real life but not really

"See, but most of the time, I just stumble and bumble along through my life... my very own pathetic existence. It seems like I know what I'm doing, but I don't. Really, I don't. The things I say, the things I do, they're there because it somehow makes perfect sense. I can't explain why they make sense, but at that moment in time that I actually say those things or do those things, they make sense. And that's how I live my life, you know. Don't praise me, don't patronize me for all my so-called-greatness because it's not there."

You stare at me with those eyes scrutinizing me wondering if I really am the person you got to know.

"More beer?" you ask.

"Yes, please."

You call the waiter to divert your attention to the things I just said. I continue to peel the label of my beer, like i always do, wondering if I said too much, wondering what you're wondering.

The waiter returns with the two bottles of our favorite beer. You take yours, take a sip, then comment that it's too warm. You call the waiter again, asking for a glass of ice. You turn back at me, ask if I want one too. No, thank you, I tell you, motioning to my other bottle of beer which still remains half-full.

You and I both look in opposite directions, still unsure of what to say or tell each other.

And there go the moments like this. When I feel like I'm getting too much to drink and the beer is travelling through my nervous, digestive and god-knows-what-else systems. And then I go reveal stuff about myself to you. Stuff that even I don't know about, but which the beer makes me say.

"What about you?" I finally ask.

You brighten up as if this is the question you've been waiting for. You talk about yourself and what's been going on lately, even though we've been through this already. Even though we're together almost everyday and I know every sordid detail of your life. And I smile, and I give you my piece on things, even though we both know what I'm going to say.

I finally start on the beer that you ordered so long ago, yours nearing the end of its life, while mine is just beginning. Or maybe it's the other way around. My existence just glossed over by the fact it was all a farce, that i really have no take on the grand scheme of things-- that my life has no grand scheme of things. Unlike yours, so full of hopes, so full of dreams. You have the methods to achieve these dreams but still there you stand, not willing to take that risk, even though all you could ever want is right there.

We both check our cellphone clocks simultaneously and realize that it's getting late and that we both should be heading home. I finish my beer rapidly, that feeling kicking in once again whenever I drink something too quickly, while you ask the waiter for the bill. We split the expenses as always, then exit as people slowly start to file in in what is the more appropriate "drinking time" but is considered late by our standards. I'm a bit woozy going down the stairs and you guide me, as always, like you've done so many times before.

I think about our conversation and so many others like it. Always shared over a bottle of beer and I think to myself why we are so incapable of saying things like these over our normal conversations. What is there to be afraid of? What is there to hide? Does the beer make things all the more easier to say? Does it make us less afraid? What do we have to fear from knowing all of this about ourselves? Are we afraid to show who we really are? That underneath all our trappings, we suddenly realize that we're not?

My thoughts are shaken as we reach the end of the stairs. We say our goodbyes as you head off in one direction, me in the other. I take a final glance at the place we've just come from and think of the conversations shared over all our bottles of beer. Then I take off towards my ride, trying to shake off the feeling of one who's had one beer too many.