PURE PRESSURE

As I wrote down my final answer I could already tell this was under a twenty grade average. I wanted to scream, yell, shoot myself with an AK-47 and be done with the whole thing. Yesterday I studied like a bookworm scientist with a brain tumor the size of the Alps, and this is the thanks I get? Amnesia? My teacher kept staring at me in frustration. I wondered if it was because she hadn't paid her light bill or was it because he was going to have to mark my paper. I could have even done it for her, fairly easy, zero, with a frowning face that breathed fire. When the papers were to be handed in she collected mine last and winked at me for some reason. An angry wink, never knew they existed. Nevertheless my head was on the verge of an atomic earthquake and that night I drank real heavy. For the first time being drunk it was not a good start. My parents were out of town and I cursed at my nightstand at how little money I'd be working as a janitor, if my grades really sucked.  

The next day I woke up to the sound of a far away lawnmower and was lying on the bathroom floor next to the toilet. My head pounded like a super hurricane in the middle of summer. My friend Wade was sitting in the white living room couch eating cereal and watching Elysium on my fathers' DVD player. How he got in? I had no idea but he was glad to see me and shouted my name "Huego! What is up man?" When he realized I was holding my head and smelt of stale beer, he whispered an apology. It took me awhile to realize I was still in my school uniform; jacket and tie and white shorts. Evan dale has accomplished the dumbest dress code in academic history, only thing missing was a Felt Hat. I sat beside him and he began jabbering about the exam. It was like a curse I mean what the hell was wrong with him? Was je deliberately trying to piss me off more than I already was? Why couldn't he just watch the fucking movie and shut the hell up?  

Then it occurred to me rational thinking. Maybe he didn't know how bad it was for me; still, his jabbering proved that he at least enjoyed the test. I interrupted him by asking "Wade. By the way how the hell did you get in here?"  

"Front door was open you careless son of a bitch," he continued eating. 

Jesus how drunk was I? Apparently so drunk a burglar could have trespassed and taken my fathers' or my mothers' microwave. "Mom and dad!" I found myself yelling. I ran to the living room curtains and drew the white louvers open, nearly blinded by the Saturday morning sunlight. The white Subaru Impreza was just reeling into the garage and I could see my dads' disappointment through the windshield. My mom was wearing a red blouse and holding an envelope. "Eternal fuck!" they had my report card. 

It took me what felt like hours to pretend I was sleeping after rushing Wade through my bedroom window and forcefully powering down my dads' DVD. My headache was wrenching my delicate forehead in half when I heard my name. Two things occurred to me, I was still in my uniform and I still smelt of beer. Bad combination wouldn't you agree?