What's Wrong with Your Friend?

Upon stepping out of my office tonight, I witnessed something that is undoubtedly a classic Alaskan scene – a snowmobile dashed by in the middle of the street.

It continues to snow as it has been all day. They predict 14 inches of accumulation. I walked home in inches of white powder that, with each step, packed firmly below.

I stayed at work past five and went to the movies with Rich again. He might turn out to by my permanent movie buddy if I don’t recruit more friends soon, friends who I get phone numbers from. I keep forgetting to ask.

Mike came down from Petersburg this past Friday to visit. He supplied me with constant company the entire weekend, something I’ve been devoid of for a while now. It’s much more comforting (and less guilt ridden) to have someone to be lazy with, someone to pass the hours with while the weather is grey, windy and rainy outside.

We went to a party Saturday night, my first semi large social gathering where alcohol was involved. I met more halves of wholes – young married couples (Wrangell is full of them) – as well as more people in general. Everyone was friendly and inviting, talkative. There were even a few people that were truly great – you know, people you kind of fall in love with without even knowing them, the kind of falling in love that has to do with admiration. That night at that party, it seemed a simple, dauntless task – to be surrounded by people, having fun, in Alaska.

If only the night had stayed that pure.

Many of the people at the party ended up at the Totem after midnight. While I could’ve easily gone home, I felt the desire to be out late, something else I haven’t done in a long time. The next couple of hours was spent in a booth chatting with Mike and Brian, an overly enthusiastic, happy person we had met at the party.

Toward the end of the night, Kim Brink, the owner of the bar, came around with a digital camera and asked if I wanted a picture of my boobs taken. I declined. She persisted a bit more by saying the picture would go on the wall. Again, I declined. I think she might have been surprised that I didn’t want to expose myself, even a little bit. It didn’t occurr to me that pretty much every other female that night had fufilled Kim’s request.

I didn’t think much about it until the following day when Mike told me that a girl he had talked to at the bar asked him what was wrong with his friend. She inquired, “Why didn’t your friend want to show her boobs? Is she too good to show some skin?”

It’s all quite silly, really. I know that.

But I guess I am too good.