How Unfortunate

I arrived two hours early.  I hadn't meant to arrive early at all, but something was going on inside me.  Something with an uncomfortable vulnerability to it.  I eschewed those feelings the best I could, but that sick suspense in my stomach continued to grow.  I ordered another drink.

Martinis.  I was on my third by the time he arrived.  He was early by twenty minutes and it wasn't until then that I realized how desperate and pathetic my own two hours made me seem.  I took another gulp of liquor, realizing exactly how drunk I was.

A line from a book--which one, I couldn't remember at the moment--flashed before me. The martians have landed.  I liked the way it sounded in my mind, so I mumbled it aloud before another large swig.

"What?" he asked.

"Oh." It suddenly sounded much less clever. "Nothing. Just mumbling to myself."

He gave me a weird look and a small shrug and we returned to our drinks.  My every sense registered the discomfort of the silence.  My ears rang with it.  My eyes shifted about in the thick fog of it.  It felt like being touched by every nightmare I'd ever had.  Even the too boozy smell and the taste, like my tongue on a battery.  I wanted to say something, but I didn't know what.  I waited for him to speak, but he didn't.  I suddenly felt ill.  Really ill.

I rocked in my seat, willing myself not to vomit.  Don't throw up. Don't throw up. Don'tdon'tdon't THROW UP.

Despite doubling my liquor intake, my condition had improved by the time the rest of our party had arrived.  I haphazardly grabbed his arm as I stumbled down from my stool, but all in all, I felt pretty good as we headed to our next destination. 

I should have been sitting shotgun.  I always sat shotgun, and I'm not sure why I didn't that day.  Instead, I sat bitch.  The music was loud and the company louder, and without warning, all the warm and fuzzy happiness was chased away by a sick and dizzy feeling.  Nothing in the world was right.  I covered my eyes with my hands, but it wouldn't stop the thoughts that I couldn't quite catch.  It was the wrong part to cover anyway.

In the single worst moment of 21.5 years, six martinis errupted from my mouth.  Part of me died that day.  I don't know that it was ever reborn.  I sort of hope it wasn't.



Prize if you know the book reference!