Business’ birthday rolled around and upon his request a group of us gathered at Artichoke to celebrate. Those attending were some I rarely see, mainly because they’re couples who don’t make it out to the bar often…Business included.
While I may have met my verbal match in one half of one couple, it was odd to sit between the twosome as they tossed emotional missiles across the table. Being together for a decade is enough to make anyone resentful, though it sure doesn’t seem like the key to an extended relationship, happy or other. When the comments literally moved below the belt to share what should be considered intimate details it makes me wonder if it’s possible for anyone to have a happy relationship. Or, is it a matter of finding someone who fits a role well enough to no longer qualify yourself as single to meet the rules of society that shun you after your twenties?
Consuming more than my share of drinks, I exited the bar early, heading home to enjoy a little party of my own. Falling asleep that night, not only did I find random dreams, but also a portal into the past. The sun rose and a vicious bang rang through the bedroom, catapulting me out of the sheets. There, six stories up on the fire escape, was some random guy trying to get through. It’s a good thing I was sleeping naked otherwise I would have jumped out of my underwear. The shock, the rush of anxiety, exactly what I felt in Brooklyn five years ago when I awoke to a similar bang to discover a guy halfway through the window. I could hear the guy complaining about the wooden dowel in the window, never have I felt so secure in a tiny piece of wood. By the time I found pants and pulled back the curtain the guy was long gone.
After I calmed my nerves it sent my mind racing. Conversations from the night before replayed, people talking about how awful it was to be twenty, then being surprised when they realized I was a twenty-something. I’m nearing the end of my twenties and though I like to think so much has changed, other than the location and friends, so much seems to be the same. My mouth is my identifier, and not in a sexual manner, people are still climbing in my windows, not in a storybook manner, I’m picking the guys that are the obvious bad choice, them thinking it’s okay to make me the backup plan…and of course, I spend an inappropriate amount of time in my head analyzing everything.
Here’s to the terrible twenties and knowing that no matter how far away from them you get, they’re lurking just over your shoulder to remind you of where you’ve been.