The Extrovert to my Introvert

Looking out my third-story window I have a full view of the street next to the university. I see all the friends walking and talking in their little groups as they make their way to the clubs and restaurants down the street. They look so jovial. Apart from the dim light coming through my window, my room is eerily dark. I like to keep it that way. The gloom makes me feel hidden, although I find myself longing for what those friends out there on the street have. They walk along as if they don’t have a care in the world. Tonight each of them is either going to have the time of their life or a night they won’t be able to remember. Either way, they will have memories they can share with those friends for the rest of their lives. I open my laptop and ignore all the emails from my professors to re-watch a movie I’ve seen a hundred times. My clothes are one wear away from reeking but the communal laundry room is somewhere on the ground floor and I haven’t had the courage to go look for it yet. Just as my movie was starting my phone rings.

I am instantly startled because I hate the sound of my phone ringing.

“Hi Moné, how are you?” I try to sound as polite as possible. I can hardly call Moné a friend but we are in the same hostel and share similar interests so you could say we are familiar but I have never gotten a phone call from her so I don’t really know what to think. “Hey Amy, I am done at work and I still have to pay you back for driving me around last week. Do you want to meet at Texas Bar for a beer? I’ll pay.” Her domineering personality shows as this is less of a request and more of a statement. My breath suddenly becomes shorter and my arms start tingling all the way down to my fingers. If I say no, we’ll probably never become good friends. If I say yes, I have to go out in public with a person I don’t know all that well. What if we have nothing in common? Will there be awkward silences and if so, what can I do to fill them? Just imagine Moné realizes this was a terrible mistake and she realizes how boring I am, I would die of shame. My whole body was preparing to decline the offer as gracious as possible so as not to offend her but my mouth starts talking before my brain can control it: “That sounds great.” What did I just do? Moné proceeds to tell me when we should meet and that I should meet her there because she lives nearby and will be walking to the bar. So not only do I have to meet a relative stranger in a strange place but I also have to enter the bar alone. What if I get there first, do I get a table, or do I wait outside like a weirdo? I can try to be late on purpose but then I’ll seem rude. I look through my laundry basket for the least filthy pants and shirt and quickly but unassumingly make my way towards my car in the basement parking.

It’s already pretty late and people are socializing in every common area of my apartment building. I don’t know any of these people so I just move past without making eye contact. They probably don’t even notice me but it feels like their gazes are burning holes in my not-so-clean clothes. Do I smell nice enough? Maybe I put on a little too much perfume. Is there such a thing as too much perfume? I dismiss the thought and keep walking to my car. I start my car and carefully make my way to the bar. I try and find a parking space as close to the bar as possible and park. I look out onto the street to see if I can maybe spot Moné but she is not outside. Either she is already waiting for me inside or she is running late. From the little interaction I’ve had with her, it is clear that she’s on her own time. You don’t really understand her, you just accept her, because she won’t change for anyone anyhow.

I take a deep breath and make my way to the bar. I go up the steps and through the door trying to act as if I belong there. I scan the room and instantly spot the long dark hair and commanding figure of the taller than average Moné. A rush of instant relief flows over my body as we make eye contact. She waves me over to her table. “Hey, I am so glad you came. I am in a party mood. I already ordered you a beer. I just got paid today and they have a brandy special at the bar so be prepared to get sloshed.” She talks to me as if we’ve been friends for a lifetime. I am confused but also flattered. We drink the first beer rather quickly and make our way to the bar. Somehow I need her approval for everything I do and say. She praises me for my fashion which embarrasses me of course. She talks to me like a confidant which makes me feel all gooey inside. She is a professional hype woman because after talking to her for half an hour I feel like I can do anything. We are mid-conversation when someone interrupts us: “Hey girls, my friend over there thinks you’re really attractive and he asked me to ask you if you want to come to join us at our table.” The girl talking to us looks like she is sixteen at the most, wearing something I wouldn’t even wear if I were a stripper. This intrusion shakes me out of the gooey comfort zone that I established for myself and Moné. Ugh, boys. Talking to boys is exhausting. It is really something I avoid at all costs but I was foolish to think Moné shared my sentiment. “Go tell your friend that if he really likes me, he’ll come to tell me in person.” Moné looks over to the boy who made the request and lured him with a seductive gaze that made me very uncomfortable. I turned to the barman and ordered another drink as well as a shot of tequila; a little liquid courage goes a long way.

Moné and the boy start talking and flirting shamelessly while I sit next to her awkwardly trying not to look like the third wheel I have obviously become. We eventually join the boy and his friends at their table, me a little more reluctant than my friend. Soon the drinks start flowing even more generously as the boy insists on paying for the both of us; because as the rule clearly states: “If you wanna be my lover, you gotta get with my friends.” I make small talk and for some reason unknown to me I try to impress them at every turn. These people are not my people but still, I want, crave their validation. The barman yells from behind the bar: “Last call!” “Oh shit, but I’m not ready to go home yet.” Moné yells out as she sips the last of her drink. “We can always continue the party at my place.” Replies the boy enthusiastically as Moné plays right into his hand.

The next morning I open my eyes to see a pair of feet next to my head. As if to punish me for last night’s transgressions my ears begin to ring and my brain starts to throb. It feels like my skull is about to split open at any second. I know if I move I’ll throw up so I try to keep my head as still as possible. The room slowly starts to become familiar as I realize I am in my own bed, back in my third-story flat. Although unsure of how I ended up here I am very grateful for the familiar surroundings.

Very cautiously I lift my head ever so slightly to try and figure out whose feet are in my face. Relief floods my body as I realize that it’s just Moné, snoring peacefully, unaware of the undead corpse, that is me, slowly decaying beside her. I am convinced that I am dead because this feels like hell. Moving like a sloth I get out of bed to get my water bottle on my desk. The water drips down my chin onto my now even dirtier shirt as I chug the water. For a minute I contemplated death as the throbbing in my head intensified. She awakes and Moné begs for a sip of my water. I give her the bottle as I sit down next to her on the bed. Thick silence fills the room as both of us recall the moronic events of the previous night, although most of last night’s events are completely missing from my mind. I look at my new acquaintance and she smiles at me slyly as I tell the biggest lie of my life: “I’m never going out with you again.”