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Free Topic - The True Adventures of the Young and Stupid
The party at which I met Riley was the only party where I've ever seen cocaine splayed out on a table as if in a movie. In the hotel bedroom nearby there were two hot tubs, one filled with naked people, the other with ice and booze. Elbows and knees stuck out at odd angles from the king bed as a mass orgy continued into the night.
It was somebody's birthday. I didn't know him. I was there with my roommate Molly, who knew people there, and had ditched me. The orgy and the coke were making me miserably uncomfortable.
Riley was there with a group of people who were ignoring her. She didn't know the birthday person, either.
I got drunk. Really drunk. I remember watching a biography of Johnny Depp on A&E in the corner of the bedroom, six feet from the limbs. I remember getting up, wanting to get out of that room. Asking Molly, asking anyone, can we please go down to the casino? I went with Riley.
I'd left my license in the room. They wouldn't let me onto the floor without it. Riley and I exchanged phone numbers so I could find her when I got back downstairs.
But I never made it upstairs. I made it as far as the lobby bathroom. I remember in snapshots now. A cold floor. Bright lights. A woman handing me paper towels under the stall door. I have no idea how long I was passed out on the floor of the lobby bathroom at Foxwoods Casino.
I don't know how I got home, or how I got my purse and license back.
The next day, around 3 p.m., I got a phone call. Riley, it said. But I didn't know any Rileys. Why was this in my phone?
"Hey," she said. "I was worried about you. You never came back that night!"
"Huh?"
"At the party."
"Oh! The party. Yeah, what happened?"
"Well, I don't know what happened to you, but after waiting for a while, I gambled my money away and went with someone else to their room. I think we smoked up and shit. It was a rad time, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess. I guess it was something."
And that's how I met Riley.
****
I usually worked until 11 p.m., but I must have been getting out at 8 the night we went to New York. She was already there by the time I drove in. I parked near some kind of huge meat factory, and met her at Union Square.
She took me to some seedy, sideways bar where people were smoking hookahs and dancing, even though there was no dance floor. The music was loud. Deafening. We danced. We drank screwdrivers that night. Her choice.
I remember a tabletop, dancing like an ass, singing the techno remix of "I Will Survive."
We had some hookah hits, and I remember thinking, ew. Someone else's mouth has just been on this. What's the big deal with these things? Can I just have a cigarette?
The rest of the night, a blank.
Until.
Until I was walking alone through the streets and alleys of New York City. It was 5 a.m. then, or close to it. I don't remember what happened to Riley. I remember not being able to find my car. I remember asking people.
"Do you know where that big meat factory is? With all the fruit trucks?" I got strange and pitying looks as I stumbled along.
I finally found my car, and I also found that I could not drive.
I sat there to contemplate this conundrum, and I fell asleep. In New York City. At 5 a.m. With my car running. When I awoke a few hours later, I was still woozy. I was almost out of gas, and I had no idea how to get home.
I decided to follow a taxi. Wherever it went. Eventually, using this very scientific method, I made it to one of the bridges leading back to CT.
And that was the first night in New York with Riley.
****
Suzie, Anna, Riley and I are all in Riley's truck.
"Turn left," Suzie says. "No, left!"
"I am turning left!" says Riley.
"No you're not," says Anna.
"Wait, wait, guys," says Riley. "The car is not on."
****
Riley and I had become best friends by now. I took her with me to visit my father in Hawaii. My siblings also went on this trip.
One morning, Riley was awfully quiet, and I knew why.
I went out on the porch to smoke a cigarette.
"Hey, can I talk to you?"
"Yup."
She sat down.
"So. Um. I slept with your dad the other day."
"Yeah, I know."
"You know? How do you know?"
"I don't know, I just know."
"Well, it's not going to happen again, don't worry."
"Okay. Just don't tell my sister or brother, okay?"
And that was it. Only not. Not at all.
****
Riley went on to try to sleep with me. Then she stalked me and tried to ruin my relationship with my now-husband. I was finally able to shake her after moving across the country, ignoring her calls for more than three years, then changing my number. She doesn't know where I am or that I've had a family. I still know her phone number by heart.
(This is an excerpt from a much longer series detailing this train wreck of a friendship. The stories are true, the names changed. The picture is really of her and me on that Hawaii trip.)
It was somebody's birthday. I didn't know him. I was there with my roommate Molly, who knew people there, and had ditched me. The orgy and the coke were making me miserably uncomfortable.
Riley was there with a group of people who were ignoring her. She didn't know the birthday person, either.
I got drunk. Really drunk. I remember watching a biography of Johnny Depp on A&E in the corner of the bedroom, six feet from the limbs. I remember getting up, wanting to get out of that room. Asking Molly, asking anyone, can we please go down to the casino? I went with Riley.
I'd left my license in the room. They wouldn't let me onto the floor without it. Riley and I exchanged phone numbers so I could find her when I got back downstairs.
But I never made it upstairs. I made it as far as the lobby bathroom. I remember in snapshots now. A cold floor. Bright lights. A woman handing me paper towels under the stall door. I have no idea how long I was passed out on the floor of the lobby bathroom at Foxwoods Casino.
I don't know how I got home, or how I got my purse and license back.
The next day, around 3 p.m., I got a phone call. Riley, it said. But I didn't know any Rileys. Why was this in my phone?
"Hey," she said. "I was worried about you. You never came back that night!"
"Huh?"
"At the party."
"Oh! The party. Yeah, what happened?"
"Well, I don't know what happened to you, but after waiting for a while, I gambled my money away and went with someone else to their room. I think we smoked up and shit. It was a rad time, huh?"
"Yeah, I guess. I guess it was something."
And that's how I met Riley.
****
I usually worked until 11 p.m., but I must have been getting out at 8 the night we went to New York. She was already there by the time I drove in. I parked near some kind of huge meat factory, and met her at Union Square.
She took me to some seedy, sideways bar where people were smoking hookahs and dancing, even though there was no dance floor. The music was loud. Deafening. We danced. We drank screwdrivers that night. Her choice.
I remember a tabletop, dancing like an ass, singing the techno remix of "I Will Survive."
We had some hookah hits, and I remember thinking, ew. Someone else's mouth has just been on this. What's the big deal with these things? Can I just have a cigarette?
The rest of the night, a blank.
Until.
Until I was walking alone through the streets and alleys of New York City. It was 5 a.m. then, or close to it. I don't remember what happened to Riley. I remember not being able to find my car. I remember asking people.
"Do you know where that big meat factory is? With all the fruit trucks?" I got strange and pitying looks as I stumbled along.
I finally found my car, and I also found that I could not drive.
I sat there to contemplate this conundrum, and I fell asleep. In New York City. At 5 a.m. With my car running. When I awoke a few hours later, I was still woozy. I was almost out of gas, and I had no idea how to get home.
I decided to follow a taxi. Wherever it went. Eventually, using this very scientific method, I made it to one of the bridges leading back to CT.
And that was the first night in New York with Riley.
****
Suzie, Anna, Riley and I are all in Riley's truck.
"Turn left," Suzie says. "No, left!"
"I am turning left!" says Riley.
"No you're not," says Anna.
"Wait, wait, guys," says Riley. "The car is not on."
****
Riley and I had become best friends by now. I took her with me to visit my father in Hawaii. My siblings also went on this trip.
One morning, Riley was awfully quiet, and I knew why.
I went out on the porch to smoke a cigarette.
"Hey, can I talk to you?"
"Yup."
She sat down.
"So. Um. I slept with your dad the other day."
"Yeah, I know."
"You know? How do you know?"
"I don't know, I just know."
"Well, it's not going to happen again, don't worry."
"Okay. Just don't tell my sister or brother, okay?"
And that was it. Only not. Not at all.
****
Riley went on to try to sleep with me. Then she stalked me and tried to ruin my relationship with my now-husband. I was finally able to shake her after moving across the country, ignoring her calls for more than three years, then changing my number. She doesn't know where I am or that I've had a family. I still know her phone number by heart.
(This is an excerpt from a much longer series detailing this train wreck of a friendship. The stories are true, the names changed. The picture is really of her and me on that Hawaii trip.)