The more I do this, the more I feel like the complete idiot that I am. I look over to bodies scattered around the room like a thrown pack of cards and I can’t help but feel like I’m missing something. Last night was New Year’s Eve and I don’t remember much more than that. I do remember taking shots with friends of friends, listening to girls complain about how their boyfriend is really a great guy but he just needs time, and throwing up in a toilet. I look around the apartment and can’t find a cup that isn’t filled with alcohol from last night, so I cup my hands together and guide the water into my dry mouth. I am almost completely full when Marcos, my best friend since 8th grade, taps me on the back.
“Bro, you know we have cups right? I always keep extra in the top cabinet.”
I give him a look that says thanks and watch as he makes his way over to the same toilet I threw up in last night. I’ve been coming here for parties the past few months and I still don’t know anyone else’s name except Marcos. I tried hanging out with some people I had meet at his Halloween party a few weeks ago but things didn’t work out. For how desperate I am to connect with someone else, it’s amazing how picky I am. After only 10 minutes at the coffee shop with two rather chatty girls, I excused myself out and went back to apartment to spend another night watching re-runs. My apartment looks terrible right now: poor lighting, no posters, and no family pictures. I’m working on fixing the problem but I’ve been busy lately. I ordered some posters of my favorite shows and I even have some new lights coming in.
Marcos heads back over into the kitchen and he has this great smile and just keeps laughing and laughing about last night. I nod at random and laugh along as I watch those behind him raise from the floor as if they were zombies. I can’t really put into words my hate from everyone in the room, but it fills me up and makes me feel full. I grab my jacket and start heading out towards the door and Marcos starts making coffee for all his fans.
“Same time next week?” he says with that same Marcos smile.
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
No comments:
Post a Comment