My slacks
do go on
The night of 20 December, 2012 only comes to me in a series of flashing images. I can see 50 some-odd people in a small living room clustered around two plastic folding tables; I can see myself telling the dj to play When the Last Time; I can see myself downing multiple bottles of Bourbon while reassuring losing, dejected beer pong players that "I can cover for [them]"; and I can see my friend pushing me out the front door to her parents' old, abandoned house telling, from what I could tell no one in particular, "You need to leave."
Then everything was white. Wait no that's the floor. What the fuck? "Jake." Going back to sleep is definitely my best option. "Jake." Do you have any idea how fucking annoying you sound [redacted]? "Jake, you need to get up." Who are you my fucking mom? "Jake get up." Alright but don't take any satisfaction from this. "Jake, lift your feet up so we can put these garbage bags on." Alright, just let me piss in the bathtub first. "We need to go outside, follow me." Alright whatev- Jesus Christ it's cold, what is it, 6 in the fucking morning? "Here, take this blanket and hop in the backseat." Cool, I'm just gonna close my eyes real quick.
In shit-smeared pants, wrapped in a sky blue snuggie, I occupied myself on the ride home by staring out of the back window of my friend's SUV listening to her phone's automated female voice direct her to my address. They dumped me off at the mouth of my street. I jogged the last ~50 yards where, upon arriving at my front step, my mother opened the door for me.
"What happened??"
I took a step inside.
"Bad things."
