Orange is the New Way

Chapter 1- Seth Wethersfield

I remember a fluorescent filter clouding my entire body. My brain, head, arms, legs; everything felt as if balloons connected only by string; so vulnerable, so pathetically delicate, I was distressed with the thought that I might just float away.

And the stupid laughter. Everyone around me with this;  droopy, swollen smile on their face, they all, just chuckled; this terribly confusing, fractured noise, that escaped their drunken minds. Nevertheless, I understood, why they laughed. Let me just say one thing about birthdays, after the age of 9- they're pretty boring. Imagination stops warping your brain for hours at a time, you become, this, thing, not yet an adult, but, this person, who's expected to commit to sophisticated actions and entertain their guests in serious, less interactive ways.

Then you reach, 21. And, boy, do you have a new way to make your party compelling. Vodka. It's as simple as that. This way of charming  however, comes with a cost. All you do is drink and dance, drink and dance, drink and dance. Once your too drunk to dance, you just nod your head to the music. Did I mention you drink even more? After your coordination faults you, you just stand there, and drink. At that point it just get's awkward, and... there's where the laughter comes in.

I had bigger expectations. But, I found, my decisions to drink, more and more, to the point where I could no longer remember what drinking was... it didn't make me wild. In fact it made no one "wild". It just made you completely entailed with the idea of sleep, and disgust towards any beverages other than your alcohol preference . Oh, and a good old trip, to the doctor's.

The next morning my stomach clenched in spasm's of utter agonizing pain. I found myself in an awkward position, sprawled across the couch, isolated from the outside world, only empty beer bottles yet to be befriended. In fact, I couldn't really move; my stomach had become the heavy anchor that prevented me to journey.

Just please have your phone, here. Just please.

I didn't

And, I didn't have a Plan B.

Great.

In 10 minutes, you could've found me on the carpet of my apartment, dragging myself around the house... paralyzed from the waist down.

"Where is that goddamn, stupid phone!" 

 It took about 20 more minutes, for me to finally figure out- that the phone. was. in. my. pocket.

~

"Yes, I um, I'm fine... Mom. MOM! I am just at a check up. I forgot to reschedule it before my birthday... and they... um, you know called me up today. Yes, I am sure, I am completely fine", my stomach, however, said otherwise. The spasm's had gotten worse, undeniably very difficult to cope with. My mother was an over-protective and controlling person , always was, and when I left her for college, her phone calls had become increasingly worry some. I knew she understood it wasn't a check up, she was too smart for that, and I knew conversations to come after this moment, wouldn't be pleasant. My mother- if I hadn't mentioned was also strict.

My stomach hurtled again.

And even though I had informed the lady at the front desk, that I had discovered this as an emergency situation, she had a very different opinion

I sat, trying to find any relief, in the waiting room , for an "open slot, when the doctor will give you your full needed attention". I swear that Brianna girl, at the front desk, did not know what the point of showing up at the hospital was. Yes, I just came here to read some magizines... while I'm patiently dying.

Countless minutes, as cliché as it sounds, passed like hours. I, completely dumbfounded, stared at the bleak coloring of wall, and tried to ignore the infectious smell of medical substances. Everything, here  was so phony. It was almost as if gleaming smiles were plastered on the walls, the employees happier than at Disney Land. I didn't know then, that this would become a normal factor of life for me, I didn't know that I would have to get used to it...

~

Indeed, in those countless "hours" I preserved a sensible feeling of complete frustration. Towards Brianna, that little bastard, who didn't seem to care that I was dying, at the party I had thrown, at my overly- worried mother who had started to make me nervous, even in such a small duration of our conversation. Things were already on the down side for me.

And then I got to go into the room  where they were going to finally, I hoped, relief my scrutinizing pain.

Your probably already decided that the next sentence you'll read will consist of my check up, and recovery.

I thought the same. But; no. No, not at all. I sat now, in an isolated space... Useless, for the moment as a human being. There was no clock... but I'm guessing it was probably an eternity until a young woman,  a bit too sophisticated for her age, had secured me with an IV... and in a very aristocratic manner told me that the medicine would be all in my blood at the leisure of two hours.

I was having a fantastic day.

And then she stormed in....