Ego Trip

I went to SOBE again, nothing glamorous this time around, no fancy hotel, no baby as a consequence of it, hell not even a lousy one night stand or even a kiss for that matter. But I did enjoy seeing again a childhood friend of mine; I say childhood because at almost forty years of age, High School seems like a remote and faraway land in the rear view mirror of my mind. I went to a South Beach Hostel, where I shared my room in three double bunker beds with four other people, took the 150 metro bus that leaves you half a block away from the hotel and on my way back the same. I spent literally less than a hundred dollars, since I used the flight benefits awarded me by my dear friend, my younger kid's mama's United connection. I spent more taking the New Jersey railroad train back and forth, and a few unexpected meals at airports awaiting the moment in which to face my greatest fear: flying. No, I do not underscore the situation, literally I die several deaths every time I set foot on a plane. And set foot I did, and I flew there for one lonely night away from the cold specter of my lovely New York, far from the ones I love, drinking cheap beer with a whole bunch of kids at a hostel where I felt and looked my age for once.
Mauricio, my high school friend, showed up on time and we had a grand time. Back in high school, we were jealous, better yet envious, of the way he'd have girls left and right as we watched like spectators a film, thinking maybe one day in the future it'd be one of us, certainly not me, who'd have the chance to embrace one, just one, of those ideal feminine creatures he'd hang around with, play around with, slept and told us stories of. Of course, I showed up with half of my pretense which even at that is a menacing force of nature, ready to show him just how much I turn around the shy boy I once was. I whipped him into shape, a man sure of himself, full of himself, almost to an obnoxious point, slightly before it turns into arrogance. We had been hanging out at the hostel lobby, making friends with the students ten years younger than us in every direction, and little did anyone suspect we were as old as we were because if there's anti-aging element more powerful than being good with women I don't know of it yet. We were comfortable in our skin, and before there were little girls in plain household clothes, sandals, no make-up. But as the night descended upon South Beach, all of these little unnoticeable girls disappeared in their bunker dress rooms and emerged transformed into a beautiful herd we had failed to see before all around. They left in cabs to the night nearby, and then, only then, I decided it was time to step out and outdo the harm of many years of oppressed adolescence.
We walked to my favorite place, Mango's. Even though Mauricio lives there, I had to redirect him because he was going the wrong way. Already I felt like the man, and so we walked and entered the place and all was fun and games, and we were in the prime of our lives right where everything that could have been taking place on a Tuesday night was happening. The hostess asked if we knew what we wanted, and I said: "Take a picture with you." She gladly obliged, and so I snapped a picture of her and my friend, and then grabbed her close and snapped one of us. Everything was going according to plan.
He walked to the bar and ordered two coronas which cost an arm and a leg, snapped pictures, looked around. He wanted to walk up to two girls who were dancing on their own, but only one of them looked good so we desisted. Instead we turned our attention to the most beautiful pair of girls nearby, dancing by the DJ's booth, talking the model type DJ who'd come and entertain them whenever he wasn't too busy playing music. We thought, without saying a word, without even considering one of them might actually be with the DJ, and walked over and asked them to dance. I froze. I couldn't get any routine out there. Again, I was that shy child feeling a bit weird and unease around women, even though I was talkative and engaging. It just didn't feel right. Mauricio had asked the most beautiful of the two girls out to dance. We were going above our league, but that's the way we liked it. I had been there before, that situation wasn't unfamiliar to me. But I couldn't simply deliver. I walked to the bar and ordered a drink, away from the action, so uncharacteristic of me. A little while later, the girls deserted him since he was without a powerful wing man, and I felt like under any other night sky, he would've been my wing man. Instead, we left back to the hostel and kept drinking, and I kept busy texting back and forth with the culprit girl back in New York. What a disaster.

It was high school all over again. Then he showed some humility, I thought he wanted to spare my pride by saying that he could see I was no longer shy. He said: "Whatever it is that's going on in New York doesn't let you be yourself here in South Beach." He was right, but I still thought I will go back soon and show him just what I'm made of. Nonetheless, it was adrenaline fun to go back to the hostel and continue being the shy boy I thought I had buried long ago. It was fun saying goodbye and promising to see each other soon which most likely won't be for a while, because if you don't take what is there right then, no one warrants any future prospect. I woke up early the next day and walked awkwardly to the beach, took my clothes off and walked into the welcoming ocean. The sun reverberated in the sky and the air was filled with the sensation that not all had been in vain. I took the 150 bus back to the airport and flew a plane for the first time without a drink, with no sleeping pill, cold turkey. Next to me an old beautiful couple was sitting. I began talking to them, trying to convince them to take the window seat. They both later took turns to go to the bathroom. I first ask the lady what made their love story a success. She went on about their personal lives, how things are different for youngsters nowadays, etc. Then she went to the bathroom and I asked the old man the same question. He dryly replied one word: "Patience."