#2 The Party

Chapter 2 of a series of experiments in post-autofiction

: aka

>This is a work of autofiction. Any names or characters, businesses or places, events or incidents, are possibly fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is likely coincidental. Or not<

It didn't take long for me to get into the rhythm of self-absorbed confusion, helplessness came natural. My adherence to routines became irregular, I was skipping my skincare on mondays and tuesdays just to obsessively spend hours in front of my mirror layering glycolic acid niacinamide lactic acid aha bha vitamin c centella snail mucin ceramide on wednesdays. I went caffeine and sugar-free for thrusdays, had double-shot flat whites with oat on fridays. I worked out as obsessively as I laid down on my couch. I went to the hairdresser three times in two weeks, bleach and tone. I bought haircutting scissors and gave myself bangs. My instagram stories became filled with half-suggestive selfies, self-absorbed captions, inside jokes with myself. One night I got high and thought that I actually could just quit my job and fly to New York City, and so I texted my boss and bought my tickets. I spent a week there, wandering around, in a state of blissful disorientation. I saw the sights, walked the blocks, talked to the walls, my eyes veiled by a distance one could only achieve abroad. But while the pleasure of indulging in a last-minute trip scratched the itch of my inner emptiness, I knew I had to go back home to deepen my practice. With the hole in my chest as empty as ever, I bought a cute pair of "I <3 NY" shorts, a pack of malboro menthols, and flew back right in time for the most anticipated party of the season. Everyone was gonna be there, “a movie”.

The Party seemed like the perfect occasion in which to test my limits. The timing was perfect. Thursday morning I had come back from New York. Still jet lagged, I had worked the whole of Friday and Saturday (turns out you need to give a month's notice to quit). 8 hours on my feet, 10 minutes nap, 20 minutes to get ready, 30 minutes to bike to the venue under the rain. I got to The Party at 7pm sharp, planning to leave 12 hours later.

I decided I would stick to two friends for the beginning of the night, only to roam around aimlessly in the latter part of the night, quickly moving from one cluster of acquaintances to the dance floor and back to another cluster of vaguely known people. Bouncing around so as not to allow myself to engage in full conversations where any meaningful interaction could occur. I also decided to fixate on a man, call it Plan A. In case of failure, I also decided to have a Plan B and C. Desperate but with a plan.

Not long after getting to The Party, I was already exhausted. My feet hurt, I was drinking without feeling drunk, it was too cold outside and too hot inside. It was my time to shine. I thought to myself: I am spiralling down, but I am in total control.

My gaping hole revealed itself to be a black one, eating up every single thing I threw at it: drugs, skinny bitches, effortful conversations with friends of friends, getting ignored at the bar, a night watch, another night watch, the jitters from the caffeine, a friend not getting in, someone trying to jump the fence getting his coat stuck, the line to the bathroom, the lines in the bathroom, holding back the hair of a stranger, stickers and tags, the sweat of men without a shirt, avoiding anyone who I could genuinely be interested in, trying to take a photo but forgetting the sticker the bouncer put on the camera's phone, attempting to dance with mediocre man A, seeing him awkwardly grind on another girl a few hours later, plan B not even being cute, not figuring out who plan C should be, spilling a full drink on the dance floor, a k-hole, dancing, losing my earplugs, jumping, back and forth inside outside, my not so white anymore converse, a cigarette, a vape, another cigarette, do you have a lighter?, a menthol, a puff of a joint, hunger, the flask we snuck in, keys, my cute little shorts, a banger, running to dance, half a moshpit, shazaming a tune, forgetting who the DJ is, a mistake in the mix, emergency loops, walking in loops, around and around, just looking. Looking around. All of my energy outwards, towards them, the other, the gaze, the universe outside of me. Everything happening outside of me, inside, nothing but the empty. 

I was planning on barely saying any goodbyes, but on my way out I got stuck talking to an old colleague. I think I laughed for the first time in hours or maybe days. I had to get a hold of myself and leave. I biked back all on my own at 7 am. As I was lazily pedalling through my usual path, I decided to take a right turn when I should have taken a left. At every intersection which would have led me back to the correct, shortest, most convenient way home, I went the other way, on a path that was longer, windier, full of bumps in the concrete, stoplights, road works. My internal deranged compass led me to the neighbourhood where Plan A lived. I spent all the energy I had left looking around, hoping he would be somewhere there, and he would see the depth of my cored-out chest and fill it with something (cement, touch, promises). But he wasn't there, probably too busy fucking that girl in the bathrooms of The Party. There was no one around, only me and the smell of cigarettes encrusted in my hair. Somehow I returned to the correct way home. Every push on the pedal like pushing a rock up a hill. I stopped for a second in the park, just for a minute. I got off my bike and stood in front of this gated section protected from human interference by a shallow canal. Nature there was allowed to run much wilder than in its surroundings. The trees were silver and gold, sunrise sun and sunrise wind making them dance. The chirping of birds sounded muffled through my busted club ears. I closed my eyes for a second, deep breath in, deep breath out. When I arrived back home, as I was taking off my sweaty outfit, I noticed a ladybug resting on my bare chest, at the centre of my carved sternum. I carefully brushed my teeth, braided my hair, wiped my makeup off. I closed my curtains, laid down, blanket only covering my belly down. I woke up 12 hours later, the ladybug was gone, but the hole was still there.