Aftermath and Overlap
Sunday I slowly arrive at consciousness amidst some vivid, erotic dream imagery, that unfortunately is lost to the recesses of my brain as soon as the pain hits. Someone has clearly stepped on my head and stuffed an angry poodle down my throat, and I'd like to have a word with them - as soon as my bed stops rotating. I'm naked and cold, and I pull the comforter back over me from where I've kicked it off. I sit up a little at a time, wondering where the hell my pajamas are and whether drinking a cup of coffee right now would be the best feeling ever or the stupidest idea in history.
The clock says 3:35. Wow. Not the first time I've slept this late after a shift, getting drunk, or both, but the first time in a long while. I try to reconstruct the previous night's events in my head, and after a while I remember why I drank so much at the Bar. But there's a glass next to my laptop with some Scotch in it, and I realize I must have kept going when I got home. I awaken the laptop, hoping to find that in my besotten and furious state last night I wrote 10,000 new words of my novel before crashing, but of course that's not the case. Then I see that I logged an AIM conversation that lasted well past 6am, and it all starts coming back to me.
It was ridiculously hot, which explains the dreams. And it wasn't with Warren.
He and I haven't had any kind of conversation about exclusivity. It's probably too soon for that. But the conversation early this morning was spontaneous and unexpected, and I realize with dismay that in the moment, it never even occurred to me to wonder if it was... well, "okay." With respect to Warren or to the friend I was messaging. And I don't think being drunk is a very good excuse for a complete lack of forethought. But I'll deal with all that later.
I manage to pull on my pajamas, hoping against hope that brunch might still be in progress. What I find is people watching football - my roommates Cassie and Jill, our friend Scott, and a few other regulars from our poker group, which hasn't met in a while. I've completely forgotten there's supposed to be a game this afternoon, and I decide I'm not up for it. There are plenty of other players anyway. I wave, then I sit down on the Comfy Couch next to Jill with a groan.
"Hey, sleepyhead," says Jill, grinning. "Warren still in bed?"
"What?"
Her smile gets wider. "You must be exhausted - you guys woke me up at 6:30 this morning!" I look back at the open door to my room, where no Warren is forthcoming, then back at Jill, shaking my head quietly. "Oh," she says, "sorry." Then after a beat, "Oh."
Cassie gets up from her end of the long, L-shaped leather couch. "Debra, is your stomach feeling better? Do you want a bagel or something? They're in the fridge already."
I squint at her. "My stomach...?"
She comes over and takes my hand, then whispers, "You, ah... didn't quite clean up all the vomit in the bathroom."
Shit. I feel myself blushing and cover my face with my other hand. "I'm sorry, Cassie."
"It's okay - maybe just a cinnamon-raisin with nothing on it?" I nod, horrified to be in the company of other people right now. With the bagel she brings a tall glass of cool water, and it's the best-tasting drink I think I've had in months.
After the Jets have stunned the world by beating the Patriots, the poker game begins, and I lie down on the couch to half-listen to the game and half-watch bad movies I've seen dozens of times before. At some point I get up to take some Tylenol and pour myself more water, then I grab a book and it's right back onto the couch, where I don't end up doing very much actual reading. I manage to eat about half the bagel before I start to feel that more might not be wise, and it stays down just fine. The game lasts a good five hours or so, with some Chinese food showing up sometime during the evening. The smell doesn't make me sick, but it doesn't make me hungry, either, and I figure there are certainly worse consequences to a foolish bender than not eating much for a day.
The game breaks up when Tim and Arielle, two of Scott's friends from the hospital, announce that they have to go start their shifts soon. Everybody cashes out, and then helps clean up the poker table and the General Tso's detritus. Four people depart, after which Scott and Cassie tell Jill they'll take care of the dishes, and she comes back to the couch and snuggles with me. After only a few minutes, Scott and Cassie are done - and then with little ceremony or prelude, Cassie leads Scott into her bedroom and closes the door behind her.
Jill and I sit up on the couch and look at each other.
"Did you know?" she says.
"I had no idea."
We sit there for a couple of minutes just looking at Cassie's closed door.
"Debra, I hate myself for this, but I can't help wondering if that started up again before she and Olimpio split up."
"It would sure explain them splitting up in the first place," I nod.
What I can't help wondering is whether it started up again before Dara stopped sleeping with Scott. Then I remember last night, and wonder what right I have to wonder, much less judge.
Later Sunday night, I check in with my friend over IM, and we clear the air, seemingly with barely any effort at all. We're both okay with what happened, and I'm so thankful for that, I don't think she has any idea. But I'm also still hurting. So I say my goodnights and crawl into bed much earlier than usual - before it's even 2am.
The clock says 3:35. Wow. Not the first time I've slept this late after a shift, getting drunk, or both, but the first time in a long while. I try to reconstruct the previous night's events in my head, and after a while I remember why I drank so much at the Bar. But there's a glass next to my laptop with some Scotch in it, and I realize I must have kept going when I got home. I awaken the laptop, hoping to find that in my besotten and furious state last night I wrote 10,000 new words of my novel before crashing, but of course that's not the case. Then I see that I logged an AIM conversation that lasted well past 6am, and it all starts coming back to me.
It was ridiculously hot, which explains the dreams. And it wasn't with Warren.
He and I haven't had any kind of conversation about exclusivity. It's probably too soon for that. But the conversation early this morning was spontaneous and unexpected, and I realize with dismay that in the moment, it never even occurred to me to wonder if it was... well, "okay." With respect to Warren or to the friend I was messaging. And I don't think being drunk is a very good excuse for a complete lack of forethought. But I'll deal with all that later.
I manage to pull on my pajamas, hoping against hope that brunch might still be in progress. What I find is people watching football - my roommates Cassie and Jill, our friend Scott, and a few other regulars from our poker group, which hasn't met in a while. I've completely forgotten there's supposed to be a game this afternoon, and I decide I'm not up for it. There are plenty of other players anyway. I wave, then I sit down on the Comfy Couch next to Jill with a groan.
"Hey, sleepyhead," says Jill, grinning. "Warren still in bed?"
"What?"
Her smile gets wider. "You must be exhausted - you guys woke me up at 6:30 this morning!" I look back at the open door to my room, where no Warren is forthcoming, then back at Jill, shaking my head quietly. "Oh," she says, "sorry." Then after a beat, "Oh."
Cassie gets up from her end of the long, L-shaped leather couch. "Debra, is your stomach feeling better? Do you want a bagel or something? They're in the fridge already."
I squint at her. "My stomach...?"
She comes over and takes my hand, then whispers, "You, ah... didn't quite clean up all the vomit in the bathroom."
Shit. I feel myself blushing and cover my face with my other hand. "I'm sorry, Cassie."
"It's okay - maybe just a cinnamon-raisin with nothing on it?" I nod, horrified to be in the company of other people right now. With the bagel she brings a tall glass of cool water, and it's the best-tasting drink I think I've had in months.
After the Jets have stunned the world by beating the Patriots, the poker game begins, and I lie down on the couch to half-listen to the game and half-watch bad movies I've seen dozens of times before. At some point I get up to take some Tylenol and pour myself more water, then I grab a book and it's right back onto the couch, where I don't end up doing very much actual reading. I manage to eat about half the bagel before I start to feel that more might not be wise, and it stays down just fine. The game lasts a good five hours or so, with some Chinese food showing up sometime during the evening. The smell doesn't make me sick, but it doesn't make me hungry, either, and I figure there are certainly worse consequences to a foolish bender than not eating much for a day.
The game breaks up when Tim and Arielle, two of Scott's friends from the hospital, announce that they have to go start their shifts soon. Everybody cashes out, and then helps clean up the poker table and the General Tso's detritus. Four people depart, after which Scott and Cassie tell Jill they'll take care of the dishes, and she comes back to the couch and snuggles with me. After only a few minutes, Scott and Cassie are done - and then with little ceremony or prelude, Cassie leads Scott into her bedroom and closes the door behind her.
Jill and I sit up on the couch and look at each other.
"Did you know?" she says.
"I had no idea."
We sit there for a couple of minutes just looking at Cassie's closed door.
"Debra, I hate myself for this, but I can't help wondering if that started up again before she and Olimpio split up."
"It would sure explain them splitting up in the first place," I nod.
What I can't help wondering is whether it started up again before Dara stopped sleeping with Scott. Then I remember last night, and wonder what right I have to wonder, much less judge.
Later Sunday night, I check in with my friend over IM, and we clear the air, seemingly with barely any effort at all. We're both okay with what happened, and I'm so thankful for that, I don't think she has any idea. But I'm also still hurting. So I say my goodnights and crawl into bed much earlier than usual - before it's even 2am.