The Game of Not Doing Stupid
I was once at a party. Invited by an old childhood friend of mine who had moved to town for his studies, while I myself was still working back home, carrying logs.
He had invited his friends. Some from school, some from work. One girl brought a friend. And her friend was pretty.
We sat opposite each other on couches with a broad saloon table covered with beer bottles between us. Something about her just hit me. All right, so I've had my share of adventures out on the town, but it had usually been with a goal: let's see if someone here's worth the night. This time I came unprepared, and she just sat right there in front of me as though I should have realised every girl I had been with was never really worth it.
Not that I had been with many, I'm not like that. Let's just say I'm experienced.
We never talked together while we were inside the apartment. We didn't even shake hands and present ourselves; to this day, I still don't know her name. But I caught her staring a couple of times – sometimes a bit too long, as though she was lost in something and didn't realise I was looking back at her – and I must have stared a few times too. She caught me three times; after the first, I calmly turned to my friend to answer the question he was asking me. The two other times I smiled. Not too much; just a small, honest smile.
I couldn't help but think that there was some kind of chemistry between me and this girl. We went through the party at the apartment, never sharing a word, but otherwise completely calm and relaxed in each other's companies. It was as though there was some kind of mutual understanding between us. Nothing I can actually put into words. Just a feeling.
Maybe it was the fact that I hadn't been with anyone for the past three months and was getting frustrated. Or maybe it was because of – and I still confirm myself as straight as a man can be – her extremely beautiful, flowing hair. It was red.
Or maybe it was the fact that for once, there was a pretty girl who wasn't so nauseatingly obvious. No overdone duck face, no ass shoved out to prove she was worth a night. She simply looked at me and marked me as looked at, and will look at a few more times tonight.
I decided to take it easy on the alcohol that night so I wouldn't do anything stupid. I've done stupid, and this was a time where I really didn't want to mess it up. I hadn't even started anything – I mean, I hadn't even talked to her – yet the feeling that we had agreed about something grew.
So once we left the apartment and headed for the bar, I tried. I tried to figure out what we had agreed to. When two girls came up to me by the bar and made an attempt of convincing me I should really join them at their place, I rejected them.
Some would say I did stupid just there. But I wouldn't, and not only because I was playing a discreet game with someone else I hadn't even said 'hello' to. I've just never found that kind of concept even somewhat tempting. Men are simple beings, and for me, being with two girls at the same time would be too much. I have a reliable source: a friend of mine who got so confused he couldn't do it.
Long story short: it ended badly.
She must have noticed, because she was looking my way when I left the bar with two glasses in my hands. One for me, one for my friend. I believe rejecting two acceptably good-looking girls makes a good impression – at least for other girls; guys would kill to get the same offer I just had.
The pretty girl's friend, who had invited her, came back with bottled beer, announcing it was almost twelve o'clock. Few people knew why the pretty girl and the rest of them were handed a bottled beer at midnight, so she explained. Back home, when they had their birthdays and were old enough to drink (the term 'old enough' has been fading lately) they would all chug a bottle of beer and see who could drink the fastest. If the birthday boy or girl won, he or she was safe. Should he or she lose, he or she would have to drink the same number of shots as the people who beat her.
The pretty girl was the birthday girl. Two people beat her: me, and my friend.
And in this discreet game of not doing stupid, I found my chance to finally speak to her. Once me and my friend had ordered one jäger shot each and walked back to our table to hand the pretty girl said jäger shots, I awarded her two simple words: "Happy birthday."
She looked at me long enough for me to realise that she appreciated those words. Almost so long that people around us became suspicious. But she played wisely and ended it were the job was done without consequences, and drank both shots in a matter of seconds.
It was a whole hour until I was awarded any words from her. I went out smoking – alone, seeing as my friend quit and his friends seemed to have something against it – and stood outside in the silence. There was something weird and very true about leaving the noise, hearing it in the background but able to hear your own breathing. And it was somehow a relief. I could stand here, minding my own business, breath in something fresher than the scent of beer and sweat and think out game strategies. Maybe a plan of attack.
Until she attacked first.
"D'you have a light?"
I couldn't recognise her voice, seeing as I hadn't really listened when she was talking to everyone else, so when I turned and saw that very red hair and her deep eyes I almost lost my cigarette.
Play steady.
"Sure."
I held the lighter out to her with the small, warm drop of fire at the ready, and she leaned in with the cigarette between her lips, silently breathing in and lighting her smoke. Smoke escaped her lips and I suddenly wondered how it was to kiss someone who didn't smoke.
"It's good to be out," I said.
"Yeah. Almost a relief."
I chuckled a little. This made more and more sense.
"So, birthday girl?"
Make a conversation. Preferably about her, and preferably something that tells her you've noticed things about her. I think I failed on the last part; anyone who hadn't noticed they were chugging beer for a cause would be the definition of ignorant. Idiot.
I could notice something else later, and tell her then. We had agreed to play this slowly.
"Yep," she smiled back, sitting down on the wide window sill next to me. "Too bad chugging beer's not my strong side."
"You did all right."
"Not good enough. I hate losing games."
The moment of eye contact that followed was long. Long enough to realise, and long enough to make anyone suspicious. Yet she played safely; there was no one else around.
Until we again looked out in the distance and continued smoking as though the moment had been nothing.
She had some interesting things to say. Sometimes I laughed. I figured I liked her. She even made fun of me, and tried to hit me when I blew smoke on her face. I had a hard time not doing something to her – grab her hand, touch her hair, give her expired compliments – but I swore she was sitting closer to me as the cigarettes became shorter.
In the end, the smoke ran out. I figured staying outside even after my smoke was done would be a bad move, so I slid off the window sill and was about to announce my need for another beer.
"Do we really have to go back in just yet?"
The question was surprising. It's one thing to claim that being outside is better than being inside, but it's a whole other thing to include me in it.
She continued when I only glared. "I mean, I could need another beer myself, but the bar man's creepy and my friend's gonna drown me with vodka shots when it's half one."
She was making a quick move; such an obvious move I forgot myself.
"I've got beer back at the apartment."
I could have cursed out loud the moment the words left me. I had played so easy and safe for so long that saying such a thing was a jump too long.
She was nice to me. She chuckled a little before she said, "Maybe some other time."
She nodded towards the entrance to the bar and led the way back. I couldn't help but let a small, barely audible 'damn it' out, and I'm sure she heard; she turned her head for a moment and smiled at me.
It might sound weird that we had been playing this game the whole night with the prize being each other's companies, and that ultimately, she was happy with rejecting me. But of course she was happy. She just won the game.
And I lost. I did stupid.
So I figured any move I'd make could not make matters any worse. I decided to make things up, and luckily, when I spoke, she stopped and turned.
"You know, back home, when it's your birthday and you lose in a drinking game, the winner deserves a reward."
She eyed me suspiciously. But of course; what I just said must have sounded way more perverted than I initially meant.
I continued before she could get her suspicions into words.
"You know, a beer. The bus ticket home. Dinner, or something."
At least her laugh was genuine. "Well played, Minato."
If I had only been able to say her name right there. It would have been something I noticed about her, and it would have impressed her.
But I didn't know her name.
I lost.