I met up with Kansas at the store that weekend. I bought a sleeve of plastic cups while he finished his shift. We walked out to the Chevy together and caught up on how shitty working is. Half way across the parking lot my phone starts ringing and to our surprise our coworker, Mark, is going though a well-timed break up and was in need of a night out of the house. After a brief conversion about the pros and cons of a third member. The only problem bring Mark along presented was we need a new place to drink. The physical conditions of Kansas' house didn't make it ideal for more than two occupants at a time.
The sudden demand for a place to drink gave me a very risky idea. I told Kansas to hold up and I made my way back inside the store, to the break room in the back, then stole my co workers house keys from his jacket pocket. Regrouping with Kansas in the parking lot I told him we would go to my place and lead them to the empty house that I acquired access to moments earlier.
It's a lot harder then I guessed it would be to walking into a place you've only been once before and act like it belongs to you. I must have pulled it off though because they never seemed uncomfortable.
Once the bottle was opened the shots flowed like a water fall. It wasn't long before we were on the second story balcony passing the bottle around like a revolver and nobody wanted to pull the trigger. I finished off the last of the bottle before placing it above the fridge as a relic of the night we got Mark drunk in someone else's house without permission from the owner.
The depletion of the bottle left us with a new task of finding something for three drunk males to do in a house that they have never been in before. The answer was simple. Throw up off the balcony and talking about finding where you belong.
The conversation started of harmless enough. I brought up the list of everything I tired to leave behind and explain my thoughts about how my possession will be worth more to my family after I'm gone than they are currently appreciated. Kansas cleared his throat and set up and said some religious shit about our souls being immortal so we couldn't possibly die.
I was fucked up enough at the time to believe that I was possible that I could be unique enough to be important. People who believe that their existence is significant always break my heart because I think it's adorable, that even in this wasteland, they still have hope for some sort of meaning or purpose. It's the level of hope that the logic of an infinite amount of nothing can't extinguish. That's a beautiful flame but even the prettiest flame can still light the wrong path.
I cuddled in the corner until Kansas started listen to dance with the devil. So I went inside to warm up while listening through the door. As I pressed my ear to the glass I saw the most beautiful thing out the corner of my eye. A brand new bottle of soco on the washing machine. The idea in my head shot out of my mouth before I had time to think it though. "We need some Amarillo and limes" I called out from the slight gap I held open in the door. Mark was the first to reply with a simple "why" when I pushed my hand outside that held the bottle and said "southern comfort" the word I heard next still haunt me too this day. "so?" Came from both of the voice on the other side of the door. "So? So? So? Amarillo soco lime bitches! it's the Mixed drink of your fantasies. Have you never seen a music video from the early 2000's" I croaked out disappointedly "Ok guys load up. we are going to find an alcoholic with a bottle of Amarillo" Kansas added at the end of my complaint.
I'm normally against driving while under the influence but if Kansas was behind the wheel I was welling to make an exception. I probably miss placed my trust because he constantly asked me if he was swerving. I couldn't tell for sure but I said yes just to be safe. We coasted towards my parents house, A place I hadn't seen since I passed out on my bed from the Over Dose. Entering into the house everything was exactly as I remembered it at first glance. On further inspection I noticed that the whole shelf of bottle was moved. So I did what any sane, half drunk, adventurer would do I snuck in their bedroom and started shifting through their dressers in search the bottle I left behind.
Once I worked my way across the room farthest from the bed. I moved to the bed side tables. I tripped over a my dad's shoe and land face first on the floor, waking my parents up instantly. As luck would have it I'm staring directly at the Amarillo. I reached out and snatched up the bottle with both hands and yelled "sorry" as dashed out of the house at speeds only comparable to that of Usain Bolt. Sliding in the grass as I hugged the bottle to my chest trying not to harm the valuable liquid. I faded out of reality and accepted my fate as a failure. I fell asleep on the wet grass with pure delight as drunken minor with definite self-hated issues this was one of the most well deserved rest I have ever allowed myself to achieve.
It lasted a whole second before Kansas picked me up and threw me over his shoulder and began to carry me to the car. I apologize for failing my final mission. He replied with a very firm and reassuring "you did fine, man"
I don't know why but those words sounded like a second chance which is technically like my fifth one this week. So, maybe I am pushing my luck at the age of 19 with an extremely obvious drinking problem and a death fantasy which I regret admittedly. There is just something reassuring about the idea of failing to exist but something terrifying about what that implies about existence in the first place.
During the ride back, I might have smiled if I wasn't too busy fearing for the personal safety of the occupation of the vehicle. I held on to the bottle for not so dear but not exactly upsetting life. Lucky, the worst case scenario was I died the way I lived. Wasted, covered in alcohol, terrified, and listening to shitty public radio.
The radio part was a little too real if I have one regret it's ever hearing anything that could be listened on any of my local radio station. That or not being able to find value in the gift of life before it was to late, but mostly the radio thing.
YOU ARE READING
Everything. Left. Behind.
Teen FictionA year after waking up in the hospital because he attempted to overdose. The young protagonists reflects on the events of his year and comes to terms with his own existence and moves towards a more grown up ideology instead of his more common rebell...
