Notes from a Drunk Girl Underground

Escape is one of the greatest pleasures. I barely remember how I even got here. At some point in my life in a not so distant past, I was walking solitary one spring night mildly intoxicated. Mildy troubled. The atmosphere was cold but bearable. Mysterious trees started to come to life. Wild dandelions hiding in the darkness. Whispering to each other about the future of a stranger. I loved the sound of my supermarket-bought boots on the unfamiliar pavement as I continued to walk towards nowhere. The truth is, uncertainty is more intoxicating. It must be the situation in the past or the warm liquor shots offered in small plastic cups causing my madness. Nevertheless, I felt freer than ever. I could fearlessly march down the empty streets of this God-forsaken town in God knows where during this ungodly hour. Alone and free. Without a care. Where nobody knows me.

That was the ultimate dream and repressed freedom. Not that I'm a shiny superstar avoiding popularity or something. I am too phony for that kind of thing, I need to get over myself sometimes. Somewhere I could start over clean, like a prisoner who just got out and wants to change his life for the better instead of committing suicide inside. Somewhere I would rather be feared than loved. Somewhere my smiles would be reserved to few deserving souls. And I would shock their little town souls and urge them to get out of their little town bubbles and their little town thinking. I would be the adventure they craved.

My face was dried and frozen by the peculiar air as I walked mindlessly without a sense of direction. My heart was just as cold. My feet voluntarily brought me to a halt as I was greeted by this arched entry to the left side of the pavement with a stairway down to a modern human cave. A place where old people sat down together to drown their sorrows and life regrets. The entrance was the only bright noticeable spot, shining with a faint yellow light filled with strange writings above the narrow wall. A safe refuge where one could temporarily deposit all troubles of the night. I went inside as I was merely existing without thinking.

There were a few regulars sitting there enjoying the warmth of the old structure. The color of the walls was just as depressing as their faces. I'm not used to this unfriendly vibe but what could I do but make the most out of this another life's crazy adventure. I remember I was told that a girl is not supposed to go to a bar alone otherwise it would be perceived as an invitation. I was told that a girl is not supposed to smile at strangers otherwise it would be misinterpreted for another thing. I was told of so many things of how I should be somewhere. The wind just accidentally brought me here for some reason. I was here to both reveal and obscure myself. I bravely went to the high wooden bar to get a pint of what this little town has to offer to an outsider. I was looking strange in this school, strange enough to be looked at, around me are big eyes just as unfeeling as their hearts, skin as pale as their lives. They just didn't know what I thought of them.

I resigned to this dark wooden table and sat down without weeping, yet. My curious eyes continued to wander around without judgment. This was a happy place, I thought, not too a depressing place. I wondered what was going to happen. I wondered how am I going home. If I even had a home. That is still a mystery.

A rugged old man with a beer belly, typical of the townsfolk, most likely a regular, sat motionless in front of me facing the Tele. Whatever the program was God knows what, or probably just one of those countering American's usual propaganda, fuelling more hatred and ignorance as I was told. But the beauty of it all was that I didn't understand anything. The old man might be pretending to watch when in reality he was just staring at nothing, wasting his life away in his God-forsaken country. There were not many things to do around here. If they didn't have the money or the guts to venture out of their cold comfort, people then turn to drugs and alcohol like a hopeless resignation. That is just the fascinating culture. From friendly meat barbeques by the lucid lake to broken bottles. Rozachka is not just a pretentious high word, not only a romantic thing to impress girls but also some spur-of-the-moment artwork used to brutally pierce a man's neck while under the influence. Away from dark thoughts, I focused on my liquid delight gradually transporting me to another dimension. I was there but not really. I drank one glass after the other, it was pouring pleasure.

The beauty of my travels and little adventures in foreign lands was that nobody knows me. In case I fucked up the place, I could either happily escape or be forever locked up in a cage with all the other troublemakers, losers, and social outcasts of their own kind. That is the promise of risks and adventures. If I am going die, I would die doing what I want in life. But I am dying inside.

I can barely remember the beauty of this moment, but suddenly I was surrounded by neither friends nor enemies. There was a girl talking to me in her language. And I talked to her back surprisingly. Because from what I have heard, I could talk in different languages in this emotional state. The situation was beautiful yet laughable, depending on how you look at it. Something crazy that can be published in a comic book or something. I knew they were asking me some questions. The town girl might have only been protecting me from the possible surrounding male danger. "Where is your boyfriend?". Because it was so weird for me to be even there and it was quite understandable. I told you, never underestimate my power to shock boring souls.

He came to my rescue, of course, because I'm such a fucking big responsibility. A pretty mess. Not that I'm looking for attention, because I already failed in that area my whole life. I was still moving but dead. My brain was dead. That is always the case. The girl was quite worried that perhaps I didn't know my own savior. And people all went discussing something, in their loud drunk voice, in a total funny justifiable chaos. Nothing is new, this is how a town becomes alive. An antidote to people's boxed, boring lives. Inside, people became free to be themselves. Outside, I began to throw up, the girl was worried that she tried to hold my spine in place. As if to ease the pain of wild intoxication in a strange land with strange people. But she finally surrendered me to my man, she must be drunk too.

The air was colder as we reached the door at dawn, couldn't even walk, crawling like soldiers. But it was my home too. And I played dead.