I finally got to meet Bill's father, Sprech, who I'd forgotten that I'd already met before. He was our substitute shop teacher in seventh grade, after Mr. Brett's semi-mysterious disappearance. Sprech is now a blue eyed, rascally old gentleman, who gives the impression that at any moment he might break into a jig and shout "There's GOLD in them tharr hills!"
In the evening, we drove up to Portsmouth, and met Jayson at the Coat of Arms. For no good reason, I decided not only to drink, but to drink without restraint. I started with a Captain and Coke, which had not enough Coke; then a double chocolate martini, which was trendy and disgusting. I finished with a Peach Schnapps and Sprite, which was perfect, but which I was suddenly too drowsy to enjoy.
Justin had to buy us all a round, because he flicked lemon pulp in my eyes.
For a near-teetotaler like me, it was a lot of liquor. The strange part was, I didn't get a buzz. While the boys threw darts and yelled about the smoking ban, I sat back and made the following observations.
- My inhibitions weren't breaking down. I wasn't shouting, dancing, or even joining any conversations.
- I didn't feel more attractive or witty. I didn't feel particularly unattractive, either. In fact, the question of my own attractiveness didn't even interest me.
- When I stood up, the floor seemed farther away than usual, and slightly concave. This was a mildly novel sensation, but I preferred to sit down.
- All I wanted from life, at that moment, was a cool breeze and a long nap.
We ended the night drinking little cartons of milk in the parking lot behind Gilly's Diner. There we talked about the funding of public schools, and why Jayson is a man-whore. I don't remember much that happened after that, but I think we probably all just went home.
Sunday morning, I woke up without even a trace of a hangover. I'm beginning to think mixed drinks might not affect me the way they are meant to.