skywise
Bluelight Crew
- Joined
- Jul 29, 2002
- Messages
- 1,679
I know that mostly poems are posted here, but I'm going to go ahead and post this narrative. It's rather long, but if someone's bored, give it a read and tell me what you think. I know it's rather dramatic, but I did my best to be honest, and since it's subject matter was dramatic, it only makes sense that the story is going to be. If you think it creeps into melodrama in some parts (i.e. not honest drama) be sure to let me know.
“I’m not stable enough to handle this. I”m sorry, I wish I was but I’m not. I have to go.”
I don’t say anything, but continue to hold the receiver up to my ear and stare at the blurred image of the bathtub and carpet.
“I’m serious, I’m really going to go. Jay. I have to go. Goodbye, Jay.”
“Okay.”
I hear the click of her disconnecting and continue to hold the phone my ear for a moment. Then the tears start rolling down my cheeks and I choke out sobs. I hang up the phone and walk to the living room where my friend is sitting.
“Is she okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, she’s fine.”
His expression changes. “Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yes, I just want to see how much I can drink before dying,” I say.
He laughs and I crack a smile at my own melodrama. Then I take a seat on the couch and down another gin and tonic.
The phone rings, and my friend answers it. I can hear her through the telephone speaker. “Don’t let him drink. He’s going to give himself alcohol poisoning. I'm serious, he said he doesn’t care if he lives or dies.”
“I laugh and assure my friend I was just being dramatic but I don’t think he quite believes me. I wonder if he notices that I can’t stop shaking.
He hangs up the phone and suggests we bust into his batch of whippets. I find this to be a fair substitute for drinking more and agree. I lay on the loveseat in the dark, unable to stop the tears from streaming down my face, and crack open a whippet. Mechanically I bring the balloon to my mouth and suck in all the nitrous oxide, then blow it out into the balloon again, then suck it back in. I continue doing this until I realize that I’m not even filling the balloon anymore when I exhale. I stare at the throbbing ceiling and think what a funny sensation it is to cry on a whippet.
I continue to go through whippets until there’s none left. Sometimes a fragment of the phone conversation hits me and the sadness is so strong that I feel like its going to obliterate me. Mostly though, I just float in drunken whippet world, and keep myself too busy sucking down whippets or preparing the next to let very much feeling slip through.
When the whippets are all gone, my friend excuses himself to bed with a warning for me to stay away from the liquor cabinet. I mumble something about sleeping sounding better than drinking anyway and move to the bigger couch. There’s a phone cord laying on it and I imagine wrapping it around my neck. Surprised at the sincerity of the thought, I move it away quickly and lay down, huddled into a trembling ball...
I wake up to the sound of my friend doing laundry. I open my eyes for a second,
then close them again. I wish to myself that I could sleep forever. Eventually I give up on idea and pull myself up. My head is fuzzy, and when I stand up I feel the pangs of a hangover. “Fuck.” I mutter.
My friend notices I’m awake. “How are you this morning?” He asks.
“I don’t think I know yet,” I reply.
I excuse myself to the bathroom and look in the mirror. My hair is in all different directions, my mouth is half open, and my eyes are bloodshot and moist. The sight of myself upsets me greatly, but I hold my composure and go back to the living room.
“Would you like to go for some lunch, Jay?” my friend asks.
I don’t really feel hungry, but considering I didn’t eat the day before I figure food isn’t a bad idea. “Sure, that sounds good,” I say.
We decide on Subway and get in his truck to leave. On the way there, I notice a strange feeling. It starts out very familiar. It’s that feeling of sadness that sometimes sits in the pit of my stomach when I'm upset. Only, this time, instead of creeping up and overwhelming me, it seems to change into something solid, and I realize that I don't feel so bad. The effect of the night before, and everything that had led up to it, is still there,but it no longer has a grip over me. It's now just a memory, a small piece of the past, solidified and assimilated into my self. For the first time in a year I feel certain about what I'm doing. It is time to move on.
We arrived at Subway and I order a six inch vegetable sandwich on wheat, chips, and a drink. It is fantastic. It's only after I start eating, that I realize how hungry I am. I savor each bite, and thoroughly enjoy the usually unnoticed acts of chewing and swallowing my food. When I finish I feel much better, as if the food had helped me shake off the shadow of the night before. I feel full, and ready to face the new day.
“I’m not stable enough to handle this. I”m sorry, I wish I was but I’m not. I have to go.”
I don’t say anything, but continue to hold the receiver up to my ear and stare at the blurred image of the bathtub and carpet.
“I’m serious, I’m really going to go. Jay. I have to go. Goodbye, Jay.”
“Okay.”
I hear the click of her disconnecting and continue to hold the phone my ear for a moment. Then the tears start rolling down my cheeks and I choke out sobs. I hang up the phone and walk to the living room where my friend is sitting.
“Is she okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, she’s fine.”
His expression changes. “Are you okay?” he asks.
“Yes, I just want to see how much I can drink before dying,” I say.
He laughs and I crack a smile at my own melodrama. Then I take a seat on the couch and down another gin and tonic.
The phone rings, and my friend answers it. I can hear her through the telephone speaker. “Don’t let him drink. He’s going to give himself alcohol poisoning. I'm serious, he said he doesn’t care if he lives or dies.”
“I laugh and assure my friend I was just being dramatic but I don’t think he quite believes me. I wonder if he notices that I can’t stop shaking.
He hangs up the phone and suggests we bust into his batch of whippets. I find this to be a fair substitute for drinking more and agree. I lay on the loveseat in the dark, unable to stop the tears from streaming down my face, and crack open a whippet. Mechanically I bring the balloon to my mouth and suck in all the nitrous oxide, then blow it out into the balloon again, then suck it back in. I continue doing this until I realize that I’m not even filling the balloon anymore when I exhale. I stare at the throbbing ceiling and think what a funny sensation it is to cry on a whippet.
I continue to go through whippets until there’s none left. Sometimes a fragment of the phone conversation hits me and the sadness is so strong that I feel like its going to obliterate me. Mostly though, I just float in drunken whippet world, and keep myself too busy sucking down whippets or preparing the next to let very much feeling slip through.
When the whippets are all gone, my friend excuses himself to bed with a warning for me to stay away from the liquor cabinet. I mumble something about sleeping sounding better than drinking anyway and move to the bigger couch. There’s a phone cord laying on it and I imagine wrapping it around my neck. Surprised at the sincerity of the thought, I move it away quickly and lay down, huddled into a trembling ball...
I wake up to the sound of my friend doing laundry. I open my eyes for a second,
then close them again. I wish to myself that I could sleep forever. Eventually I give up on idea and pull myself up. My head is fuzzy, and when I stand up I feel the pangs of a hangover. “Fuck.” I mutter.
My friend notices I’m awake. “How are you this morning?” He asks.
“I don’t think I know yet,” I reply.
I excuse myself to the bathroom and look in the mirror. My hair is in all different directions, my mouth is half open, and my eyes are bloodshot and moist. The sight of myself upsets me greatly, but I hold my composure and go back to the living room.
“Would you like to go for some lunch, Jay?” my friend asks.
I don’t really feel hungry, but considering I didn’t eat the day before I figure food isn’t a bad idea. “Sure, that sounds good,” I say.
We decide on Subway and get in his truck to leave. On the way there, I notice a strange feeling. It starts out very familiar. It’s that feeling of sadness that sometimes sits in the pit of my stomach when I'm upset. Only, this time, instead of creeping up and overwhelming me, it seems to change into something solid, and I realize that I don't feel so bad. The effect of the night before, and everything that had led up to it, is still there,but it no longer has a grip over me. It's now just a memory, a small piece of the past, solidified and assimilated into my self. For the first time in a year I feel certain about what I'm doing. It is time to move on.
We arrived at Subway and I order a six inch vegetable sandwich on wheat, chips, and a drink. It is fantastic. It's only after I start eating, that I realize how hungry I am. I savor each bite, and thoroughly enjoy the usually unnoticed acts of chewing and swallowing my food. When I finish I feel much better, as if the food had helped me shake off the shadow of the night before. I feel full, and ready to face the new day.
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