My body lunged forward as I proceeded to expel from my stomach what I had eaten the following hour. My hands clenched to both sides of the cold porcelain toilet. Every moment I got, I gasped for air, but the breaths I took offered no solace as they were stale and reeked of the unpleasant aroma that surrounded the stall. Finally, I coughed up the last of the acidic phlegm. I kept in my hunched over position for what felt like hours, but was most likely five minutes, just taking deep breaths in and out. In and out. In and out. In again. Out again. My eyes were transfixed on what I had just regurgitated. A brownish-green puddle of bile..Just staring at me, and I back at it. It was as if looking into a bottomless pit, and though it may have just been the immense head rush that I was experiencing as a side effect of my spewing, it was almost peaceful. Almost.
There was a series of bangs on the stall door. "Hey, you wanna hurry up in there? Some people have places to go tonight!" Yelled the voice outside. It was gruff, but still notably feminine. Probably the kind of woman who would break a man's arm because he didn't buy her the right pair of shoes. God knows what she would do if he forgot about their anniversary or her birthday. The knocks came again, harder and louder this time. The woman yelled, "Get out, damn it!" It took all of my effort to straighten up my back and stand up. I rolled my shoulders in hopes that all of my sore spots would magically disappear. I hit the lever and watched as my disgorged chunks spiraled down the pipe. I turned myself towards the door, and lifted the small metallic lock that kept me separated from outside. As I inched the door open, the woman on the other side seemed to get less infuriated and grow more taken aback at what she saw. As I fully exited the compartment, I stopped to hold the door wide open for her. Her eyes seemed to pass over me, like I was a fresh fish at the market, though by the expression on her face I was anything but fresh. "You look like shit." She stated profoundly, and then walked into the stall, slamming the door behind her.
I walked to the row of sinks that lined the adjacent wall. As I scrubbed the left-over slime and spit off of my face, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror for the first time that night. The woman was right. I did look like shit. Though I had done my best to remove most of crap on my face, my green tank top was covered in a mixture of my puke and dry sweat. My hair had been messed up on the way to the restroom. It frizzed up and fell down over my face. My eyeliner was smeared in a circular design on my cheek. And to top it all off I had bitten into my lip during the entire process in the stall, so it was swollen and puffy. Yes, You sure do look like shit, Judy. I slowly maneuvered out of the bathroom, and back into the club's main hall. The walls were covered with lines that changed colors every two minutes, and seemed to move from side to side. Along with the floor, that had an array of bright circles that blinked every second, giving the impression of eyes blinking, was enough to give a person a heart attack if they were old or drunk enough. In fact, it was probably what caused me to get nausea in the first place. It might have been in my best interest to go home and rest, but I still had friends waiting for me, so I headed in their general direction. As I walked deeper into the central area of the club, I had to push my way through groups of sweaty people "dancing." Grinding more specifically. The funny thing was that most of these people were over twenty-five. As I got closer to the region reserved for resting, I saw my two friends, Jerry and Calipsa. Jerry was seventeen, like me, and a ginger. He broke his nose when he was twelve, but what he lacked in looks, he more than made up in style (In his opinion). He was wearing a pair of black denim jeans, a shirt promoting the band "Silver Tongue," and a black fiber blazer. Truth be told, he was one of the smarter kids I knew, despite not having much ambition for anything. He always knew what to say, the answer to every problem I ever had, even if he was often harsh with the solution. My exotically named friend, Calipsa, was the daughter of the owner of the club we were in. It's because of her that we were able to hang out in the place, free of charge, and without wait. She was in a leopard print, slim-fitting dress, that seemed to emphasize the amount of cleavage she had. Saying that Calipsa was a whore would be harsh, but she was definitely out to make some heads turn. I sat down on the leather bench that was opposite left of the small wooden table my friends were at. As I got comfortable, the music started to fade to a different song, this one softer in tone, but still upbeat and lively. It was a club hit, nothing special.
Jerry looked up from the table and stared me, our tired eyes met. "Well, hi there." He said, and then turned to Calipsa, "Hey, can we please leave now?" Calipsa didn't seem to notice, she was too busy trying to catch the attention of an older gentleman, in hopes that he would buy her some beer or a martini. "Hey," Jerry spoke again, "Hey, Calipsa. Earth to Calipsa." She turned away from the dance floor for half a second, just to glare at Jerry. Her face seemed to say Dammit, I'm working here. Jerry wasn't taken aback by this at all, grabbing Calipsa's shoulder and looking her right in the eye, "Calipsa, I've got shit to do tomorrow, If you intend to make me sit here all night in your effort to woo a seventy-something into buying you alcohol, you are gravely mistaken. You can find beer at your house, and you don't have to dress sultry to get it. I am tired. If you look at Jude, she's tired. And I'm sure that somewhere in your brain, your body is telling you that you are tired. Let's leave." said Jerry. I watched as Calipsa's expression changed from anger to acknowledgement. Jerry did this a lot, he could usually convince anyone that what they were doing was redundant or in bad taste. It was a skill he used to full affect. After a few minutes, we all got up from the table and left the club. As we walked down the sidewalk to Jerry's dark blue Mazda sedan, I looked up at the night sky. It was pitch black with the exception of one gleaming star. One little star, just sitting in a sea of darkness. It must be so lonely up there...Jerry started the engine to the car, and I got in the passenger seat. It felt like it was going to be a long ride home.
