Two Drinks Later
Two drinks later and it was karaoke time. My roommate Dawn and I went up there and decided to sing some Aretha Franklin. Laughing, drinking and singing I was having a grand ole time in Edinburgh. He had been eyeing me all night. It wasn’t until four drinks later that we actually started to chat. I guess you can say I was distracted. The amount of perverted Scottish old men was more than I was used to, but right away I knew this one was different. For starters, he was actually the youngest local in the bar, some would say somewhere around late twenties. When I finally sat next to him the first thing I noticed was his Irish accent, go figure I met an Irish bloke in Scotland. Unfortunately, his name escapes me; it sounded something like a girl’s name. Ah no matter… he was cute, I was drunk and wanted to have fun. We talked about nonsense, everything from US politics, school, his relocating to Edinburgh and more. Last call was heard all over the bar.
He asked, “Should we go back to your place or mine?” Hum… decisions, decisions… “Let’s go back to your place, since I have roommates and you don’t.” At least it sounded like a good idea at the time. Approximately, six drinks in and one can say my decision making skills were blunted. Dawn and Nate asked several times if I was okay. They were both veterans of studying abroad and knew me from last summer’s Italian adventures. But were both very worried and now looking back they had good reason to be. Of course at that moment I was fantastic, life was good, drinks were good, but the buzz was great!
Stumbling down the dark dank stone streets of Edinburgh wasn’t fun. It had been raining all week and the temperature had dropped severely. I had no idea where we were. I think we were both weaving in and out of sidewalks onto streets, as we walked back to his place. He needed to stop at his cousin’s bar to collect his bike he had stored for the night. Out came these two very cute outgoing local girls. They were both beyond drunk and had the hardest time formatting a logical sentence. A slurred “Hello, I love your curly hair,” was about the only thing I could make out of what they were saying to me. After he came out of the bar on his bike passing me by, I had no idea what was going on. Did he want me to follow him? A very quick, “Are you comin?” was my only cue. Off I went, trailing behind him until he suddenly stopped in front of a bright red door.
European apartments have always been my favorite, all so quaint and adorable. His apartment door opened right into the bathroom straight ahead of you. To the right was the kitchen and to the left was the bedroom. That was it! If you blinked long enough, you’d miss a room. I noticed a small t.v. directly in front of the bed/couch, and on my left a window, where all of my adventures would unfold. I went straight into the bathroom. As all of my evening’s libations poured out of me, I began to hear random screams coming from outside. It was a girl’s voice yelling out his name to let her in. For the purpose of this story let’s call him, ‘Gene’. While I began to wash my hands, I proceeded to hear, “Let me in Gene. I know you’re up there, let me in or you come down”, of course, the important thing to remember was her very high pitched, very loud Scottish accent screaming all these commands outside a quiet residential area around 1:30 in the morning.
Trying very hard to control the spinning room, I went outside of the bathroom looking for Gene. As I walked into the bedroom, he was standing beside the bed listening to the commotion happening outside. I wanted to see who was out there, yelling so loudly, I walked over to the window and peeked. “Get the fuck away from the window, what the fuck you doin? I don’t want her to see you.” Not really knowing what to do next I just sat down on the bed, with my jacket on and purse in hand. A very pissed off Gene walked over to the kitchen, opened the apartment door and yelled back to me, “I’ll be back.” The next thing I heard was the door locking behind him. Yes, he locked me into the apartment. Scared shitless I just sat there like a deer in head lights not having a clue what the hell was happening, nor what I should be doing next. Insane screaming bellowed into the apartment. “What the fuck you doin here? Leave me the fuck alone! Go home!” Where as she replied, “I saw her go up there with ya. I saw her Gene, the blondie. I know she’s fuckin up there, Gene. Let me in or… I’m coming up.”
Footsteps came stomping up the stairs and I remained frozen on the bed. The only thing I could think of was how sober I was becoming and how fast. The door unlocked and it was Gene. Thousands of questions were going through my mind but the only ones that came out were, “Who is she?” “What the hell is she doing here?” “What does she want?” And lastly, “I’m going home.” The only response I was given was, “I don’t blame ya… I’d leave too if I could.” Then he disappeared once more into the kitchen. The slamming of pots and pans was all I could hear. Why my legs didn’t want to work that night, I have no idea. Perhaps it was all the alcohol or better yet my immediate numbing reaction to this entire situation that I had gotten myself into. Either way, something prevented me from moving.
Finally, without saying a word, Gene went straight to the door, walked out and locked it behind him. Once again, I was trapped in his home, on his bed, in this uniquely insane situation. What the hell was I waiting for? Looking back, I think I was more afraid of what would’ve happened going down the stairs rather than staying upstairs in his apartment. Again, the hollering began, between the both of them. She must have been with more than one girl, since several female voices were heard yelling. I counted at least five of them all hollering extreme profanity at this unlikely turn of events. Within minutes, I heard a very loud unexpected bang, then another, and one more. At this point my legs finally came to; I got up and went straight to the window to see what was really going on. The banging continued and loud cries came out of all the girls. “Don’t do it, Gene. She’s pregnant. What the fuck are ya doin Gene? You’re fuckin crazy!” There was Gene, holding what seemed to be a large sledge hammer, pounding into her car like it was a slab of thick tenderloin. The pounding started by her tail lights, next he moved onto her bumper, side door, head lights, then finally the windows, ALL of them. The car was destroyed and Gene seemed to have lost all sense of reason. All the girls were hysterical, screaming and crying. My drunken stupor was over and finally all my senses came through. I decided to move away from the window not to be seen and was attempting to plot my way out.
Silence blanketed the next few moments. Then loud pounding steps came rushing up those stairs. There he was, once again detouring straight into the kitchen, not saying a word. Immediately, I got up and told him I was leaving. I looked into the kitchen and watched as he cleaned off his bloody hand and the hammer. Nothing else was said. I left the door behind me opened, as I started to rush down the several flights of stairs. By the time I got down to the second story, there was banging on the front door. Shit I thought, that’s probably her. Thoughts were swirling all around my head, do I go down stairs and deal with psycho bitch or do I end up back in his apartment dealing with what could be the next Charles Manson? The banging became louder, and then a demanding male voice came through the door. “Open up it’s the police.” Oh good god, could this night get any worse? Once more, I froze without any clue as to which direction I should go in. Up or down, up or down. Oh fuck me this night sucks. As soon as I decided to go downstairs the front door busted open.
I had just started walking down the second flight of stairs when I saw a trail of police officers marching through the hall and up the skinny spiral staircase. My immediate reaction was to avoid all eye contact at all cost and continue straight through that door. Please god don’t let these cops stop me, please god. Just keep walking. Just keep walking straight and don’t look back.
“Evening Miss.”
“Hi!”
One of them eyed me as I passed him in the hall. The last thing I needed was to go to jail for any sort of questioning. I was drunk, no passport, no proper ID, cell phone nor did I even know the address to my stupid dorm. I was screwed. I walked straight out the door into a circular barricade of cop cars. Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. There she was with her friends, chatting it up with one of the police officers. Alright Aisha, we can do this, don’t look at anyone and keep walking! These direct commands to myself kept me sober enough that I made it far from the barricade, the cops, the girls, Gene and all the madness that was this night, however they also got me lost. With no clue where I was walking to, I aimlessly walked 3 blocks into another neighborhood.
Scared as hell, lost, I prayed to find my way back to the dorms. And there it was… my saving grace, Tesco! The local supermarket only 2 blocks away from my temporary summer home. I knew exactly where I needed to go and I ran. I ran up a small hill passing a church, the first dorm, a Scottish closed down pub and finally my dorm. I ran up two flights of stairs, grabbed my keys from my purse, unlocked my bedroom door and almost cried with joy. I made it back home safely. I was so mentally distraught by the evening’s turn of events, I could not fall asleep, and so without hesitation I grabbed my notebook and began to write. “Two drinks later and it was karaoke time.”
