The Big Boom [re-writing]

1:20 am [updated]

Losing balance in my attempt, I followed Christopher as he slipped down the hood of the car. I cricked my neck fast in all directions to only see rows upon rows of cars, vans, trucks. They each lengthened exaggeratedly through my inebriation, which never seemed as apparent as it did in this moment. I attempted to catch up to Christopher, scanning left, right, left again, like he was.

He jogged across the lot, not bothering to see if I was following. He stopped to cup his hands around his mouth and shouted, "Chubby!"

His voice echoed atop the roofs of the cars we danced on so carelessly a minute ago.

"CHUBBY!" I hollered.

Christopher shook his head with his hands clamping down on either sides as I bent down to catch my breath.

"Shit. Shit. I couldn't have ...damn it."

Before I could respond to him, wondering why his anxiousness for this was three times worse than mine, he was too many feet away from me again. I struggled to keep up. "Wait, Chris -"

"CHUBBY!" He shouted into the air, a blank void. His head turned in all sorts of directions, his face looking so lost he might as well be searching for himself. "WHERE THE HELL DID YOU GO? CHUBBY!"

"Christopher!" I called, grabbing his attention shortly. Reaching him, I gripped onto his arm to keep him from running off again. "Shit, Christopher. Stop. We need to get some water first, wash the drinks down, okay? Then look for him with a clear -"

He shook his head, disrupting me. "No. No, do you even know how long he's been gone? How long we weren't even paying attention?"

I pulled him the other way. "Yeah, but you need to calm down first and wash up so we can look for him without -"

He ripped his arm out of my grip, his eyes clouding over the affection he'd shown not too long ago. His blurry figure began stalking away from me.

I paralyzed momentarily. What about Chubby caused this switch in him? He knew Chubby always came back. We had nothing to be so afraid of. The initial shock of Chubby missing put me off guard at first, that's all, but I knew inside it'd be all right. A couple hours from now, this would be a story to laugh from when we ask ourselves what was so funny: us, drunk off our asses, losing track of a dog who was not lost, really, who knew what he was doing.

So why were my hands shaking so hard? I faced down, willing them to still as I clamped them into a fist against my waist. Stop it. Stop it.

I looked up, my vision a creamy transition of street lights that took too long to focus. I felt sick again –not from the alcohol.

Eye contact, look away, think, look up again, then ask –your concern for other people, for me, became a formula I got used to. It was a prediction I missed making so much. I wanted to see it now.
"Do you want to come over?" You've always asked.

I'd say yes every time. And when I said no, you'd ask again with a certain inflection in your voice that made my own shake and finally say, "Can I stay the night, too?"

The negative emotions in me was like a pilot episode on repeat; it was a conflict that was never resolved because it had only started, but it couldn't get past Go since there was this barrier inside of me called Inferiority. Taryn, the bartender before, was right. I was sad just to be sad, because I never allowed myself to cut the chase and go through with it. I –I always wanted someone to tell me it was okay to keep going. I waited every time for someone to ask me to finish my sentence on why I was feeling so down.