walking back to the table i could see that Sandy's guests had arrived. she looked up and saw me and a look of horror came over her face. she ran out from behind the table and crossed the length of the bar, lickity split.

"what the hell happened to you?" she asked.

"what do you mean?"

she led me downstairs where the bathroom mirror answered my question.

my hands were covered in the makeup i'd been smearing on the wall and my brow was covered in sweat. in a word, i was unkempt. Sandy started to clean me up and for the first time in over 24 hours i thought of a man that wasn't dobbs.*

when i was 14, i snuck out of my parents' house and went to a party with Jessica R---. it was there that i had my first drink and there that i, also for the first time (but not the last), i got horribly drunk and couldn't really walk.

some of the older boys drove me home and plopped me on the front porch. there, i was discovered by my father, lying in a puddle of my own vomit.

though i don't remember it, he carried me inside and into the bathroom. he cleaned me up and sat on the floor with me while i threw up the rest of the contents of my stomach: cake and candy and booze. he held my hair back from my face and wiped the puke from the edges of my mouth.

when the coast seemed clear, he carried me into my room and tucked me into bed. neither of us told my mother.

two years later my dad left my mom for another woman. four months after that they were both killed in a car crash on the 401. the alcohol in their bloodstreams was apparently off the charts.

in the sixteen years that i knew the man, he never had a nice word for anyone. and, try as i might, that night is the only kind thing i can remember him ever doing for me. [mp3]

i swore to never drink again. i managed to keep my promise to myself for seven years.

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