15% Baileys running through my veins.

That’s what I think the percentage of my bloody composition is at the moment. It bloody feels that way. Some launch themselves into ramblings when tipsy. Others are emotional. As for I, I am in a world of my own with colour flashbacks in my quiet intoxicated moments.

I spent the evening at Eve’s apartment, drinking and chatting about the weather, Rock Star-INXS, Lost, the whole lot.

Loved Carnivale Seasion One: I love the fact that the priest (a symbol of goodness) turns out to be the mad/evil one while Ben (who is a freak with healing powers) was the anti-hero. Don’t know how FINAS are going to show the koochie dancing scenes in Malaysia. It will be a shame to miss that part. Koochie dancing was an acceptable entertainment during the 30s.

Deadwood was alright: Never heard so many “cocksuckers” strung into one episode. Similarly I am wondering how HBO is going to show it without the “cocksuckers” scenes.

Rock Star-INXS: I think the blondie will win. He just has that look.

But back to this evening, Eve, Otto and Baileys: Recently developed a thing for Baileys that is fast becoming my daytime drink. While in London, it was Baileys in hot chocolate, Baileys with coffee al et.

I hardly have Baileys at night. But tonight was special – it was Baileys on the rocks. Super yummy! It is all too innocent and soon conversations were smooth. Like Baileys.

***
“Did you meet up with Adidas Boy since coming back?” Eve asked.

“Nope.”

“Why not?”

“Why do?” I asked.

“Don’t know…”

We sat on the mat (a nice present I bought Eve when I was in Sarawak for the Rainforest Music Festival). She has a nice pink nail colour while I decided to go kooky with an orange tinge bottle from L’Oreal.

Eve has been my close girlfriend and good coffee company. She was my desk mate when we were 14. I returned home to find her with curls. It is a nice change from her beautiful black waist length hair. It is a guaranteed shocker for her many friends. Together we had the most wonderful nights partying everywhere. Excellent company. Oh, how we have both changed since our Millennium resolution.

“Damn it!” I uttered those surprising words after a few moments of silence.

“What is it?” Eve asked.

“I’ve changed my number. Adidas Boy can’t call me anymore!”

The realization hit me hard. My one addiction in life: Adidas Boy. We spent many evenings dancing until 5 a.m. We spent even more nights talking on the phone after he finished work. Together, we drove around the city, chatting and looking at streetlights. We have done this eons ago. (I have a fascination for lightings at night. I used to drive alone searching for the brightest and most colourful neon signs and festival lightings whenever I felt sad.)

We know each other’s deepest secrets. Laughed and cried together. Loved. Lost. We kissed under the silent of the night, behind bars and clubs, under the shadows of trees, lulled by the sound of waves. He even managed to convince me to elope to another state together three years earlier. My break-up with my Swedish love was partially due to Adidas Boy.

Adidas Boy cannot contact me anymore, the thought is finally sinking in. We kept in contact for many years. And now, unless I approach him, he will never be able to find me. We will never be able to go to sleep together, holding hands, unless I walk into Palazo again.


***
“I wonder if your friend would be interested in going out somewhere with my friend over there’. He said, then pointing to another boy standing at DJ console.

“I am sorry. Neither my friend nor I are interested in going anywhere. Or somewhere, for that matter.” I said.

“Ouch, that was cold.” He said, then scratching his blonde hair. He smiled.

He wore a dark blue long sleeved shirt. A pair of Adidas Marathon peeked at the bottom of his Levi’s. He was tall and slender, just the way I like my men. He had the most beautiful and captivating smile.

“You are checking me out.” He said, laughing. Then there was silence. “I’ve gotta run. Oh yeah - my name's Adidas Boy.”

His friend whistled, signalling he has finished packing their CDs for the night and officially for them, the night was over. They were the DJs in a new dance club that Eve and I decided to check out a couple of years ago. Palazo soon found fame among the R&B fans and at any given night, the place would be filled with more than 300 people, rubbing against each other.

He turned around and ran after his friend. They walked out the door. Eve and I took our tiny drinking purse from the bartender. Said our thank yous to the employees and proceeded to walk out of the club, into the fresh 6 a.m. air. Birds were roosting in the abandoned building across the street.

It was my turn at the driver’s seat. We were at a traffic light when someone knocked on my window.

Adidas Boy riding on his Scrambler. He smiled.

Green light. I did not go. Neither did he. Red light. He looked into the car. He smiled. I looked at him straight in the eye. Eve giggled and smiled. Green light again. I engaged into first gear and drove at a painfully slow speed. He tottered along, next to my car for the next two junctions. Then after I decided to loose him by flying along the highway. One should not drive a Proton at 180 km/hour, seriously. Everything vibrates and I should imagine, everything is bolted together by five Malaysian made screws.

Still there he was, riding parallel to my window. At the next junction, he knocked on my window again. Lowering my window, I heard a muffled, “What’s your name?”

“Otto. This is Eve.” I replied.

“I am not sure if you’ve noticed but we are going ‘somewhere’ together.” He said with a smirk on his face. “Come again next weekend? I’ll like to see you.”

The conversation went on for the next few traffic junctions. No matter how fast or slow I drove, he would be riding at the same speed as mine. I just could not shake him off on my drive home.


***
Dear readers: I have never quite shook Adidas Boy off since that first night driving home. He is THAT enchanting, engraved into my subconscious. Bloody hell, I am spending today writing about him, aren’t I?

Don’t think of him. Don’t think of him. Don’t think of him.

Adidas Boy. Just like my Bailey’s tonight. Running through my veins, slowly intoxicating my soul.