Mondays at the Cheerful Tortoise

It kills me to realize that I am not who I was yesterday. If you’ve ever lost a part of yourself so completely in one evening, completely lost it in the middle of a drinking session, when everyone discovered the truth and you were there, naked in the middle of the surgery, when a tiny slice of your personality was surgically removed. Then maybe you’ll relate to my particular tale of woe.

We went out for drinks, after wandering around the park blocks looking for Jamie, but she never showed, so we piled into the Tortoise, which was heaving from all the students on finals week, shoveling drinks down their gullets. We sat in the back so we could openly mock the staff, which served drinks peppered with a sort of garish originality. There’s desperation to it, I think. But all the barmaids want to get laid, or at least give you that impression when they wink at you, but they’re really thinking this guy has ordered four whiskey sours, which is a complete novices drink, a drink people order to act like they’ve been drinking for years. But I buried that thought and carried on talking to Mike, who gave me the low down on the latest trauma his had to induce. His father owns the largest steel company in town, and he’s always complaining about the fact that he cannot find a girl who is “just interested in me.” I always rebut with “I’d love to have that problem” but he never seems to forget that I’m always like that, perpetually single.

Ok, so back to that night. It’s so easy to get off topic, because I’m sitting in bed writing this, and the couple in the dorm room above are having sex, and I’m this little dweeb banging his thoughts onto his brand new HP laptop and its winter in Portland, and I cant remember what I did last night, even though I know its painful.

I light a smoke down on the street; my hair is now up in my wool cap. Showering is useless in this cold, and the construction for the new addition to the Portland art museum woke me up this morning, as did the screeching of the carts at the new Safeway that is almost free of bums.

It was one of those evenings that return to you in flashes the following day, over coffee and confection at the Meetro. I’m on campus now, and walking freely among the busy students who still have finals.

“If you want to go on giving a shit and acting like we never loved each other, then fine, but it’s a slap in my face for you to act like this” I remember this now, while eying a red head gal reading over her Chem Homework. I remember being covered by a drink shortly after Jessica told this too me, even though Martin hadn’t arrived yet. Martin was Jessica’s new boyfriend. Jessica and I broke up a few months ago, but still occasionally got together and have sex like it didn’t mean anything. She always just wanted someone, even if all it consisted of was two body parts arguing and fighting like crazy for half an hour until we fell asleep defeated and exhausted.

She had just thrown a drink in my face after I staggered up to her booth, even though Mike told me I shouldn’t over and over again. I stubbornly refused it, slurring all along the way. The room heaved to and fro, like I was on the Pequot --the ship that Queequeg and Ishmael board in “Moby Dick”-- it was like watching poorly executed German cinema. She laughed at my pathetic sight and for a moment the memory remained then fizzled as I made my way up to my dorm and fell asleep for an hour.

When I awoke my cell phone was still vibrating from the messages left from the disgruntled masses I had offended the evening prior.

It took days to realize I was going to be friendless for a long, long time.