SUJEIRYNEW YORK
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Love Trips: My Drinking BuddyPOSTED October, 15 2008  In life, it’s great to have buddies. Buddies to count on. Buddies to bounce ideas off. Buddies to bounce on and off and on and off and on and off of… I realized the greatness of having a handy dandy buddy at only seven years old. I sat inches away from the television, though mami warned the glare would blind me, when a little blonde boy appeared on the screen. He placed a cute, little, gray hat on his buddy – a freckled face doll with a bowl haircut – and sang: “My buddy, my buddy, my buddy, my buddy, wherever I go, he goes!” The little boy swung his buddy around and played with his buddy in his wooden clubhouse and rode with him in his little, red wagon. He was having such fun! Much more fun than I ever had with my bootleg 5-dollar wannabe Barbie bought from the Chinitos on the corner of 181st and St. Nick. I wanted a buddy! I wanted “my buddy and me to climb up a tree!” even though the only thing to climb in the hood was a fire escape. I wanted “my buddy and me” to be “the best friends we could be!” The commercial was over in seconds and I ran to mami to ask for my buddy. But all I got was a trip to the other Chinotos on 180th and Broadway and another bootleg Barbie. Once I hit adulthood, I overcame my need for those kinds of buddies. Those buddies were too silly and too nutty, and I was no fuddy duddy. I wanted a human, male buddy. But not just a Friend Zone buddy. I had an abundance of those in high school. At 29 years old, I wanted a human, male buddy who I could count on, bounce ideas off, bounce on and off and on and off and on and off of. I didn’t want a boyfriend, just a buddy. And that’s exactly what I hoped Alex could be. After our not-so passionate first night of sex, I decided to give Alex another opportunity to put his money where his penis is. He spoke of his “skills” often so I hoped to be wowed by more than his tongue. After all, no one wants a buddy who’s a one-trick pony. The sex improved after a few more times. I even achieved my first organism with him during our 5th attempt. I was on top, which is woman’s work, but an organism is an organism. The hotel quality also improved, due to my insistence in choosing the property. But there was one element that remained constant. Booze. No matter what we did, where we did it, or when we did it, my buddy and I always, and I mean always, boozed it up. At first I blamed it on location. What else were we going to do in a bar besides drink? Then I blamed in on the day. What else were we going to do on a Saturday besides drink? But after Alex and I headed straight to the liquor store after a night at the movies, I knew we had a problem. The bottle became his accessory, like the cute, little, gray hat on My Buddy’s head. Shot glass not included. The next time I booked a hotel room I decided to strip our time together of alcohol. A bottle of Bacardi would be purchased, but wouldn’t be guzzled until after sex. This was my attempt to transform Alex into more than just a drinking buddy. This was also my attempt at intimacy. I walked into the hotel room first and was pleased with the décor. Antique chairs, sage-colored walls, whitewashed bureaus and dressers, golden knobs, a beautifully draped bed: it was classic, romantic, perfect. Alex followed behind me and sat on the rose-colored, plush chair that accompanied the vanity. I took this opportunity to show Alex affection without the influence of a few glasses of Bacardi and Coke. I sat on his lap and began a dialogue. “What do you think of the room?” I asked. “Its nice. Very feminine though,” he replied while eyeing the surroundings. “Did you see the bathroom? It’s gorgeous! That’s exactly how I want my bathroom decorated when I have a house. Actually, I wouldn’t mind my bedroom just like this!” I added enthusiastically. “I think you’re husband would have a problem with the green and the pink,” he commented with a chuckle. “Its sage and un rosado viejo. And my future husband will be alright.” I said knowingly. “After all, he’ll be my lover and my best friend, so he’ll be willing to compromise” I continued. “If you say so,” Alex rebutted with a cocky smile. I dropped the subject of any future anything and straddled him instead. I knew Alex wouldn’t understand. We were from two different worlds: he from the Puerto Rican and Mexican, project-stacked East Harlem and I from the que lo que hollering, Dominican hills of Washington Heights. We had different ambitions: his to “live his life”, “go with the flow”, and every other cliché written and I to have a successful career as a teacher and a writer, to have a husband who will love me, understand me, support me, and desire little Sujeiritas and Sujeiritos running around in our sage and rosado viejo decorated room. We wanted two different things: he wanted sex multiple times a night, booze, to prove his thugness and toughness, and did I mention sex multiple times a night? I wanted phenomenal sex once a night and once in the morning, depth, connection, and more depth. Alex and I were just different. Yet here I was in a hotel room, trying to make my buddy more than a drinking, fucking, no-strings, no-depth buddy. No more. I began kissing Alex. I stretched my body and lay on the softness of the beige comforter and Queen-size mattress. I pulled him closer to me and whispered, “Get me a drink”. Alex lifted his body and sauntered over to the vanity. He poured a whole lot of Bacardi and a splash of Coke and served himself a glass of Hennessey. He handed me the drink and I poured the sweet liquor into my mouth. He lay down next to me and we drank and kissed and drank and kissed. It was just “my drinking buddy and, my drinking buddy and, my drinking buddy and me!” |
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Comments
By Sujeiry
What a sad story! Damn, the line between comedy and tragedy is so thin, and you really can't have one without the other, can you? Nothing's funny if nothing is sad.
I will say this: You're a beautiful woman with a fierce heart and so much to give the world. You deserve men in your life who would rather help you give, than take and take and take. To me, that's what support really means - and having experienced that kind of support is one of the things we have in common, right? These guys you keep writing about drive me nuts!
Of course, my solution to that whole dating pool issue has been just as useless! Locking myself up and working on my career doesn't led one to a mutually supportive, romanctic, sexy, fun relationship as far as I can tell!
By Tennyson
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