We sat over the bar with the music blaring, drinking our drinks, collecting our thoughts, and I felt the pit of my stomach turn into knots. It was the music, the drinks, and Jason’s body next to mine, all of them had poisoned me. I felt something that I can only accurately describe as irreconcilable. Jason and I had fucked, and I did not like him, but I think that I also felt enamored by how mysterious he was, and how he went from disdain, to amicable, to flirtatious. When he looked at me my heart jumped to my throat, even when he didn’t smile, but it leapt again when we were drunk and he treated me like an old friend. I was in love, but in a way that was different from a first love, or a steady love. It was a broken-hearted love. I looked at the crowd of dancing bodies and felt similarly irreconcilable there. I didn’t really belong here, even if I was their same age, with blood from around the same country, and even if I did not feel—not once—that I wasn’t welcome there, the opposite was true: I was warmly invited into this mirage of where I came from, and I wanted to join them for a dance. Still, I didn’t belong, and I was fine with that. Maybe fitting in was overrated.
Bobby Lee reappeared with two boys in tow.