them back into his jean pocket and try to wake him up.

“Why don’t you come over here–,” I say, with a hand on his shoulder.

“Fuck you,” he jerks himself away from me, resting his head on the club wall, continuing to sleep.

 

People are grinding next to me, dropping their beers on the concrete floor, making out with their saliva flying, splattering on each other’s cheeks and lips, all while the music is giving a steady rhythm. I stand in front of him and stare in silence.

I turn away and walk towards the exit.

“Where are you going?” Tijana says, just catching me before I leave.

“I can’t — I can’t do this, I’m going home,” I say, with watery eyes, “I’m not doing this again.”

“Okay okay, we’ll go, just let me say goodbye to some people,” she says, grabbing her purse.

I walk up my the stairs to my apartment, open the door, take off my shoes, pause for a moment and then run to the bathroom. I quickly move my hair out of my face, holding onto it with one hand, while holding myself up with my other hand, vomiting into the toilet. I finish, sit beside the toilet, grab a piece of toilet paper and begin to wipe the dried dirt and beer from my legs. I go my bed and stare at the ceiling until morning.

---

“Which towel is yours?” My mom yells from the bathroom.

“The green one,” I reply, as I lift my head from the table and wipe the drool creeping from the corner of my mouth.

“But that’s Alex’s towel,”she replies.

“No it’s min— why does he use my towel,” I yell back. “You know what, that’s probably why I got sick. His bacteria was on the towel and then I used it, wiped my face into it and now, look.”

Beer breath and denim: A Serbian Wedding

“Just be yourself,” a man says to me drunkenly.

“What?” I yell over top of the jazz clarinet playing in the background.

“I like you,” he slurs while holding a beer, “just be yourself. You’re dressed like a – you know.”

“What, what do I look like?” I ask him.

He fumbles trying to say his next sentence.

“I’m at a wedding, you’re wearing fucking jeans and a polo,” I loudly say in his ear.

“Just be yourself,” he insists as he stumbles backward.

I stare at the sky in silence trying to control my rage. I then watch him regain his balance as he continues to wobble beside me on the dance floor. I turn around and walk back to the table, grab my orange juice and sit down.

---

“Just look at me!” I tell my parents, as I look up at the ceiling to avoid watery eyes.

“You look sweet, it’s a nice change on you,” my mother says sincerely.

I look like a goat milker. I’m unaware of how goat milkers actually look, but I have a sense that I would be suitable for the position at this very moment. In an attempt to look more feminine and gentle, I am now sporting a mushroom hairdo. My mother had told me that I needed to look clean, so, she suggested that I should step back from the overly curly mop look and go for something more subtle. I’m not naturally subtle but, I started thinking, maybe a change would be good. So, now I’m here and late for the wedding.

“I’m late,” I say monotonously, “Bye mom.” I grab my bag and head out to Tijana’s house.

I knock on Tijana’s  front door, she opens and stares at me with big eyes. I say nothing as I walk past her and head straight into her room. She follows.

“I look like a goat milker,” I say as I put down my bag.

“No,” she laughs non-convincingly, “you look sweet”.

“This wedding is going to be full of doctors,” I look up at the ceiling with a quivering lip, “and, look at me” my arms fall to my side, “nobody’s going to want this.”

“You don’t have to find someone at this wedding.”

“I want free therapy!” my eyes start to water, “you know how expensive acupuncture is.”

“Stick your head in the shower,” she says as she straps on her high heels.

My head is under the sink faucet. I’m hunched over, staring blankly at the bar of soap that’s eye level to me. Tijana’s dog is humping my leg ferociously at the same time. I don’t move.

I blow dry my hair and it returns back into its normal bush. We leave to the wedding.

We arrive at a cobblestoned street in the middle of the forest. I hobble down the cobblestones with Tijana grabbing onto my arm for support. I watch my heels balance for stability between the cracks of stone. With each step, I go deeper in thought.

Am I undressed for this? Oh god, I hope they have vegetarian options. And stick to water, you’re bloated. 

I turn the corner and stand at the entrance of the open-air restaurant, filled with floating lamps and wedding-like decorations. The first guest I see is a girl with bleached blonde hair, wearing camouflage pants and sneakers. The boy beside her is wearing denim jeans and a low V-neck t-shirt.

“This is the wedding, right?” I ask Tijana as I look at the guests and then stare at her outfit. She’s wearing a tight one shoulder black dress that accentuates every curve of her body, matched with a pair of large golden hoop earrings. Let’s just say that you could easily go to a club with that dress.

We walk into the venue and the room goes silent as they all stare at us.

“Has no one been to a fucking wedding before?” I mumble to Tijana.

During dinner, two men come up to us and ask for a seat. One’s a doctor and talking to Tijana, so, I am given no option but to wing woman. The man that sits down beside me is partially balding and wearing a plaid shirt fully buttoned, jeans, and new balance orthopedic sneakers, he says he’s a psychiatrist.

“I like flamingo dancing,” my guy says to me as he sits attentively in my direction.

Are you fucking kidding me? 

With forced enthusiasm I say, “really?” and turn my head to pick up my glass of juice which I am strongly regretting that I didn’t opt for something a little stronger – like vodka or a horse tranquilizer.

I return my attention back to the psychiatrist only to see that he’s decided to practice his flamingo dancing moves in front of me. He snaps his fingers from side to side, wiggles his hips in his seat and rhythmically taps his feet on the ground. I think he’s peacocking, I read that somewhere.

“Okay,” I say as I put my drink down, “well, I’m going to go to the dance floor, it was great talking with you.” I swiftly get up and speed walk to the crowd in hopes of losing him.

Twenty minutes later, Tijana finds me on the dance floor.

“Where’d you go?” She yells.

“To safety,” I yell back as I swing my hips, “did the doctor get your number?”

“Yeah, I’m going to go back and talk to him,” she yells as she walks away.

For a moment, I feel relief. Sure, I may not have met anyone, but I may be the plus one of  Tijana’s potentially new boyfriend’s yacht. While I’m dancing alone, I realize that if you just be yourself, things will work themselves out, you don’t need to try so hard.

My moment of deep realization quickly came to an end, as I feel a hot breath on my face.

“Just be yourself,” he drunkenly says.

I look up at the sky with rage.