The almost empty bottle of alcohol
slipped from her fingers and crashed below her, on top of the massive rocks that
formed the beach in that part of the port. It wasn’t an area to go an have fun of
anything, rather a place for people who loved seafood to go and have a delicious
dish of crab, lobster, fish or any other creature from the sea. The small pier
on which Cynthia was seating, her legs dangling like she used to do when she
was younger, was located in a part closed to the public, far from the
restaurants and the bustling ambiance of the now exclusive and upscale area of commerce
that was located a few steps away.
Where she was, she could hear the
ocean crashing softly against the rocks and then pull back and then crash the
rocks again. She found that beautiful sound to be very soothing, especially at
that precise moment of her life when she was feeling cornered by thoughts and
things that were happening all around her. She knew the place from one time she
had been invited to a party there and now she looked at the pieces of glasses
on the rocks, as if they had the answer to all of her problems. And apparently,
the answer was to open up the other bottle she kept on her coat and start
drinking again, no regrets at all.
Cynthia had never really been a
lover of alcohol but it felt soothing for that moment to do something like
that. She wasn’t into drugs or anything like that, having a crippling fear of
dying from an overdose, so she would more often than not go to her nearest store
and buy a couple of middle-sized bottles of alcohol, which she could feet
nicely into her large winter coat. And it was that, the weather during that
time of year, that made it all the more perfect. She knew it was the perfect
way for her to handle what was going on and she wouldn’t let anyone else decide
for her what to do or how to do it.
As she took a good sip of the
clear liquid in the bottle, she paid special attention to a fishing vessel
entering the port. She was certain no one could see her there, on the spot she
had chosen to be in, but realized it would be very annoying to have someone
come and stop her from going on and on with that part of her life. Because that’s
what it had become: alcohol had become the perfect gateway “drug” to make her
feel a little less, something she really needed each time she was reminded of
her past but also her present and the prospects her future held. Everything in
life triggered her and made her unable to respond normally to anything.
The fishing boat passed and
Cynthia waved at it, already a bit drunk from the alcohol but also because of
the cold. She closed her coat a little bit more, realizing she had chosen an
especially cold evening to go out and sit over the ocean. But the truth was
that she had never “chosen” such a place or such an activity. It was only the
thing she could do without feeling she was doing the wrong thing or acting in
an undesirable manner. She wasn’t a mess there, by herself.
It was also easy to hear the
screams and laughter coming from the people in the restaurants, but Cynthia tried
hard not to pay attention. One reason was that she didn’t really liked any of
the people that visited such places. They were mostly snobbish, the type of
folk that don’t even realize people don’t normally have the kind of money to
dine in such places every single night. That was exactly what she realized the
day she was invited to a party there and soon realized how much of a mistake it
had been to attend that event, at that time and in that place. It was all wrong
and there was no real way to mend it.
She made everyone feel uncomfortable and the only thing she won out of
that experience was the fact that she was very clear on how other people
perceived her and what she didn’t really like about all of them. She was one of
those people that don’t really mind what you say about them or how you say it, or
at least they seem to not care at all. That’s way her appearance in that party
was such a disaster, even if other things were feeling as if they had been improving
in her life for quite some time. But those awful moments of social awkwardness
made everything feel worse and seem worse, and she didn’t really need that.
When she finished the bottle, she
dropped it intentionally over the rocks, applauding loudly when the glass shattered
and pieces flew all over the place, to the ocean, over the algae and on the rock.
No one appeared after she had clapped. Maybe no one cared or maybe she had a
way with the city and its strange places, but her next move was to go back to
the mainland and try to exit the area without anyone looking at her. She was successful,
after avoiding to look back on her way to the exit. Once there, she walked,
cold and shaking but feeling a bit better. The cold wind on her cheeks was
apparently doing wonders too.
She sat at the bus stop and
realized she was a bit tipsy. She looked around, and realized her only other
companion was a very elderly woman who didn’t even have a reason to be walking
around so late in such a remote place. Cynthia looked at her and tried to guess
if she was actually younger than she seemed or if she seemed to be into the
kind of things that hip people liked doing over there. She didn’t have much
choice anyway, as the bus appeared soon and they both entered. Cynthia sat
behind the driver and the old lady walked very slowly to a seat by the middle
of the bus. Maybe she was buying something she wasn’t supposed to.
When Cynthia got home, she felt really dizzy and also very tired. She
dropped on her bed in two seconds after she had arrived and realized, in a moment,
that she was drunk and that she hated most of the people with whom she interacted
ever. Everyone including doctors, shrinks, supposed friends and family and all
other people that always try for you to have the life that they want for you,
instead of the want for yourself. She really hated them, with feeling.
She then decided to strip for bed
and stood in front of the mirror, looking at her almost naked body. Cynthia was
not a supermodel but she wasn’t the ugliest woman in the world, she was fine.
But she didn’t have much else aside a degree she never used and a lot of debt
towards her parents. She was one of those so-called “leeches” that live in
their parents’ home for years and never really go. Her fortieth birthday seemed
close, even if it wasn’t going to happen for some more years. It was pressing
on her, her mind and the body she was looking at.
It was obvious that she didn’t really feel great about all of that but
even so she got herself into a pajama and then into bed. She heard her parents
entering the house right when she was about to fall asleep. It was nice she had
chosen that precise night to be able to come back without her parents being
there and asking something about her life or, much worse, not saying anything
but giving her looks and glances, certain attitudes too, that made her realize
what she already knew. But how the overcome the fact that she was a non- achiever?
How was she supposed to overcome
the fact that she was just one person, unable to change the world around her? That’s
why she needed to drink, why she really needed to have a proper reaction to
everything happening around her. She could just be there and take it or end it
all in two seconds. Neither of those two options was an actual option, she didn’t
have access to any of them. So, she had to endure and keep at it until
something happened. But it had a toll on her and maybe that one would be the
last straw for her and her consciousness. She knew very well she was not the kind
of person to hold for years and years.
Cynthia often found herself
looking up at her ceiling, wondering about all of those people she had met at
least once. She wondered about their lives, their success and their stories of
greatness and achievements. And she felt so tremendously alone after that. She
remembered the times she had borrowed money from her father to pay for a
quality education and it had all amounted to nothing. They didn’t really say it
but she knew, deep that, that it was the case.
So every night was a struggle and
every new day felt as one more iron ball had been put in a jar representing her
life. It got heavier and heavier, never easy to properly carry around.