All Kinds Of Crazy

Chapter 4

 "Dear Carter, I thought about you a lot today. I guess that's pretty normal now, but still; I wanted you to know. I wanted to say thank you. You had such an amazing outlook on life, despite the circumstances. Everything you did and thought and said was beautiful and was with purpose. I hope to learn everything from you. I found that bucket list we made together today. Some of these things are so silly, but others are revolutionary. Even if you can't be here to complete them with me, I'll make sure I won't let you down. I'll do every single thing on this list, I promise. Oh and I found something out awhile ago that's kinda sorta really crazy. I don't have time to tell you right now, but next letter I will. Love you lots, Emmerson."

  Skydive. Try Chicken and Waffles flavored potato chips. Save a life. Carter Kennedy was a visionary, no doubt. He had dreams that exceeded even the heavens above, and there's no doubt in my mind he would've achieved every single one. He was so determined. Not only did he talk the talk, but he walked the walk. He could pinpoint the problem and come up with a solution in the blink of an eye.

  Even to this day, I've tried oh so desperately to keep up, but that boy was just too fast. He was always seeking an adventure, even if that meant trouble. Heck, trouble was his middle name. Carter Trouble Kennedy. That sounds about right. I think that's why I admired him so unconditionally. Like Cherry, he lived dangerously, but there was something that made the two unquoestionably different.

  I met Carter through Charlotte for they were best friends long before I ever came around. I remember the day like it was yesterday.

  "Hey Emmie, my friend Carter's gonna stop by if that's okay." Of course Cherry was telling me rather than asking for my approval. Regardless of my answer, this boy would show up and disrupt our sleepover. "Okay," I replied anyway. She quickly typed up a text message and we were back to our heated game of Just Dance.

  Within 20 minutes, a tall black haired beauty was standing in my best friend's bedroom with us, a mischevious grin planted upon his light pink lips. Carter looked to be about 6'4 and he towered over Cherry. He had hair the color of the midnight sky that fell messily in front of his hazel-gray eyes. That particular night he had on black skinny jeans paired with a forest green hoodie with nothing on underneath.

  "And you are?" he asked me politely, his voice not too high nor too deep.

  "I'm uh," He took my breath away, needless to say. Paired with my crippling shyness this was not a good thing.

  "Her name's Emmerson, but call her Emmie," Charlotte answered for me, obviously impatient.

  "Emmerson," Carter repeated my name, thinking, "That's pretty. I like it better than Emmie." I found myself smiling. No one ever thought that, not even me.

  It was quiet for a few seconds before Cherry spoke up, "Did you bring it?" To that question the boy pulled out 2 plastic bottled of cheap whiskey, 1 full and the other half empty. I could feel my entire body tensing up. I had never so much as sipped the wine they give out at church, and now my best friend and my soon to be other best friend were going to get completely drunk, expecting me to join in on the festivites.

  "Here, we'll give the virgin a mixed drink," Charlotte winked. I hated when she called me that. "Shots for the hardasses, though." At the time I didn't realize that my next action would begin a series of unfortunate events.

  "No. I'll do shots too. Probably even more than you," I smirked, rather proud of myself. I was feeling risky, which could be a wonderful thing or an absoutely horrendous thing. That first night with Carter turned out to be the first option.

  The rest of the evening was a drunken blur, but it was by far one of the best nights of my life. I've tried to recreate it on more than one occasion. You know they say the reason people become alcoholics and addicts is because they try to relive that very first high, but are always unsuccessful because nothing can be as good as that first taste of poison.

  The wet rim of the bottle presses roughly against my lips. Cherry rum rushes down my throat, leaving a trail of flames close behind. My mind began to fill, or is it empty? This is a feeling that I've grown far too accustomed to, although it feels brand new every weekend.

   It's really crazy how different I am when I'm drunk with people opposed to drunk alone. In a group, I'm loud and fun and boisterous. If I simply get tipsy alone, I'm in a perfect euphoric state. Although when I dare let myself pass that line (which is rather often), I turn into a melancholy, broken paper girl. Tonight I'm in a state of the latter.

  Why I do this to myself, I have no idea. As contradicting as it sounds, getting dangerously drunk is my only way to feel okay. It helps bring me back to that night in Cherry's bedroom, and every night after that. The only negative is that there seems to be a little rain cloud that floats above my head, soaking everything until I just give up and let this sadness consume me.

  The stars are my only friends now and even they're turning on me. The twinkling lights seem to be blinding and are causing my head to pound furiously. Has everyone deserted me? I really can't blame them. If it was even possible, I'd desert me too. Recklessness has become my entire life and now I'm making the biggest mistake of all, even if I can't exactly tell.