November 4, 2002

Drunk

I’m waiting for her to call again. As I write this she’s in another city, with friends, drunk. She just called from the restroom of a Chinese restaurant to tell me this. “I’m drunk,” she said, “and I’m in love with you.” We discussed how much she’s in love with me. She characterized it as “ridiculously,” which we decided is a more extreme form than “incredibly” but less so than “insanely.” I’m in love with her as well, but we didn’t discuss the degree.

Her voice echoed the way voices echo in restrooms. She held the phone to the restroom fan so I could hear what it sounded like and also to prove, I suppose, that she was in a restroom, although really all it proved is that wherever she was, there was a whirring sound.

As we spoke some person or persons kept trying the bathroom door, so she moved to the area outside the restroom, what she called the vestibule. This seemed a too-fancy word to me (I was thinking “hall”), but since I’m in love with her and since she was drunk, I didn’t question it. At one point an elderly woman, doubtless having overheard her ramblings, stepped out of the restroom and beamed at her.

I told her that I wanted to be drunk with her, or barring that, just with her, or barring that, just drunk.