I, I Bring the Fire

Trinh threw an after-new year's gettogether at his place. Trashcan punch and some traditional Vietnamese finger foods: egg rolls, spring rolls, and some other stuff. And a pitcher of some nasty Mexican shit called Chalada, which is a mixture of Clamato and beer.

We watched Peyton choke and allow the Chargers to edge the Colts out of the playoffs. I quaffed a couple of cups of the trashcan punch, and Don and I bailed to head out to Midtown.

-

We met up with John, who was home from New York for the holidays, and some of his friends at a rooftop bar in Midtown. John hangs out with a lot of guys that went to high school with us, but I sleepwalked through too much of high school to know or remember any of them.

The place filled out, and I bumped into all sorts of familiar faces, both friendly and otherwise. After making a few rounds about the place, visiting with folks and pretending it was good to see them again, I sequestered myself off at a table, hanging out with John.

John had a friend swing by from the north side of town, a girl he went to school with in college. She was an average-to-cute looking Chinese girl, confident and social. She adorned awkward accessories -- a roomy beanie that looked like a wool showercap, colorful scarves, etc. -- the way people who spent four years living in a college town tend to dress.

She scored a seat on the couch next to me and we kicked off. We shared stories about how we knew John. It turns out she met John while they were taking salsa lessons, and I teased John a bit about taking dancing classes.

The girl had a monstrous zit on her forehead that night, which I'm sure she was aware of and self-conscious about, and I spent most of the time averting my eyes, trying not to take notice. She had a cute laughter, but a crooked smile that made creases in her nose. The nose-creasing smile was kind of unattractive, but being that she was the only girl in the place sitting on the couch and talking to me, I convinced myself that it was a nice smile.

At the end of the night, she was sober and so we did not exchange spit. The bar closed, and we parted ways. And because one of the first questions she asked me was, "So what do you do for a living?" we did not exchange contact information.