The Big Bash Pool Party
And the crooked cock Vayne?
And there I was, on the fourth day of trip. The uptight girl who flirts with the big bash parties but ends up never showing up. The prim proper who would ponder about it for days in a row, take some time planning an outfit and a scheme to go, but would never leave the house — unless if it was for work.
In somewhere like that — a cruise ship — where everything you do is limited to an area and a minimally delimited diameter, and where the only exit is back to your cabin or the seabed, I decided to stop flirting and actually get into it.
“Wanna know what? I’m twenty. I can do this”, I thought while beating a shabby copy of Operation Trojan Horse on the lounger seat.
And yeah, I was right.
I got up resolutely. I’d go to a party bigger than the ones I’ve attended in the past few nights at the club, and obviously way wilder than the ones I’ve hosted — I mean, if a select group of 50 to 70 church kids with guitars, pastoral vocation and pizzas isn’t savage enough.
Every night at eleven I’d head up to the ship’s nightclub, meet my newly acquired friends, talk to them for two hours or so, dance silly decadent 2010 remixed songs in a disjointed and carefree way until someone shout “Let’s get pizza, I’m hungry!”, “I’m hella tired!” or “oh fuck, we lost Nicholas again!”.
We lose him every night, it’s nearly unbelievable.
Always, at some point, we decide to go to the empty back bar to spend the rest of the night chatting. And honestly, it is one of the most wholesome experiences. Sit next to large windows overlooking the sea in a calm and quiet place where we could just enjoy everyone’s presence and deep chat.
It truly feels like our place.
On that specific day, without my parents, Nicholas or my former squad on track, I had a few options to crawl out of the boredom.
At this time, I’d walk in a party full of strangers. Some weird folks I’ve seen around doing suspicious stuff — whatever this is — and on that day I’d feel what an uncontrollable party was.
Whatever that was… Well, I’d find that out.
The ship was moored, and it was going to be like that until 5am. Most people were outside, taking advantage of the evening excursions.
I preferred to stay on the ship that night. Just like everything I do, I had already figured out a possibility to explore something new in a way that I could (at least inside my head) completely control.
The party started in the back pool of the ship, right after a live concert (that was actually awesome). It seems that the best things they had to offer (such as attractions, beverages, food and music) was placed in that concert while it was happening — even because the duration was compatible with everyone’s schedule, including people who would be leaving the ship in the next few hours to enjoy the nightlife on firm ground.
To the ones that remained (read it, me and the weirdest folks on Earth), the gates of the open air dungeon widely unlocked, savagely, watered by plenty of alcohol, cigarettes and marijuana (hello there Montevideo!).
Everything seemed under control at first. Comfortable platform shoes, skirt in a safe length, my anti-dudes device (that shouldn’t even be on-board, but who cares?) — if my 14 years old face and body were not enough to keep them well away from me.
Headed up to the top deck by the inner stairs, which had a prime view to the entire perimeter of the party. I leaned against the railing, contemplative. It was dark so no one could see me. Still, I could see and understand things downstairs before deciding if I’d get into the mess, and by where.
Apparently some of those were already altered from the substances of the previous party at the middle pool. Some of them seemed to have just… stirred up a little more.
Ok, maybe I should wait a little. The view of the city lights and the harbor are beautiful from the very top.
I remained leaning on the railing of the upper deck watching the city for a few minutes. But it didn’t take long for the first shout of the night to happen.
I couldn’t see clearly, but there was a very awkward couple hooking up in a corner, to the left of the pool. And as much as their friends shouted and made fun of that, more into the hook up they seemed to be.
Soon, another two got under a table, close to them, also hooking up in a strange way. Clearly making fun of them, but making room for more subjective hypotheses about what their hands were doing, while the people around laughed about the situation, calling even more attention to them.
The same kids that were shouting were saying preposterous phrases at the Filipino staff working at the bar. They seemed excited but clearly drunk to the sound of a really depressing brazilian carioca funk.
Dude, no way. Am I on the right place?
My parents are having wine to the sound of the greatest argentino Tango with steaks and horses — and I’m contemplating a situation that reminds me the stupid high school parties we used to have.
Everything that people did was not out of genuine will, but out of the simple desire to prove shit to others. I was naive enough to think something would change after we reached the age of 20.
The concert was so great, I was having so much fun, I couldn’t imagine that what was coming next would be so miserable.
Is everyone really that stupid in public?
Sigh. Disappointed but not even a tiny bit surprised.
I decided I should go to the deck the party was going on, and walked around a little bit, which was in fact very little. It seems that all stupid beings onboard present in the voluntary confinement resolved to meet at the back pool to what was supposed to be a party.
Ok, the day I took a national scale politician to poop in the break of a live debate was way more exciting than this.
In the past and last years we made a luau on Deck 13. In 2015 we danced until dawn on the night club and then jumped together in the pool, where we laughed and enjoyed watching the first rays of the sun appear, while the first breakfast dishes were arranged in the buffet. There we made friends with two people who worked in the kitchen, and they told us their stories. Who they were, where did they come from, what were their dreams and hopes, what they’ve learned working on cruise ships.
It wasn’t depressing, it was actually awesome.
The kids that jumped inside the pool with me, the folks that used to play the guitar on Deck 13, we’re all still have some kind of contact (even though it is limited like exchanging likes on Instagram). I can’t see one single person here in the middle with whom I feel like even starting a conversation.
Oh no. Wait. I don’t want to be the boring uptight girl who stares at everyone and feels like everyone’s shit and she’s the one who’s too good for the party?
Nah, that’s not me.
Or… am I?
Well… selfish and kinda stuck… Yeah, maybe I am.
Shit. I’m sorry.
At three, when I was leaving, I went inside the buffet where the water machine was and found a guy who should be about 22 years old sitting at the foot of it, crying and yelling that his cock was crooked.
I ignored at first, but he was weeping too hard.
Let me see, talk to the dude who is certainly the guy your mother told you as a child not to approach because he’s the personification of everything that’s completely random, strange and possibly ilegal, or walk quietly to your cabin and just ignore the person who despite seeming a threat to the female-kind is so sealed that he will not even be able to walk and follow you?
Oh, it’s obvious, right?
“Uhm… what’s wrong?”, I asked as my glass finished being filled.
C’mon Steph, you can still go. He isn’t moving… his eyes are closed… You can go… Pretend you didn’t say anything…
“My cock is crooked…” he said bleak.
Shit.
“Dude, you’re alright, everything is fine…”, I said.
“Do you want to see it?”
“No! No!”, I replied quickly and loudly, moving myself away. “I mean, no. You can tell me what’s bothering you if it makes you feel better, but I’m cool.”
He raised an arm at me, making the OK sign.
“Where are your friends?”, I continued as I sat on his side. “Are you completely alone?”
He let his head rest on my shoulder as he continued to sum up and hiss words that I could not discern.
I often think that it’s everyone’s right to use whatever the substance you want, but… Are you sure you want to pay for the consequences even if you won’t have anyone to take care of you later on? And, can you take care without shaming yourself in public or doing something that has no way back?
Uhm. Fine.
I mean, it is your body, not mine. Go ahead then.
I wanted to help him, but at the same time I had this little voice in my head telling me it isn’t my duty to take care of altered strangers.
What a random context.
Chill. I’m already here, lemme focus on other thing…
His hair still smelled male-ish green apple shampoo though his breath was deplorable from whatever the mix of saliva of questionable origins and alcohol he have consumed.
Nice.
And there I was, the prim and proper girl, sitting at the side of a nearly out of mind person giving him some awkward support so he could sleep without trying to tear out his own limb.
As depressing as it may seem, it was an important moment to me.
I remembered, during the seconds between the awkward motivational words that I was trying to search in the back of my brain that night, that time is too precious to waste in empty places with desperate people, who seek incessantly for an equally empty affection that will not be able to fill the abyss that they feel within themselves.
From weep to weep, I noticed a certain lack in that boy. And as I passed my eyes on the people coming through the door of the party and entering the buffet, I realized how much they were trying to impress one another without having a thing that seemed worthy of any kind of admiration. They seem to lack attention, lack affection, lack some love. They seemed to want to forget something or fill what seemed to have no way to be filled, not there, not on that night.
Not that way.
Boys and girls looked at each other, some touched each other, others kissed, but there did not seem to be anything there; fish looks seemed more alive than the ones I’ve seen in there.
The gestures they seek in strangers at these parties, they are empty. It is literally just skin touches and empty laughter. It seems natural but is mechanical, devoid of the humanity they seek. Whatever you experience in somewhere like that with out of mind beings, it turns whatever experience that should be unique or special into something trivial.
“What the hell am I doing here?”, I thought as I remembered everything I’ve heard in that party, everything I’ve seen… What was I really searching for? Any other story just I could feel like I was truly enjoying my youth?
Oh, come on.
How can I enjoy my youth if I engage it with banal actions devoid of feelings? As much as I’ve never left my cabin with the idea of meeting someone, I wanted to find new friends, just like the ones I’ve found on the last trips. And honestly, I certainly would not find them there.
The back bar kids that were at wine and steaks with their parents on firm ground… Those were my kids. What the hell am I doing?
Maybe if those people were a little less altered, with slightly more lively looks, with less thirst for something I could not offer because it was not a common goal… But them seemed so broken, I can’t fix them.
At least not all of them.
Looked at the guy at my side again, he does not want to be fixed. He just… need to get back to the box to stop being broken. At least for today.
Everything I know about parties is that they only seem fun when the people that are with you are up to make it fun too. Otherwise, if not for people, it seems kinda pointless.
Being in a place where you do not know anyone and feel compelled to do things that doesn’t have anything to do with who you really are to get attention and approval from people you don’t even know, it seemed pointless to me.
That’s not how you really get to know someone. And that’s not how I remember we make friends.
Thinking about every party I’ve been and threw, what made them so special? Us. Our conversations, our laughter, the adventures that we lived together because we created these adventures, we decided to make them exist.
All the people I met who said they hated parties, they have lived some very serious abusive shit in places like this because they were not with people they could trust.
There may be good people lost in there, looking for something they most probably won’t find there. I could reach out to them, but will I submit to it? No.
Once again, maybe I’m just a selfish kid who wasn’t made for this.
Snobbish piece of human again, right? Yeah, I’m sorry. I’m a master at failing miserably at trying to fit in.
I’ve been to one like this before, I was a little younger — around fifteen to be more exact. I wasn’t popular at all, my older school friends were. I went there with them but didn’t stay much. I would have to try harder to be accepted. I wanted to run. The next day we had a veteran teenager dead and a meeting with the principal.
What a great party to break. Rest in peace, Gabe.
Living life as if it’s Riverdale.
“I’m not… trivial”, I said as I looked in the depths of those hazel eyes that did not seem to harbor any being.
He kept on staring me like a fish.
“Gosh… I’m sorry”, I said as I lifted myself up. “I… I shouldn’t be here… Have a good night.”
“Wait!”, he shouted.
“What?”
“I can’t move!”, he said.
“Dude… are you serious?”
“Yes, I’m, I’m not feeling my legs!”
“I couldn’t feel mine on the first day too, but… I fell on the wet floor and nearly destroyed my basin.”
“I’m just tired from shit”, he said.
I kept on staring him, my face clearly disapproved him even though I did not want his disgrace.
“My cabin is on Deck 8.”
“We’re on deck 9.”
“Yeah but I need help with the stairs.”
“Do you have any girl friends?”
“I don’t know…”
“Dude”, I said walking away. “No time for your shit.”
“They met with some guys, I don’t know!”
I stopped. I’m tough, not evil.
“Wanna go there inside and look for them? There is a blonde girl, big breasts an-”
“OK, listen, I’ll walk you to the stairs but for the God’s sake, if you touch me I’ll seriously, SERIOUSLY end you.”
Friends so great, so supportive, that leave you for making out, great.
Oh, spare me.
“I just need someone sober enough not to let me roll down the stairs.”
“Fine, come.”
The fish-eyed guy’s name was John, and he really was 22 years old. The buffet floor was extremely slippery, which was not for less after dropping drinks and after so many folks running out of the pool with their soaked bodies. We had to walk slow. And, well, John was tired and dizzy, so basically crawling.
“Now, seriously, what were you doing here?”
“Having fun”, he said.
“Oh”, I laughed ironically. “And… did you have any fun?”
He kept on crawling.
“Ok, so what about sharing what you do in real life?”
“Real life?”
“Yeah, we’re not in real life. This is a projection, like a virtual reflection of what we are out of there.”
“Have you smoked shit?”
“Come on, what do you do for fun besides hanging out at strange parties looking for drunken girls?”
“Does eating counts?”
“Come on. Do you enjoy watching anything, do you play something? Do you have any console or play any sport?”
“I’ve got a life.”
“Fine. You look like someone who plays on the computer, mostly at night and online but has no idea what Discord app is.”
“Wait”, he said as he stopped dragging himself to the front while a bunch of four girls ran around us. “Wait, wait, wait…”, he said looking right at my face.
“You’re the League of Legends girl from day one…”
“That’s a stupid nickname...”
“Yeah, I saw you! But hey, where’s your nose ring?”
“Leave my nose ring alone.”
“Uhm”, he kept on crawling.
An awkward silence hovered. It was possible to hear only the party booms we just have left behind.
“I’ll tell you something, but you haven’t heard that from me.”
“What?”
“Main. Vayne.”
“No way.” I stopped walking, turned to him and laughed. “So party’s stallion is a League of Legends player!”
“You never heard that”, he said seriously back at me. “What are you? Support player?”
“ADC.”
“Are you serious?”
“Yeah, I know. I’m playing your support today, but it doesn’t mean anything”, I said.
He smiled at me, now standing up.
“It’s… kind of a long story”, I said. “And it started with a party too.”
To my mind, maybe, after sharing those moments, John and I could have kinda become friends. Or at least have had some more conversation over the course of the trip, but.. well, we didn’t.
I’ve met him on the next day at the buffet again, while looking for my lactose free chocolate krispies cereal. His eyes found mine, and he pretended not to know me. And so he did on the next three days, whenever he passed by me with his private big breast girls club, who were always around him when everything was fine, but they were never with him when he eventually fell again into the dull twilight chaos.
I didn’t tried to talk to him again then, until the last day, when I found him alone and asked why he would stare but never talk to me again.
If he have felt any shame for being drunk and saying things he probably wouldn’t if he was sober… well, I don’t care. I said more than once I didn’t cared, but he claimed not to remember those moments.
Claimed not to even remember me.
I left him on Deck 8 as he asked me to, and watched him staggered into the almost infinite corridor of cabins while I nodded at him from the stairs, smiling — though I was buried under the sleepy wave that racked my head.
He waved me back with a sketched stinky smile.
“Goodbye crooked cock Vayne…”, I muttered and giggled as I ran back to Deck 9, where my cabin was.
And I ran like I’ve never taken a tumble at the buffet that almost ended my trip on the first day. I took the third bath of the day and in my pajamas went to the porch.
For a brief moment, the silence, the peace, the sea and my blue chess pants.
The city lights on the horizon, and me.
My thoughts, my memories, my notebook and earphones. My sleepy head telling myself that the mission of the day was completed even though it was a crap.
“Stupid upright prissy proper lady like…”, I said pressing my cheeks kinda upset. “You’re not that stupid…”
Twenty years old, and every end of party is always the same.
“Better parties will come…”, I said. “Better parties shall come…”
Sigh.
I never understand why I still try.
