Cal: Drunk

Called Malia at 1am because it was a good idea and a bad idea. Sitting outside on the front stoop of my apartment with Maker’s Mark and rain on me- too romantic to pass up, when I could get inside where its warm…I’d rather get pissed on.

It rings five times, but she picks up.

"What’s up," she says in mid-laughter. There’s a buzz of activity on the other line. Happy people yelling. She’s still at the party.

"Ok, am I hot or cold," she says. She still thinks I’m there, playing hide and seek with her.

She didn’t even fucking realize I stormed out. What a disappointment. No one even fucking knew I left. Nobody notices. Everyone’s trying to get fucked. Malia is trying to get fucked- she’s gonna FUCK someone better than me, someone who can slam her against the wall and cover her mouth. Yank her hair and call her a bitch, a fucking slut.

"Are you in the house," she finally asked. "Hello?"

"What did…did you read my note?"

"What? Speak up!"

"Did you read the note I gave you earlier?"

"Get out of my way- I’m talking to my friend! You don’t know him- fuck off- oh- wait- can I have one of those? It’s too far, let me have yours!"

"It’s how I feel about you."

"Does anybody have a bottle opener," she hollared and a dozen "No!"’s followed.

If she could only see how pathetic I was, rain dripping from my face, reflection of my puffy red eyes in the puddle. I drop the bottle and it bounces down a couple stairs and on the ground it shatters.

"What were you saying…I’m in the kitchen, come find me!"

She hangs up.

I call her back and get her voicemail.

I hear the beep and suddenly feel nauseous. A burp.

"You didn’t read the fucking note did you, you threw it out or wrote your fucking number over it and gave it to some douchebag that wants to fuck you right? Right? I’m sitting here like an asshole and no one gives a shit. Why couldn’t you just read the fucking note? You want to know what it says- here goes.

It says I’ll never be shit, but because I met you that doesn’t matter. It says I’ll never have anyone, but because of you it doesn’t matter. It says I could die tonight, but that doesn’t matter because tonight you looked at me and told me-
Huhhh…..

Arrrrghbbbb!

Vomit on the stairs and on my shoes.

"Beep!"

I blinked out the sickness and drooled for awhile. I swayed forward and leaned backward, rocking myself to a half-sleep/stupor. The wind was picking up and the rain was smacking me sideways.

Taste tangerine and vomit. The rain patters the orange mess and breaks it up- it looks like oatmeal.

I close the phone and shove it back in my pocket.

"You fucking bitch. Who are you talking to- yourself her, who knows- we’re all up for grabs here. Why does it have to be like this?"

Thunder in the distance.

Then I realize it’s a man with a shopping cart, dragging two giant trashbags behind him- they’re full of plastic bottles and hes soaked to the bone. The cart groans and the man keeps his head down.

"It doesn’t fucking matter….because you’re just a teensy part. Teensy weensy…spider. I don’t care, as long as I’m in torment. There’s nothing more romantic than love that can never be…Gilbert Gottfried said that."

Barking laughter.

"Ja-farrr!" I croaked in my best Gilbert Gottfried voice.