storybook evening

“This feels entirely too much like a fairy tale, don’t you think?” I said and they had nodded.
 
We were in the most amazing of cities. Boston.
 
Melinda, Aliza and I had hopped on the quite useful Brandeis Shuttle that dropped us off neatly at the gates of Harvard University.
 
Aliza kept saying how things have changed around the place. She hadn’t been there for months now. While for me, everything looked familiar. “Yes the Asian guy who usually plays his funny instrument near the Coop is now next Au Bon Pain and instead there is a silver lady in a big costume, making funny faces at passerbys. And Finagle a Bagel actually moved a few blocks. And remember that little store by the movie theater? Well now it’s a clothing store.” So many changes and yet it will always continue to be homey for the soul.
 
We promptly got tickets to The Science of Sleep. We were quite excited. But as excited as we were, the movie went far and beyond our expectations.
 
We had two hours to kill. And I led them to the little Thai place I keep seeing and Ive never gone inside. We drooled over the menu and quickly decided that we don’t need to do anymore restaurant browsing.
 
Aliza ordered her mango curry and Melinda and I ordered our yellow curry with such juicy pineapples, the taste ran faster than we could catch it. Our dishes were triangular and colorful. Silence fell across the table for our minds couldn’t handle talking while eating such delicious foods.
 
Our tummies were entirely too full. Aliza even had to re-adjust her belt and she squirmed in her seat with her hands like a magician.
 
“You know, Charles River is not too far from here,” I informed them.
 
And we marched down the old streets. The sidewalks are crooked with the laid out bricks springing up. The roots of trees have pushed into history. The sun was setting and the zephyrs started to turn cooler and I grabbed tighter onto my red jacket.
 
We found Charles River in all its glory. There is a sandy path that runs with the river and the women walk their big dogs, and tall men with large dark guitar cases stride along to their gigs, and the athletic couples jog with strong intentions in their speedy legs. And we skipped down the path. “I took the road less traveled!” Aliza squealed a little far off as she walked on the parallel thin path.
 
Eventually we got to our destination. The bridge. We flung ourselves over it, with our legs dangling high over the river. Aliza eventually inched towards me and leaned against me, and I wrapped my arms around her body. “Warm Elina! Get your Warm Elina!” She yelled to Melinda but Melinda remained sitting in her position, almost in a trance.
 
Soon enough we were all in a trance.
 
It was dusk and the sun had set but left its memory carved into the sky with orange and deep blue colors. The sky seemed so grand. It was almost as if I was in a snow globe. And I saw the little blue gray clouds swim across and it seemed as if I could match it with time. As if by watching these clouds slither their way down the ocean sky, I could time the seconds and minutes of life.
 
The moon was a perfect sliced half. As if a chef chopped it off with meticulous precision. And the clouds seemed to swim right through the moon. I didn’t know which was more lucid. The clouds or the moon.
 
And the river looked so wrinkled, I wanted to take a big iron and press flatness into it. A man in a thin thin thin row boat, slowly but surely, like a worm, wriggled his way through the wrinkleness. Ducks settled on the river, with flapping wings and wobbled on the creases.
 
We sat quietly. Every now and then we made a joke about falling into the river. Every now and then, we would point to a particular spot in the horizon and declare it as beautiful. Aliza pointed to the lights shinning on the bridge, down the river. The lights had wonderfully ricocheted off the river, creating an ethereal glow.
 
Aliza and I complained about not having our cameras. We thought the other one would surely bring one and so neither of us brought one. We would have had so much fun freezing the landscape in pictures.
 
We didn’t want to leave. I swear. We could have remained on that bridge overlooking Charles River forever and ever. But it was getting late, and we had a movie to catch.
 
As we walked back on the path, I was completely in awe. I felt just as if I was walking on a page of a story book. A fairy tale with descriptive pictures that popped out at you. I was walking right through this imaginative picture. The thick river moved with the wind, and the reflected lights of the brick buildings moved with each wave. And I wish. I wish I could just paint you the image and you would say, yes yes yes. I know that fairy tale image.
 
On the way to the movie theater, we stopped by the Boston Tea Shop. It is a small little room on the second floor of an old building. If you blink, you would miss it. We all ordered our teas. I got Jasmine tea with Boboa [aka bubbles].And then we speedily walked to the old movie theater.
 
I saved the seats. It was a full house.
 
It was one of those movies that you fell in love with, in the first 5 minutes. Aliza and I turned to each other, and in our looks we proclaimed. Life couldn’t get any better than this. We were watching a “fantastimous” movie and sipping bubble tea. What could be better?! Nothing, I say. Nothing.
 
It is a movie I highly recommend. The Science of Sleep. Id say, it is as close to my favorite Amelie. Yes, very daringly enough. It is up there with Amelie. As my brother would say, “Its not even a movie. It’s a film!”
 
When we got out, our insides were all warm and fuzzy with images of the film. We kept quoting our favorite parts. We didn’t know what to do. “Lets run back and see it again!” Melinda yelled out.
 
But. We couldn’t. We had another plan in line. Liz, Marina and Sarit were waiting for us at Fenuil Hall.
 
When we were getting on the T, Aliza turned to me and said “If we ended the night right here, I would be ecstatic. I almost don’t want to go and do something else, in case it might ruin the perfect evening.”
 
I urged her to stay. “It could get even better, you don’t know. Plus, we’re all going to be together. It will be a 201 reunion. We all haven’t been in the same room for 2 years now.” And she nodded, but still unbelieving that it could be a great time.
 
201. That is the apartment number during our sophomore year. One of the best years of my life. We all lived in the same country. In the same place. So many memories. I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count them all.
 
The plan was to experience for the first time our legality in America. We were all finally 21, and we had not yet been to a bar together. Alas. Sarit finished her LSATs so it was the perfect reason to go out. Liz and Marina spent hours and hours researching best bars in Boston. They yelled out in frustration. Eventually they decided on bar hopping in Fenuil Hall.
 
We met next to the great statue of Samuel Adams. Hugs and kisses were passed. Marina was sporting a Poland Spring bottle that clearly did not hold water. We all took sips out of the badly tasting spiked orange juice.
 
There was a group of guys yelling and we turned around to see them all on a red weird looking thing. They each had bicycle wheels to turn. It was a weird invention. “It could only be the MIT guys,” we reasoned. Yes. Yes. Only they could invent such a thing. They yelled and pedaled and stopped all traffic.
 
We then bravely headed over towards the crowd near the bars. First stop was an Irish bar.
 
Aliza was wrong. Things could get better. We got Stella Artois and Woodchuck Cider. And we all sat on 2 chairs. Marina and Sarit sat on me. Liz and Aliza sat on Melinda. It reminded me of the time when we played a game of “How many people can we fit inside Elina’s bed?” And they all climbed into my bed. Sairt, Liz, Aliza, Marina and Melinda. What do you do with 5 girls in your bed?
 
Across the wooden table, Melinda and I made faces at each other. We danced to the music. We couldn’t sit still. We were acting more drunk than the girls who actually drank.
 
We had declared our slogan. “We don’t need no drunk!” We just need each other to fall into a free-spirited happy place.
 
We toasted high with our big beer glasses clinking together. And we laughed. And made jokes. And fresh new memories. Liz kept putting money into Aliza’s bra. Melinda and I hugged and made dances on the chairs.
 
Eventually the live band came back on and we immediately went up to the front to dance.
 
It was in that moment, when everyone was moving and life was fast fast fast, that it felt like time stopped. And I smiled from inside out. Life couldn’t get better. Great music and the best people in the world, dancing around me.
 
I. Just. Smiled.
 
Melinda and I were really into the dancing. We twirled each other around. We jumped up and down and waved our hair around like hard core rockers, while “It was the summer of ’69…” blared and vibrated through the speakers. Irish men yelled out the lyrics. And girls tried dancing with the singer. And it was such a great atmosphere.
 
I forgot all about my pains. After chugging a glass of beer, I realized why my medication said to not consume alcohol with it. My stomach was erupting in earthquakes. I tried my best to smile, and not show anyone that I am hurt. I didn’t want them to know and worry. But. Oh. My. God. I almost cried in the bathroom. Sometimes, I wish I could just cut out my stomach. Who needs a stomach anyways?
 
Sarit and Liz weren’t feeling the atmosphere and so we left to another bar. This time there was pop and rap and darkness with blaring colorful lights. Hot hot hot dance floor with sticky beer everywhere. We danced with our hips curving. And men kept coming up to us and we were like one great big team. We would spot potential humpers and we’d grab each other’s waist and pull close and away from the sketchy man. And there were plenty of sketchy men.
 
Note to anyone who ponders: Having a stomach ache on a dance floor with people humping you, and sweaty smelly men around you…not fun.
 
At some points, we formed a train and danced right up against each other. The Sexy Train. Choo choo.
 
At 1am, we left to catch our shuttle back. Our ears were ringing. The taxi driver ended up not being so nice. As soon as we started talking he turned on the radio. If we got louder with excitement, he would crank up the radio. And then we couldn’t manage the whole paying thing and he yelled at us for stiffing him. And this is why I don’t utilize cabs. And this is why I wish Boston’s subway worked past 12:45am.
 
On the ride back. I asked Melinda. “This was a great night, wasn’t it? Memorable.”
 
With her sleepy eyes she agreed. “Yes. We will remember this forever and ever and ever and ever and ever.”
 
Yes.
 
It is just one of those nights.
 
Remembered. Happily. Forever and ever.