ANDREA FROM OVERSEAS
May 27th 2008 13:41
For Di.
Everybody wants to be a writer. If you go to a room and tell people you’re a writer, someone will most likely tell you, Hey, man, I’m a writer too. Whenever I tell people I’m trying to get my first novel published, they smile and tell me, That’s good, and then change the subject. I guess they don’t believe me. But then again I don’t believe people when they tell me they’re a writer either. The world is nuts like that.
I woke up to Andrea’s phone call. I asked, Who the hell is this. She said, It’s Andrea. I asked, Who the hell is this. She said, It’s Andrea. Andrea... from overseas. I’m back for a week.
I met Andrea years ago. She liked circles and smoking and music and smoking and coffee and smoking. One day she left us all behind. One day I forgot about her.
I like the way girls tell each other, You’re so pretty! If you go out with a girl, and she meets another girl, she’ll say something like, I like your dress, you’re so pretty! And you look at the girl she’s looking at, and you think, Fuck, she’s not pretty. I wonder what the world would be like if guys went up to their guy friends and said, I like your top, you’re so handsome! Andrea doesn’t tell non-pretty girls that they’re pretty. She tells them nothing. She just nods.
Andrea and Trent and I went to the Empire, and by then we were extremely intoxicated from pretty much everything.
The key to looking good! Trent yelled to Andrea, is to accessorise! Accessories are so, like, in for chicks right now!
The club was full of people who were dancing. Well, it was a club so I guess nothing was strange about that. When you go to a club in Brisbane, this is what you’ll usually see: people dancing, people’s backs, a blonde girl surrounded by several guys, someone carefully holding two beers while trying to walk through everyone, a train of friends linked together who are also trying to walk through everyone, someone crying and someone comforting, a couple making out, people grinding, people dancing in a circle, people lining up for drinks, people standing around awkwardly, people screaming WHAT? someone high, someone writing a text message, a drunk white guy constantly staring at two or three Asian girls dancing by themselves. Clubs never change, but for some reason they always excite the shit out of everyone. Some guy walked up to me, both hands covering his ears, screaming, I FUCKED UP MY DRUGS! and ran away.
Trent and Andrea and I walked to the balcony and sat down and looked at the street beneath us. Andrea kissed us both and then smoked and said nothing. Things became black and white and I hated it, loathed it, loathed Brisbane. I looked at the palm of my hand, at the lines, at the skin, at the invisibles. I found myself in someone’s house, and we were all dancing to music on YouTube, and everyone wanted their turn to play their favourite song.
By the time Andrea took my hand and guided me out to some place, everything was in slow motion and beautiful and rapid and chaotic and monumental and I couldn’t stop grinning. Andrea was swaying. She tried to stand straight but failed. She pointed at me. She said,
Dean, I keep hearing from everyone that... I keep hearing that you’re becoming even more secluded than ever. The world is overwhelming and at most times it’ll become sad, but you’ve got, you’ve got to take time out and just, just take a break, you know? Just call your friends. Call them. Call your mother. You know, Dean? I’m probably not going back to Australia and I probably won’t see you for a long time, but you take care, Dean, you know? Stop the self loathing, okay? You promise?
I smiled, and she told me about this DJ she has a crush on and made out with but didn’t sleep with, and when I woke up two days later, she had gone back overseas.
My favourite song that night.
Everybody wants to be a writer. If you go to a room and tell people you’re a writer, someone will most likely tell you, Hey, man, I’m a writer too. Whenever I tell people I’m trying to get my first novel published, they smile and tell me, That’s good, and then change the subject. I guess they don’t believe me. But then again I don’t believe people when they tell me they’re a writer either. The world is nuts like that.
I woke up to Andrea’s phone call. I asked, Who the hell is this. She said, It’s Andrea. I asked, Who the hell is this. She said, It’s Andrea. Andrea... from overseas. I’m back for a week.
I met Andrea years ago. She liked circles and smoking and music and smoking and coffee and smoking. One day she left us all behind. One day I forgot about her.
I like the way girls tell each other, You’re so pretty! If you go out with a girl, and she meets another girl, she’ll say something like, I like your dress, you’re so pretty! And you look at the girl she’s looking at, and you think, Fuck, she’s not pretty. I wonder what the world would be like if guys went up to their guy friends and said, I like your top, you’re so handsome! Andrea doesn’t tell non-pretty girls that they’re pretty. She tells them nothing. She just nods.
Andrea and Trent and I went to the Empire, and by then we were extremely intoxicated from pretty much everything.
The key to looking good! Trent yelled to Andrea, is to accessorise! Accessories are so, like, in for chicks right now!
The club was full of people who were dancing. Well, it was a club so I guess nothing was strange about that. When you go to a club in Brisbane, this is what you’ll usually see: people dancing, people’s backs, a blonde girl surrounded by several guys, someone carefully holding two beers while trying to walk through everyone, a train of friends linked together who are also trying to walk through everyone, someone crying and someone comforting, a couple making out, people grinding, people dancing in a circle, people lining up for drinks, people standing around awkwardly, people screaming WHAT? someone high, someone writing a text message, a drunk white guy constantly staring at two or three Asian girls dancing by themselves. Clubs never change, but for some reason they always excite the shit out of everyone. Some guy walked up to me, both hands covering his ears, screaming, I FUCKED UP MY DRUGS! and ran away.
Trent and Andrea and I walked to the balcony and sat down and looked at the street beneath us. Andrea kissed us both and then smoked and said nothing. Things became black and white and I hated it, loathed it, loathed Brisbane. I looked at the palm of my hand, at the lines, at the skin, at the invisibles. I found myself in someone’s house, and we were all dancing to music on YouTube, and everyone wanted their turn to play their favourite song.
By the time Andrea took my hand and guided me out to some place, everything was in slow motion and beautiful and rapid and chaotic and monumental and I couldn’t stop grinning. Andrea was swaying. She tried to stand straight but failed. She pointed at me. She said,
Dean, I keep hearing from everyone that... I keep hearing that you’re becoming even more secluded than ever. The world is overwhelming and at most times it’ll become sad, but you’ve got, you’ve got to take time out and just, just take a break, you know? Just call your friends. Call them. Call your mother. You know, Dean? I’m probably not going back to Australia and I probably won’t see you for a long time, but you take care, Dean, you know? Stop the self loathing, okay? You promise?
I smiled, and she told me about this DJ she has a crush on and made out with but didn’t sleep with, and when I woke up two days later, she had gone back overseas.
My favourite song that night.
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