24 Hours With Alex

24 Hours With Alex

It was the hottest day of the year, July 31st, and I can record it very clearly, because it was an Ann-and-Alex day.

At 9:22, I woke up, sent a message to Alex. No reply. Classic Alex.

At 9:45, I had breakfast: two slices of untoasted bread with a cup of coffee.

At 10:15, I neatened the sofa and table, and pulled out some chips from the cupboard. Everything was set.

At 10:41, a knock at the door. Alex was late.

We hollered and held each other tightly right by the entrance for what felt like thirty-six thousand seconds. Alex smelled of watermelon and vanilla. Having her hair hennaed, she spun around to show off her sleeveless denim dress.

“Just bought it yesterday, my mama was upset because it bares too much of my skin.”

The way she moved made her skirt puff up like a hot air balloon around her waist, revealing her slim and healthy legs, and some vague glimpses of her white lace-trim cotton panties.

“You’re letting in a hell of heat,” I winced.

“If only you knew what I went through on the road—the asphalt was hot enough to fry an egg on. So this is your little nest?” She dropped her sandals in the entryway and walked barefoot to the open kitchen, looking around, unimpressed.

“You’re living in a doghouse.”

“The rent is almost a third of my monthly paycheck.”

“Which makes it even more unworthy.”

She was done assessing my matchbox, which wasn’t much to assess anyway, threw herself on the sofa, and put her shiny little purse on the table.

“I missed you, Ann.”

“I missed you, too.”

At 11:00, we decided on our activities for the next 23 hours.

“Watch tons of movies.”

“Which would burn our eyes very well.”

“Recount our old days incessantly.”

“We’ll see what’s left to recount.”

“Talk about our recent lives.”

“No doubt about it. Tell me every shit you’ve been through so that I can tell my mom office life is a living hell and get away with another gap year.”

“Great.”

“Eat a lot of snacks.”

“Drink lots of drinks.”

“Gotta get some sleep.”

“And recharge our phones and souls, if there’s any.”

“Go swimming in a swimming pool.”

“Did you bring your swimsuit?”

“Nope.”

“Good.”

At 11:31, we ordered a pizza takeout: classic Margherita, veggie pasta, and French fries.

At 11:45, I tested a never-before-used home projector.

At 11:57, we took turns picking movies, rock, paper, scissors—my turn.

“Let’s watch Summer with Monika.”

“Never heard of it—who made it?”

“Ingmar Bergman, in 1953.”

“Are you sure it’s on the playlist?”

“No. Therefore, I downloaded it yesterday, just in case.”

“Good for you. Summer with whoever you like, turn on the air conditioner—my neck and armpits are sweating like hell.”

“Sure.”

I turned on the air conditioner, switched off the lights, drew the curtains, and projected the movie on the wall.

“I’m a bit starved,” Alex said, curled up on the sofa.

“Grab some chips then,” I said.

Silence fell between us. We were engrossed in the movie.

“Did you have breakfast?”

“No. And you?”

“Two slices of untoasted bread.” My stomach growled. “How’s your mom?”

“Good. Gone to see one of her old buddies.”

“When’s your flight?”

“Tomorrow, maybe.” She licked her thumb. “You remember that time when I disappeared during finals week?”

“Yes. You missed Mrs. Lynn’s grammar test, you told her you had gastroenteritis and had to have surgery, which was an obvious lie.”

“Then do you know where I went?”

“Shanghai?”

“Yes, Shanghai. The original plan was to stay there for a few days and then fly back to school for the exams, but on a whim, I bought a flight to Tokyo. I stayed in Akihabara, read manga, ate parfaits, soufflé puffs, and ramen, and completely lost track of time. Then, one afternoon, a major panic attack hit me. I was lying on a mat in the private booth of an internet café, drenched in sweat, unable to move. When I managed to prop myself up and check my phone, an exam had come and gone without me.”

She crumpled the empty chip bag, thrust it in my hand, and wiped her seasoned palms with a wet tissue.

“I wept in the booth for what felt like forever—probably just half an hour, then wiped my face, pulled myself together, and booked a red-eye flight for 2 a.m. Then I hurried back to the hotel to pack my luggage, wailing my eyes out the whole time. Shopping bags scattered all over the floor, I had bought so much stuff, my suitcase was about to explode. Snoozing for about an hour or two, I jolted in lucidity, jumped in a taxi, and headed to Haneda Airport. I landed in Shanghai at five, sleepy-eyed, then transferred flights, took another taxi, made it to the school gate by nine, took the literature exam at ten, and promptly vomited the minute I escaped the classroom.”

“You flunked at least two-thirds of your courses that semester.”

“That panic attack’s fault, apparently.”

At 12:39, we picked up the takeout, devoured the pizza, and guzzled Coke with enough ice to sink a ship.

At 13:06, Alex had diarrhea, and so did I.

At 13:36, Summer with Monika, the end.

At 13:42, we decided on another movie, rock, paper, scissors—Alex’s turn.

“How about La La Land?”

“La La Land it is.”

At 13:49, La La Land, the beginning.

“You ever been to L.A.?”

“Never in my life.”

“Do you ever want to?”

“Not until I can afford the flights and bagels and hotels. But honestly, I’d rather splurge in New York. L.A. feels a little bit too gay for me, while New York is more like a vibrant mélange of everything, noise, chaos, energy. I’d love to go to the Met, wander through Central Park, though only on a good sunny day. As the sun is about to fall down, I’d stand at the top of the Empire State Building, gazing as the city folds into twilight, and imagine myself working in one of the glass-and-steel towers that pierce the clouds. The next day, I’d take the ferry out to see the Statue of Liberty, as if skipping it would be a crime, though technically, other than taking a silly photo, there won’t be much to do. What really matters is where I sleep: a hotel room walled in glass, so that when morning comes, I can lie in bed and watch the light unfurl like a theater curtain across the sky, illuminating rows of high-rises, tracing the slow crawl of early traffic. It won’t be quiet, but it will be a moment of absolute solitude.”

“Then what about me?”

“You’ll be right there with me, like you are now. We’ll watch that magical scene together.”

“Lit. When’s that gonna be?”

“God knows.”

“So that’s your dream?”

“No.”

“Then what is it?”

“To make bank without ever clocking in.”

“Sounds wonderful.”

At 15:57, La La Land, the end. We cried our hearts out in one another’s arms.

“Ryan Gosling was stunning.”

“Absolutely.”

“But like, two-thirds of the time he looked either spaced out or in therapy. I don’t know—is that the character or just him?”

“I don’t know either.”

“But his sadness is kind of sexy.”

“Agreed.”

For a bit of time, or perhaps a large amount of time, we stuffed ourselves in motionlessness.

“Wanna watch another movie?”

“No, not now.”

“What do we do then?”

“What time is it?”

“A little past four, not sure though.”

“My heart feels heavy.”

“Yeah, I feel that too.”

“Let’s get some air.”

With some effort, I forced myself off the couch, staggered toward the wardrobe.

“What are you digging for over there?”

“Swimsuits.”

“Any luck?”

“Yes.”

I pulled out a burgundy one-piece with a teardrop cutout at the chest and a V-neck trimmed with a wavy frill. From afar, Alex looked at it with a teasing smile on her face.

“My cousin bought this for me, but it didn’t fit,” I forestalled.

“Which part didn’t?”

“The chest,” I paused for a while, “the padding there is fluffy like pancakes.”

Alex lolled over, casually placed her hand on the chest of the swimsuit, giving it a few testing squeezes, and laughed.

“It’s just padding. Keeps your nipples from stealing the spotlight—have you ever put it on?”

“Never. And never will.”

“Called it.” She laid the swimsuit flat against her body. “I will wear it.”

“Excellent,” I said, pulling out another swimsuit—a black two-piece with boxer-style bottoms instead of briefs. “I’ll put on this instead.”

We changed in separate spaces: me in the living room, Alex in the bathroom. I slipped into my two-piece in a whirlwind, flung myself on the couch, entirely spaced out. Alex took a bit longer. A dozen minutes later, she pushed open the bathroom door and strutted out like a runway model, hands on her hips as she struck a pose in front of me. The one-piece’s high-cut made her legs go on and on forever, and thanks to the pancake-padded padding, her bosom looked like it had risen to twice its usual size.

“Well?”

“Mind-blowing.”

“Of course I am.” She cast me a once-over, eyes sharp with judgment. “You look like a retired Olympian who got beaten up halfway through training.”

“Then clock in at some mega-department store, spend the whole day behind the sports counter scrolling TikTok like it’s a full-time job.”

Alex lost it.

At 16:25, I pulled a T-shirt and a pair of jeans over my swimsuit. Alex wanted to go out in her one-piece, but I firmly discouraged it. She put on her sweat-soaked denim dress.

“By the time we get to the pool, it’ll probably be five,” she said, annoyed.

“Which is why we need to hurry.”

At 16:26, I turned off the lights. Shut down the projector. Threw the leftover pizza and pasta in the fridge.

At 16:27, I checked the power.

At 16:29, we took the elevator down to the lobby.

At 16:31, the rain came down in sheets, and of course we’d no umbrella.

At 16:34, we returned to fetch an umbrella.

At 16:38, down to the lobby again. The rain got even heavier. We couldn’t see through the misty veil, tears welling in Alex’s eyes.

“Oh, I knew it. Everything’s always wrong. I’m about to have another panic—”

“Calm down,” I said. “At least it’s cooler now.”

A few bolts of lightning lit up the sky.

“Bloody hell. The pool’s a hundred percent shut down. Swimming in this rain is practically asking for electrocution. Ugh, I should’ve—”

“Just calm down. It could be a passing thunderstorm.”

We waited in the lobby for about twenty minutes. The rain didn’t let up.

Alex started sobbing.

“Enough. Let’s head back. I need to lie down and sip some hot cocoa.”

I was still wondering whether we had any cocoa powder at home when Alex walked off toward the elevator without looking back. I shouted “Hey!” and rushed to catch her, squeezing into the elevator just before the doors closed. Alex stood there in a trance, tears streaming down her face like droplets of rain.

“Take it easy, okay? It’s no big deal.”

“It hit me,” she whispered. “If it had rained that day, I would’ve been stuck in Tokyo. Boom. No exams. No grades. No way out. Game over.”

“But you didn’t. So chill down, you’re a lucky one.”

As soon as we got back, Alex peeled off her denim dress, climbed straight into bed, and disappeared under the covers.

“The dress is fucked,” she muttered. “It reeks of sweat and it’s soaked with rain.”

“I can put it in the washer, wait,” I said, picking up the damp thing. “Is this machine-washable?”

She didn’t answer. I turned the dress inside out and checked the tag sewn in the lining: there was a crossed-out washing machine symbol.

“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” I swore.

“Forget the dress, Ann. Get me something hot to drink. Anything’s fine.” Alex’s voice drifted from the bed, weak and worn-out.

“Are you coming down with something?” I hollered toward the bed as I opened the cupboard, rummaging half-blindly through bags of chips in search of the jar of Ovaltine I’d bought months ago for breakfast.

“I don’t know,” she said dully. “But something feels off.”

Fucking great. In the middle of summer.

I pulled the jar down and dug a white ceramic mug out from the lower cabinet. There were some stains along the inside, I held it under the faucet and rinsed it clean.

“Are you making anything?”

“Yes, yes. One more minute.”

I spooned a scoop of Ovaltine into the mug, poured in hot water, added three spoonfuls of sugar, and gave it three good stirs with a stainless-steel spoon.

“There you go.”

I propped her up like a nurse and fed her a few spoonfuls.

“How is it?”

“A bit watery. Too much sugar.”

“Don’t be so picky.”

She let out a groan and sipped the rest of the drink, one mouthful at a time, sticking out her tongue every now and then.

“It’s hot. I feel like my brain’s about to evaporate.”

“Want me to turn on the AC?”

“Just wait a bit.”

She lay down again.

The rain had stopped little by little, leaving the room stiflingly hot. Alex had fallen asleep. I stepped out into the dim hallway to cool off. A little girl in a stroller glided past me.

At 18:49, back in the room, my stomach growled.

At 19:07, Alex awoke, sour-faced.

“What do you want for dinner?”

“Nothing.”

She rolled off the bed, holding her forehead, and picked up her phone from the couch.

“I’m calling my mom. Need her to come pick me up.”

“Now?”

“Or tomorrow, depends on her.”

I put the frozen pizza into the microwave. The microwave let out a ding when Alex hung up the phone.

“So?”

“She’s out of town, staying over at her old buddy’s place, playing mahjong all night, can’t come until tomorrow.”

“Eat some pizza then.”

“I’m sick of pizza now.”

“How about some pasta?”

“Sick of that too.”

I nibbled at the pizza in my hand, chewing it slowly.

“Not bad, really. A bit stale, for sure. But not bad.”

Alex took a bite of the piece in my hand and gagged.

“Don’t eat that shit, are you crazy?”

“I’m okay with this. Fact is that, I do this every Saturday: order a pizza, eat half for lunch, and save the other half for dinner. And of course, I get diarrhea sometimes.”

Alex ate some pasta. The moment she felt somewhat stuffed, she took some chips and sat on the couch, remaining in her high-cut one-piece.

“Let’s watch another movie,” she said, tearing open a bag of barbecue-flavored chips. “How about American Psycho?”

“Fabulous.”

At 19:37, American Psycho, the beginning.

“Tell me about your job, Ann.”

“Alright. What do you want to know?”

“A little bit of everything.”

“Very well, so last week, our boss drove us out for lunch. On the way back to the office, he let out a huge fart that smelled like ten swine wallowing in a mud bath. With all the windows shut, the four of us were trapped in that toxic little tin can. He claimed it was the beef burger and hot coffee reacting violently in his stomach, and that middle-aged men like him just can’t handle fast food anymore. I was beaming the whole time while holding my breath. From the gloomy looks on my colleagues’ faces, I could tell they were holding theirs too.”

Violent scenes flashed across the wall. Alex let out laughs and screams.

“How are your colleagues?”

“I don’t know, I am not close with them. A short, stocky guy once caught me writing fiction during work hours. Ever since then, he’s been side-eyeing me like I’m plotting something.”

“Are you happy with what you’re making?”

With a wave of eerie music swelling in the background, I let out a sigh.

“Darlin’, it’s all temporary. All of it—the stale pizza, the diarrhea, the bossy farts, the sneaky typing, the subway crowds—it’s all temporary.”

“Of course it is. Tomorrow, you’ll wake up to the sight of Manhattan soaring into the morning light.”

“Thanks.”

At 21:08, American Psycho, the end. Alex rushed into the bathroom and locked herself in for half an hour, puking perhaps. My stomach was churning too.

At 21:38, Alex told me she got her period.

“It came during one of the murder scenes, all that intense imagery gets the blood pumping.” She picked her nose. “Sorry for staining your swimsuit. I’ll buy you the exact same one to make up for it.”

“Don’t do that, please.”

At 21:46, Alex took a shower.

At 22:26, Alex finished her shower.

At 22:35, I took a shower.

At 22:42, I finished my shower.

At 22:57, bedtime.

Alex was wearing my blue striped pajamas.

“You can wear those home tomorrow,” I said. “Your denim dress smells like blue cheese.”

“Crap, I love that dress.”

She turned her back to me.

“When will we meet again?”

“Who knows, perhaps when the snow begins to flow.”

“Alright then. Stay alive, Ann. It’ll get better.”

She fell asleep. I lay with my hands clasped, staring wide-eyed into the darkness, and mulled over my life.

At 3:23, I got smashed in the face by Alex, jolted awake, checked my phone, and fell back to sleep again.

At 8:37, I got up, fresh and bruised.

At 9:46, I forced Alex up.

At 9:51, breakfast for two: four slices of untoasted bread, two cups of coffee. Alex said it was the blandest breakfast she’d ever had.

At 10:01, Alex’s mom called.

At 10:12, time to say goodbye.

“Bye, Ann. See you next time.”

“Yeah, bye, Alex. Take care.”

We hugged at the doorway. Alex, in my pajamas, skipped away.