November 9: A Novel(82)

—Dylan Thomas



My arm dangles over the side of the bed, and I can tell by the way my hand lies across the carpet that the bed doesn’t have a frame or box springs. It’s just a mattress on the floor.

I’m on my stomach. There’s a sheet draped halfway over me and I’m facedown on the pillow.

I hate these moments. When I wake up too discombobulated to know where I am or who might be on the bed next to me. I usually lie still long enough to get a grip on my surroundings before moving in hopes I don’t wake up whoever might be in the room with me. But this morning is different, because whoever was on this bed with me is already awake. I can hear a shower running.

I try to count how many times this has happened—when I’ve gotten so drunk that I can barely remember anything the next day. I’m guessing at least five times this year, but this is by far the worst. I can usually at least remember which party I was at. Which friend I was with. Which girl I was flirting with before everything went black. But right now, I’ve got nothing.

My heart begins to beat as hard as the pounding in my head. I know I’m about to have to stand up and find my clothes. I’ll have to look around to try and figure out where I am. I’ll have to figure out where I might have left my car. I might even be forced to call Kyle again. But he’ll be my absolute last resort, because I’m not in the mood for another lecture today.

To say he’s been disappointed in how I’ve turned out is an understatement. Things haven’t been the same at home since the day our mother died two years ago.

Well . . . I haven’t been the same. Kyle and Ian are hoping my downward spiral will find an uphill slope soon. They were hoping once I graduated high school that I would get serious with college, but that hasn’t happened in the way they maybe think it has. In fact, my grades are so bad due to absences, I’m not even sure I’ll make it through the semester.

And I try. God do I try. Every day I wake up and I tell myself that today will be better. Today will be the day I resolve myself of guilt. But then something will happen that will trigger that feeling that I want to drown faster than it appeared. And that’s exactly what I do. I drown out everything with alcohol, friends, and girls. And at least for the rest of that night, I don’t have to think about the mistakes I made. The life I ruined.

That thought forces my eyes to open and face the sunlight beaming into the room. I squint and cover my eyes with my hand. I wait a moment before attempting to stand up and find my clothes. When I can finally stand upright, I locate my pants. I find the T-shirt I remember putting on before class yesterday.

But after that? Nothing. I remember absolutely nothing.

I find my shoes and slip those on. When I’m fully dressed, I take a second to look around the room. It doesn’t look familiar at all. I walk to the window and look outside and see that I’m in an apartment building. Nothing looks familiar though, but that could be because I can’t open my eyes wide enough to see very far. Everything hurts.

I’m about to find out where I am though, because the door to the bathroom is opening up behind me. I squeeze my eyes shut, because I have no idea who she is or what she’ll expect.

“Morning, sunshine!”

Her familiar voice flies across the room at the speed of a torpedo and goes straight through my heart. My knees feel like they’re about to buckle beneath me. In fact, I think they are. I reach for a nearby chair and I take a quick seat, dropping my head into my hands. I can’t even look at her.

How could she do this to Kyle?

How could she let me do this to Kyle?

Jordyn walks closer to me, but I still refuse to look at her. “If you’re about to puke, you better do it in the bathroom.”

I shake my head, wanting her voice to go away, wanting her apartment to go away, wanting the second-worst thing I’ve ever done to go away. “Jordyn.” When I hear the weakness in my voice, I can tell why she thinks I’m on the verge of being sick. “How did this happen?”

I hear the dip of her mattress as she plops down on the bed a few feet in front of me. “Well . . .” she says. “I’m sure it started with a shot or two. A few beers. Some pretty girls. And then it ended with you calling me crying at midnight last night, rambling about the date and how you need to go home but you were too drunk and you didn’t want to call Kyle because he’d be mad at you.” She stands and walks toward her closet. “And believe me, he would have been pissed. And if you tell him I let you sleep it off here so that he wouldn’t find out, he’ll be pissed at me. So you better not rat me out, Ben. I’ll kill you.”

My mind is trying to catch up, but she talks too fast.

So I called her? For help?

We didn’t . . .

God, no. She wouldn’t do that. I, on the other hand, seem to have no control over the things I do when I get in that state. But at least I called her before I did something stupid. She and Kyle have been together long enough that she’s like a sister to me, and I would trust her not to tell Kyle. But the question still remains . . . why was I naked? In her bed?

She walks back out of the closet and it’s the first time I’ve looked at her today. She looks normal. Not guilty at all. A little bit tired, maybe, but smiley as usual.

“I saw your ass this morning,” she says, laughing. “What the hell did you do? I told you to use my shower, but you could have put your clothes back on afterward.” She makes a face. “Now I have to wash my sheets.”