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He grunts and passes me through. Access to the club is via a winding staircase lined with vertical brass bars that leads into an enormous two-story space with more strobe lights than at a stadium concert. The line to the bar seems longer than the one to get inside, and when we reach the counter, the bartender barks out something in Korean. And, of course, I have no idea what he’s saying. Beer should be a universal word. Everywhere you go, you should be able to say, “Beer me,” and everyone would know exactly what you want. That and “bathroom.” “Where’s the toilet” and “Beer me” will be the first language edicts I make when I’m in charge of the world.
Anna pushes me lightly to the side and gives our order. I don’t miss the slightly puzzled look the bartender throws in my direction, and I suffer a slightly traumatizing flashback to that Korean club meeting at college. Since I won’t ever be Supreme Leader of the Universe, I should’ve studied Korean instead of Spanish. Hola isn’t going to work here. I hope this guy doesn’t think I’m a porn star. Everyone here will be sorely disappointed. The one very Asian thing about me is my tiny chest.
The beers get delivered to our table and I get a quick lesson in drinking etiquette. Age matters. No one pours their own glass, and the younger ones should turn to the side and cover their drink. Everyone skipped over this before. “We didn’t want to overwhelm you,” explains Anna.
Thinking back, I do remember seeing people at the funeral home turn to their side and lift a hand before downing their booze, but the action hasn’t registered until tonight. I’m younger than everyone but Jules so they put me in charge of the pouring, which is good because I have something to do.
The two-story club is massive. There are strobe lights flashing red and blue and white in sync with the heavy bass of a very familiar Western song. At least four disco balls twirl in the ceiling, splashing a kaleidoscope of colored dots everywhere. In this dark circus, I can’t tell the color of anyone’s hair or even make out many features. I could be in a club in any large city.
“Are you having fun yet?” Anna screams over the noise.
I nod because this should be more fun than lying on my bed trying to work the translation app and winnow down a hundred thousand search results in a foreign language to locate five women, but the drumming in my head is back. Not even one beer down and I’m already thinking fond thoughts of my sublet room and its quiet solitude. Pushing the corners of my lips up into what I hope is an agreeable smile, I turn to the side and down my drink. It glides down my throat with ease, but when it hits my stomach, there’s turmoil. I don’t remember eating anything today and I still have all the funeral soju in my system. At this point, I might be 80 percent fermented rice water.
I take a steadying breath through my nose, and when that doesn’t work, I decide that I better move.
“I’m going to get some air,” I shout. I think Anna heard me but I’m not sure about the others. I escape anyway. There is a steady stream of partiers arriving but they’re all too intent on getting inside to take much notice of the single female taking the stairs a little fast. The fresh night air hits my face, and despite the heat it feels good. I lift my face and walk over to a steel tubular railing that’s set up to prevent drunks from falling into the hedges below.
I lean against the metal and take a deep calming breath. My emotions are all over the place. One minute, I’m excited to dance the night away. The next, I can’t breathe. I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I clear my throat, run a hand through my hair, and tug on the waistband of my jeans. I wish I had a glass of water instead of the soju.
I haven’t felt this disoriented since my freshman year during the Drake Relays when I drank for four days straight and woke up on the fifth thinking I was blind but really my eyes were just glued shut from all the alcohol I’d imbibed. It was the first and last real bender I’d ever gone on. As I rest my hand against the railing, I remind myself I’m no longer eighteen and away from my mother for the first time, but an actual adult so I don’t need to down liquor like I’m never getting another chance at the bottle. I close my eyes and count my breaths. Inhale one. Exhale two. Inhale one. Exhale two. The faint roar of the airplanes taking off fills the night air, but it’s still quieter. My chest no longer feels like it’s about to cave in.
