Wingless Bird's Flight

HYPOXIA, pt. 2 / II.

I'll try to treat this like my therapist, with me telling you my problems and you acting like you care about me. Clinical therapy. I hear this is how people get over things. I'll give you honesty, and the only damn thing I want in return is an ear that listened. By the end of this, you may look like Holyfield. I know I'm getting older, but Holyfield was the boxer that Mike Tyson fucking bite his ear off during a boxing match. This is how you should feel reading my book.

When I came here, the only thing I could remember was football season of my senior year of high school. Probably the best explanation to my memory was because every night after a game there was a party, and I always got laid. Does anyone actually enjoy the "game" of football? I never played football, but I knew you could relate to football season, damn near everyone does, even if you don't play or if you have tits. This specific game was one of the first games of the season, and obviously everyone was hyped to lose. Our school team was a loser and so was the attitude. This specific football game has zero significance to this story. Maybe others, well I'm sure, but surely not this one. The significance comes after I was invited to a party afterwards. This event rerouted a portion of my life that I can't get back, and it wasn't even my fault. Anyways, after this football game I went to this guy's house with a few others.

The party started out with just a few guys. A couple of guys from the school, nothing too big. They were all on the basketball team, and they thought they were going to win everything under the sun, some of those guys. It had two bathrooms, one half bath and one full bath. It was a three-bedroom house, and the colors of the house were awful. Like there was nobody in the house with enough balls to change the color? It was one of those houses that you could really jack up though, I mean it was small enough, that you could hold parties and get togethers and there would be enough time to clean it up and make it look really good. The walls of the house squeezed and stretched as people danced.

I sat down on the couch, in a walk-through room that was adjacent to the kitchen and family room. By the looks of it, either the architect screwed up the layout, or this guy's dad doesn't know how to use a dining room correctly. After a little while, the whole damn school showed up like it was band camp or something. Of course, the alcohol. I was excited, not for the sauce, but for the women. It was funny, the seniors would show up, all horny and stupid for college, and they would drink, of course. They would always tell me to go after the girls who drank the most, because when they got the wiggies, they would have sex with you. And yes, they said wiggies, they're S.O.B's. Most of them ended up not mounting to much in life, which is sad but also happy.

One of the guys there was a complete phony though. He was dating a girl that was way too good looking for him, but don't worry, he's not the winner. I don't want to say his name since he could be reading this, but her name was Mia, which reminded me of Mia Khalifa, which was honestly a turn on. She was kind of like a pornstar, too. She would go blow dudes on the weekend just for a couple grams of weed. That's the thing, people are always the opposite of what they look like. One of my favorite entertainers is a Brit impersonator, Ted Carwood, and he would finish his live shows with his slogan, "And this is me." The only difference between Carwood and normal people is that normal people never show their true feelings about anything. Depressing. I think life would be easier if you lived like Carwood.

Anyway, Mia's boyfriend was sort of drunk, and of course she wasn't much of a drinker due to her promiscuous interventions of sex. He had just recently gone to his first year of college, and while his girlfriend was hitting on dudes in the family room, he was explaining to me and a few other guys his untrue, exaggerated, stories of the college life. He began to tell his stories, as a group in the kitchen cranked the music up and let the dancing begin. The whole place began to shake and slur, vision blurred, mix, stir, repeat.