Part III

Shasta responded.

She invited a mutual friend, Jenn, because a one on one was apparently too much of a declaration at that stage. This was fine. Jenn and I had been even closer than Shasta back in the day, so she eased the situation considerably. The three of us went out a few times.

One night we ended up at her friend’s place on Capitol Hill. It was one of those wholesome, warm and cozy evenings. We measured our height against the wall and drew lines in pencil. Then, someone produced cocaine. This was apparently just something everyone did back then, in that circle, in that era. I had very little experience with it and my inexperience was obvious.

I sneezed on the plate.

Shasta’s reaction was immediate and involuntary. Duuuude. I mean come on. The kind of exasperation that only exists between people who are almost close enough that something like this is allowed. I recovered by doing the next line without blinking, which seemed to be the correct move, because the temperature in the room returned to normal.

Then, near the end of the night, the room turned on me.

Not gradually. Literally. The whole room turned and looked at me and someone asked where I was staying. Shasta was across the room. We hadn’t discussed anything. The question had no correct answer in public so I got up and left.

Wrong move.

The next day was some kind of public drinking event. Shasta was clearly mad. She didn’t respond to me until afternoon. By that point I had been at the event alone for hours, constantly moving so I didn’t seem out of place. This experience was a particular brand of hell. The performance of belonging when you are completely alone, in a crowd, waiting for someone to let you back in. It was the worst sustained experience of that period in my life. And I would do it again.

She eventually responded. She let me back in. We went dancing. Her best friend became a kind of ambient third presence for the night. The three of us held hands and meandered back and forth. At the club I danced with both of them. It wasn’t so much a ‘three-person’ dynamic as it was an expression of the closeness they had, and they had admitted me in. I don’t exactly remember how the night ended, but it resulted in me going home alone. All I remember is that it was logistical, procedural; it wasn’t the desired outcome.

We tried one last time.

She invited me out. I waited in line for an hour before someone told me it was cash cover only. I had recently updated my card. I did not know the new pin. I had no cash and no means of getting cash and there was no version of this night where I was getting inside that venue. I had to go home.

The disappointment felt like a rupture. The world went offline. I was an absolute failure, and it was my fault. I was certain she never wanted to see me again, even though I had no reason to believe that.

She never followed up.

Neither did I.