Cool

by Chris de Serres

It was one of those places where it’s okay to spill your beer on the carpet.  A trailer home.  Our hosts are a little too old to be partying with teenagers, but to us they are so cool.  Probably the coolest in the world.  I am slightly irritated by how funny and macho the guy is.  He told me his name and he’s really cool.  But he’s a little too funny.  My new girlfriend is giggling a little too much at all his jokes.

I’m just an awkward teen.  I haven’t figured out yet how to handle myself at drinking parties.  As if reading my mind, my bestie Steve puts a hand on my shoulder in reassurance and hands me a beer.  There’s no way he’s going to let me be a depressed drunk tonight.

We drink and drink and drink.  It’s all going down a little too fast.  Like a hammer to the head, I reach that threshold.  I am having so much fun, laughing at jokes I don’t even hear.  Everything feels good.  Then like a slow circling propeller the room starts to move.  My body is numb.  I feel like i’m on the surface of the moon.  People and things are just rising from the ground around me.

Then the propeller starts to pick up speed and everything is spinning.  My eyes can’t keep track, can’t fix onto any one point.  I hear my new girlfriend in the corner, still giggling away.  That asshole is so cool and here I am, about to blow chunks.  But I don’t really care.

I lean my face into a cushion and breathe deep and hard.  I start to speak but i’m not sure what comes out.

Steve heaves me up on my feet and walks me across the room.  It’s Rambo carrying the POW to the escape helicopter.  I laugh.  My body is moving and everything is vague and warm and distant.

Chunks go flying out of my mouth.  Kind of like one of those dump trucks emptying out all the old furniture.  The taste is sour and bitter.  So I dump another load.  Everything goes into the toilet.  I hit my mark!  Yay!  I’m not the asshole that puked on cool guy’s floor.

I just want to sleep.  Forever.

I feel something wet on my leg.  Hands massaging.  It’s Steve.  He tells me that this will help with the nausea.  It’s shaving creme.  He’s got that mischievious prankster grin on his face.

“I know what you’re up to asshole!   Get the fuck away!”

I have just enough motor control to swipe my arms in his direction.  Not sure how I did it as they don’t even feel like they are attached to my body anymore.

A little later I have company.  It’s Steve’s turn to heave.  I move over and rest my head on a hamper filled with dirty clothes.  The more sloshed Steve gets the more he talks, like a nonstop typewriter.

Cool guy is shaving Steve’s legs.  Steve yells out but he just sits limp and let’s them make him nice and smooth.  Then they cut his leg.  Pretty deep.  Blood streams down his leg onto the floor.

Cool guy feels really bad.  He asks me to move my head so he can take some dirty towels out of the hamper and compresses the wound.

I’m not sure how I got there, but i’m outside now.  The chill stabs my face like a bunch of tiny cold knives.  My new girlfriend reaches out and kisses me.  She must think i’m cool to do that.

Now i’m barely awake.  My eye is barely level with the bottom of the car window.  I feel every bump in the road, every turn of the car, every sudden stop.  We are driving fast, but I have my eyes closed.  The bumps are rhythmic.  Da dump.  Da dump. Da dump.  Must be on the highway.

I wonder if she thought I was cool.

 

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