Vodka, I Need Vodka

May 28, 2009

“You need a drink or something?”

How did he know? After an extra long day of staying at school until 7:30 in the evening for the spring concert, and changing 20 5-year-olds into and out of their costumes while trying not to breathe in the fetid smell of kid feet, and getting rewarded for my hard work with a most diplomatically-worded accusation from the school director-

“You are not supposed to take responsibility for the children.”-

damn straight I needed a drink! I followed him to his room and downed 3 shots of vodka at his kitchen counter and felt so much better as the ice-cold vodka seeped to my head and worked its masseuse-like magic, overpowering the scarily venomous anger and hatred that was coursing through my veins. The two of us and F and T went down to the big gym to shoot some hoops then. When I got there, though, my drunken self was immediately drawn to the small, netted trampoline in the corner. My head in a haze, I climbed onto the tramp and recklessly threw drunken back tucks into the air. Only, on the third landing, I rebounded too hard and smashed into the barred window behind me. Ouch, my back. I stuck to shooting hoops and grading exams after that. Still, nothing like throwing your body around like a ragged doll and smashing it against a few walls to take your mind off of more painful, more hurtful events. Sigh. My emotions are much too fragile for this administration. 

* * *

It is evening now. After a very Korean dinner of dried seaweed and rice (we even ate with chopsticks I stole from the Sheraton and the not-so-great Chinese restaurant in Ainkawa), I am washing the dishes, while ND is opening her balcony.

“It's the weekend! EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” she squealed.

“EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!” I squealed in response. 

She said weekends make her feel like she could fly. I second that! We hung out on her balcony watching the sun sinking slowly, its rays bursting radiantly (and radially) from a central orange sphere hovering low in the immense sky smoking with curly-edged clouds. I snapped some photos of ND silhouetted against the painted sky, painting her nails a bright red and talking about the degeneration of her faith in Islam, while the call to prayer sounded hauntingly from far-away speakers. She said the call to prayer used to scare her stupid when she was little. To me, hearing it in this isolated compound surrounded by imposing mountains, its ghostly, exotic melody can register as either comforting or lonely, depending on my mood. 

Later, I caught a ride with our shuttle driver down to the coke shop across the street. I walked around the back of the shed through shadowy piles of crates and leafy plants as tall as me, the sky now a dusky cornflower blue and peaceful, hushed. Inside his shop, the shopkeeper treated me like someone special, as usual, handing me a free Magnum ice cream bar as I was heading out as if he were handing me a bouquet of flowers. It was better than flowers. You can't eat flowers. And even if you tried, it wouldn't taste creamy and chocolate-y with a hint of almond, yummmmm. The coke shop is a pretty magical place. I always manage to leave it happier than when I went in.