Wednesday, July 1, 2009: Singing Single

(This excerpt is dedicated to all of my crazy, kooky friends. I love you all… Thank you for the memories.)

She squealed so loudly into the phone, the speakers crackled. “I’m single!” Merissa screamed.

“Me too!” a voice shouted in the background, and I knew that it had to be her roommate, Cindy.

It was 10:00 at night and I had just gotten out of class. My phone rang off the hook while I desperately tried to pay attention in my International Marketing seminar; Merissa just wouldn’t give in. She didn’t desire advice, or comfort, or pity with the phone call, however. She wished for another unattached soul to inspire her, coax her into a bittersweet celebration.

 
And I was that friend.

I took off my shoes and wiped tired eyes as I listened to her break-up in my dorm, readers digest version. I knew what was coming, though: “I can’t be thinking about it. I need something to keep my mind off of him.” A concise statement, but full of hope for an innovative idea. My answer surprised even me.

“Let’s drive to New York City.”

Merissa paused on the other end. “New York City? Tonight?”

I tried to talk myself out of the suggestion but failed. “Um, yeah.  Now.”
Cindy caught wind of our conversation and started screaming. “I LOVE YOU!” Laughter and music suddenly boomed on the other end. “Okay then,” Merissa said. “I’ll come pick you up in twenty minutes. Let me get ready. Bye!”

I needed backup. I silently cursed as my fingers dialed my favorite gay’s number. “Matt? We’re going to New York City, right now, on a Wednesday night, because Merissa just became single. You can’t say no.”

“Okayyyy…” Matt drawled. I was stunned.

“No objections?”

“None, I’ll be over in ten.”  He hung up before I could dispute. Still not believing my motives but letting my body go through its motions, I jumped in the shower and got dressed. I then opened my door to a pristinely dressed Matt, and a devilishly smiled Tim. “Single much?” My other favorite gay swooped me off of my feet and swung me around. “I’m in too,” he breathed.

I now had about fifteen minutes to figure out a way to entertain four single friends on a Wednesday night in New York City. Searching through my options, I Facebooked an old friend who lived in Manhattan. “Try the Hookah Bar,” he said. “It’s open until four.” Hookah Bar, Time Square… and we did have alcohol. I crossed my fingers for a decent adventure.

Merissa arrived shortly after in her car with Cindy, and one more gay, in the backseat. I took one look inside her tiny vehicle and put my foot down.  “That’s it,” I said. “Get me to my car, I will drive us in the Buick.”  

We weren’t on the road until 11:15. Three single girls and three single gay men drove through the night squished from window to window, all not caring about the discomfort. Vodka glasses were clanking in the backseat as techno blared from the speakers… fists and open hands were pumping and flailing out open windows. I breathed in deeply the thrill of the night. The feeling of youth at its essence enveloped me in silent revelry.

Until the sound of sirens overpowered our techno music. And blue and red lights beckoned me out of my fantasy.

Yes, friends… we got pulled over. Two cops came into view, the main man peering into our car beyond small rimmed glasses. I was caught doing 85 in a 65 mph lane. And then he looked in the backseat, at  four scared-shitless faces. “ID’s please,” the officer commanded. “All of you.”

My mind had never worked so fast before. I thought of excuses. I thought of the sexual favors three gay guys and three girls could perform. I thought of parent targeted explanations. And then the officer returned.

He gave me a warning.

Fast forward three hours. We were all still awake, pulling into a tiny, dimly lit hookah bar in Manhattan. I managed to drive the remainder of the way with only a minor near-death experience. (Three tractor trailers closing in on me from all sides, not a big deal.)My friend Kyle met us in the establishment and after exchanging names we sat down to enjoy the night. Two colossal hookah lamps were placed before us; feeling spontaneous we ordered sex on the beach and pineapple mango flavors. (We splurged, so what.) It wasn’t long before the non- hookah smokers (Merissa and Cindy) were sucking on the nozzles like lollipops, taking pictures with smoke in their faces. I was trying to catch up to the others by sucking down drinks when- surprise- the hookah lamp spilt over, sending coals flying.

One landed in Cindy’s dress, singeing her zebra print. Others cascaded down the table onto the fabric chairs, burning the exterior. Before I could fully get up, five dark skinned men skidded around me, speaking an unknown language and flailing dishtowels. Metal tongs were used to pick up the cooling masses- the men cursed while onlookers put down their instruments to watch the show.   

We didn’t get kicked out, thankfully. We were instructed (or commanded) to put the hookah lamp on the floor to prevent future disturbances, and once again, our night continued. We smoked until the last coal turned to ash, until the last wall candle died. We then said farewell and proceeded with our adventure.

Time Square was our next destination. I will never forget the feeling of being buzzed, surrounded by trillions of lights and flashing male models and Tiffany’s rings. I wanted to ride on the rotating Hard Rock guitar. I wanted to shove ten hot dogs down my throat. I wanted to sing like I was on Broadway and scream like an MTV fanatic. Needless to say, after taking pictures, I was still not ready to drive home.

Cindy’s gay volunteered to drive my car back since he was wide awake, and I agreed wholeheartedly: My work was done. I planned, I saw, I conquered the Big Apple. Sleep was my final sole desire. I climbed into the backseat and despite practically resting on the floor my heavy eyes closed. For two and a half long, wonderful hours my dreams visited me again and again. I woke up unexpectedly to someone panicking, however. Not a good sign. Especially when my car was the one panicking… then dying completely.

So my car ran out of gas. Our good friend was looking at the OIL meter instead of the gas gage and didn’t see the cursor on the E sign. Then below the E sign.

Ready for this one?

All cell phones were practically dead. We were in the midst of a raging thunderstorm. We were on the side of an exit with no shoulder. We could see the arrows directing travelers to nearby gas stations, but we were helpless.

All I had in my trunk were three bath towels. Wrapping my body in the cloth and handing the other ones to Tim and Matt, I took matters into my own hands and went to search for gas. At 7 am. In the pouring rain. Although my buzz had worn off I could not stop laughing, the trip too surreal to even dismiss. I knew that I looked like Mary Magdalene with soaked jet black hair barely visible through a towel face mask… but I didn’t care anymore. We finally reached the gas station just as I walked through the last 6 inch high puddle.

The guy at the gas station was nice enough to give us a canteen and gas in exchange for a credit card. We walked back and I crawled in the backseat while Matt and Tim filled my tank.

More blue and red sirens.

I turned to my right to see a window roll down, an officer in tiny rimmed glasses staring at my car.

We locked eyes… and then he scoped out my same outfit. Mascara down my face. The same tired, helpless other passengers. He then started to laugh and shook his head. “If you need help, dial this number for my barracks,” he snorted, then peeled out of the grass. We all doubled over laughing until AAA showed up. Apparently they were called upon, and were in the area for once.

Everyone had work that day. One person went. As I dropped everyone off and rolled down my windows, I drove long enough to pass a car over a puddle of water- waves came crashing onto my seat, dashboard… into my mouth and soaking my remaining passengers.

Tim, Matt, and I looked at each other in disbelief, knowing that we were all thinking the same thing. Our lives were less messy, required less effort, were less embarrassing when we were in relationships. But then the laughter came. And the tears. And the hugs.

And nothing… nothing… will beat the inner happiness that comes from peoples “I don’t get it” faces when we tell the story. The ties have now been bonded more tightly… the bond of free, fun, fearless single friends.