Fun

I yawned.

I picked up Styrofoam cups on the floor and atop the tables, then stacked them. Some of them still contained alcohol.

“You never drink alcohol, do you?”

I swished the contents. I wasn’t sure what type of beer it was, but I wasn’t interested in knowing either.

“You never even drink coffee.”

I looked at her. “Just help me clean up. What’re you doing there, just standing and watching me?” I groaned. “I’m not going to participate ever again.”

“Yeah, and you didn’t even talk to people. I thought you were going to be a party-pooper.” She smiled. “Plus, you’re the one who’d planned all this, right? You wanted to party.”

“Don’t know.” I picked up confetti and gathered them in cups. “Didn’t know it was going to be that extreme. It was as if they ransacked the whole house. There’s this one guy who got into my nerves who kept screaming all the time and it was unnecessary. Can’t you just party a little more peaceful?”

“That’s literally the point of parties.”

“Eh, not my cup of tea.” I threw the confetti-filled cups into the trash bag. “You were quite the hostess last night. I guess you can switch characters easily—I can’t do that.”

“I had to. Because you weren’t talking. At all. Even worse, you looked sulky, and it was kind of unsettling the others.” She sat on the couch, sighing. I narrowed my eyes. “We’re the opposite. You were enthusiastic about this party, and I wasn’t—but the roles have switched, so it’s inevitable that they liked me better than you, even though you went all the trouble to invite everybody else.”

“That’s the thing, right?” I bagged the leftovers, cake and spaghetti. “That’s absolutely the thing. Sometimes the value of effort is unfair—like cheaters and diligent students would get the same grades. Criminals would get away with what they’re doing, while innocent people, trying hard to succeed in life, get jailed for no reason—”

She raised her palm.

I flattened my lips.

“If only you’ve talked this much during the party,” she said.

I sighed. I looked about. “Where’s the broomstick? Did you use it?”

“Yeah. I returned it back in its place.”

“Go get it, then.”

“No.” She crossed her legs. “I can throw the trash bags for you.”

I breathed. I walked into the kitchen and saw chaos: tangled spoons and forks, towering plates and bowls, sticky and drippy ice cream, ants crawling on chicken bones, in and out of the sink, coke mixed with red wine—

I chuckled.

I hate parties.

Fun precedes chaos.

I approached the fridge and drew out the broomstick behind it. I glanced at the tornado mop, but I’m going to deal with that later. I returned to the living room, and it looked like abstract art. She was eating the leftover cakes.

I furrowed my brows.

“Oh,” she swallowed, “I’m just waiting for you to finish. Carry on.” She sipped the leftover cups. I stared at her. “Such a waste, in it? And what’s with that face of yours?” She chuckled. “Your ‘what the hell’ face is probably the funniest thing in the world. Why is it that serious faces are often funny? Is seriousness the new comedy?” She sucked the remaining spaghetti.

I looked away. “Can you stop that?”

“There are many hungry people out in this world—”

“I know that. But can’t you use a bit more common sense?”

“Common sense? I don’t have that.”

“God.”

“Hurry up and be done with it already. I’m getting bored.”

“Why not eat all those, so I don’t have to clean much?”

She looked at me as though that was a good idea. “No,” I said, “just kidding. Don’t. I beg of you—just don’t.”

“M’kay.”

I swept out the crummy tissues on the floor, bread bits and chips, lipsticks, coins, earphones, cigarette butts, and crumpled confetti streaks. “At least pick up the balloons, please.”

“A’ight.” She stopped eating and grabbed scissors. She popped balloons one by one.

I shook my head, grabbed a trash bag by its neck, tilted my dustpan to throw the contents within.

I still had to sweep all the popped balloons like they’re colorful condoms.

I crumpled all the aluminum foil plates, tossed them in the bag, along with beer bottles and pineapple juice cans.

I looked behind at her, and she was sitting on the floor, cross-legged. Clean floor, but not sparkling yet.

I tied the two trash bags, hurled them in the corner, and I plopped down the couch, sighing. She looked at me and did the same. “Wash the dishes for me,” I said.

“Sure.”

I looked at her, quick. “What, really?”

“Yeah. You can sleep now. Let me do the rest.”

I glanced at the clock. “Good. I’ll reward you, then. Later. That way, you’ll be motivated next time.”

“Don’t need it. You cleaning the whole thing is already my reward.”

“Hm, okay.”

I massaged my eyes. I kept staring at the clock, squinting my eyes at its ticks and tocks. Sleepiness always goes at the wrong time—now, I was wide awake, so sleeping would be annoying.

“You should’ve drunk beer,” she said, still holding a cup.

Here, she handed the cup out to me.

I took it. I looked at the pee-like contents, sniffed it, swished it.

“There’s nothing worse in the world than a lukewarm beer,” she said. “But try it, anyway.”

I looked at her, then at my cup. “You know…I think people shouldn’t drink alcohol at all.”

“Occasional is fine.”

“Why do you drink alcohol, then?”

She eyed the ceiling. “Well, it’s really fun to drink with your friends. We’re completely aware that alcohol isn’t supposed to be that good for you, but we still drink it anyway. You’re the strange one here because you only drink water.”

“I’m not trying to refer to health.”

“Then what is it?”

I sipped on my cup. “Friedrich Nietzsche, my favorite philosopher, hates two things: Christianity and alcohol.” I wiped my mouth and returned the cup to her. “Both numb pain and both reassure us that things are just fine as they are—sapping us of the will to change our lives for the better.”

She sipped; her ears perked.

“Basically, we love to ignore our problems, even just for a little moment. That’s true. We always seek comfort in stressful times. That’s true. Pleasure and displeasure come hand in hand. But—”

“He already said it himself, right?” she said. “‘You have your way. I have my way. As for the right way, the correct way, and the only way, it does not exist.’ If you’re really fond of his philosophies, then of all people, you should know this.”

I smiled. “That’s true. I’m not saying you should quit alcohol forever or anything. I just like to opinionate.” I looked at the clock and stood. “Well, time to hit the bed. Thank you—for washing the dishes later. We’ve gone too deep. It’s just alcohol, no more, no less.”

I was about to walk upstairs when she asked me—

“Do you like the taste?”

I looked over my shoulder.

“No, I don’t.”