I woke up to a distinct smell of beer and pizza. I was in my bed and by ‘in’ I mean ‘on’ because I hadn’t actually managed to get under the duvet and had passed out on top of the covers and still had one shoe on. Just one. The other one was close by, and had probably just fallen off to be fair since they were flip flops. I squinted as the sun did what it did, which would be shining mostly, but it felt more like punching. The sun was punching me in the head with its brightness and heat and although I was on top of the duvet my body felt as if it were about a million degrees, probably trying to burn off any and all traces of alcohol in my system.
Slinging my feet over the side of the bed as I sat up I kicked the other flip flop off. It didn’t land with a thud as you would expect to hear when shoe meets carpet, rather it was more of a slapping sound which was followed by a grunt.
‘Sorry!’ I whispered then stood up and stepped over Goodge and into what is know in my home as the “playroom.” Why the playroom? Well, it’s where the playing took place throughout my childhood. Our house is the house everyone use to come to after school for tea and, well, playing. Now that my friends and I are older there’s still playing but it involves alcohol now so Playroom keeps its name. The playroom use to be littered with dolls and trucks and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles because that was my favourite film when I was younger. On this particular morning it was covered in empty pizza boxes, empty bottles and tins, playing cards strewn about, a chair on its side that Temple was using as a pillow, and Dill hanging off the side of the sofa.
My parents had gone away for the weekend, so in typical fashion, as I did when I was 16, I invited a bunch of mates over. A lot of friends live near enough to stumble home, but I had invited the uni folk as well and some of the tube stops had roadtripped it down to mine for the night.
As I tried to figure out whether there was tomato sauce on me or if I was bleeding, I started to piece the night together. To simulate this, think of the song ‘Last Night’ by the Strokes and in the first few seconds where it’s just instrumental the world goes from me in the middle of the playroom at 9 am then starts spinning and rewinding through the previous 12 hours until it starts going at normal forward speed as “Last night, she said …” begins and I am standing in the playroom, with a beer in my hand, surrounded by twenty of my closest friends. Does that make sense? Cinematically speaking it makes perfect sense in my mind.
(If you've never heard 'Last Night' then educate yourself.)
Anyhow. At approximately nine o’clock in the evening the previous night was when the situation escalated from a casual get-together to a full on drink-fest. Playing cards were brought out, drinking games were played, and last I remember is getting in a physical fight with half of the tube stops. All in good fun, not in a malicious or angry way, just a ‘we forgot you were a girl and thought it would be okay to have a wrestling match with you’ fight.
Prior to that, however, was a brief conversation with Dill which went something like this:
‘So … it’s over between me and the missus.’
‘Is that so?’ I asked, planning my escape route in the back of my mind. If Dill’s actions while he was in a relationship were anything to go by, I had approximately fifteen seconds before he made a move.
‘Yeah … I mean. It’s like we talked about, it just wasn’t working.’
My eyes shifted around the room, we weren’t near anybody and I was pretty sure I was a minute from making a decision I would regret. So instead I made a statement I would regret. ‘Can’t say I didn’t see it coming.’
He apparently didn’t take it insincerely. ‘Yeah. I guess.’
He took it quite well actually. ‘Sorry about that mate. Let me know if you ever want to talk.’
‘Well, we’re talking now aren't we?’
I looked away, squinting down the corridor. ‘Yeah, but I think I hear Temp trying to break some furniture so I should really go check that out.’
‘Fair enough,’ he said, sipping his beer.
‘Talk later, yeah?’
‘Yeah. Sure.’ He knew we wouldn’t talk later. I walked in the direction of my imaginary catastrophe. My imaginary scenario of Temp breaking my furniture became very real when he ankle tapped me as soon as I walked back into the playroom. We had a mock-fight, which resulted in a lot of spilled beverages and pizza.
I got up to go clean myself off after the fight and once I was out of sight I ducked into my bedroom to call Grey (as well as to assess whether I was covered in blood or pizza sauce for the first time). I half fell asleep through the tail end of the conversation, but that had become routine. Calling each other at the end of the night and falling asleep on the phone. It had become second nature to fall asleep once I hung up, and that’s exactly what I did after this particular phone call. Goodge had come in later, stolen a pillow off the half of the bed I wasn’t using and fallen asleep on my floor. Like a watchdog to fend off unwanted party-goers. Namely, Dill.
The tubestops, including Dill, are still my best mates. But even Dill stops himself from ruining what everyone sees so clearly – my happiness. My Grey.
Slinging my feet over the side of the bed as I sat up I kicked the other flip flop off. It didn’t land with a thud as you would expect to hear when shoe meets carpet, rather it was more of a slapping sound which was followed by a grunt.
‘Sorry!’ I whispered then stood up and stepped over Goodge and into what is know in my home as the “playroom.” Why the playroom? Well, it’s where the playing took place throughout my childhood. Our house is the house everyone use to come to after school for tea and, well, playing. Now that my friends and I are older there’s still playing but it involves alcohol now so Playroom keeps its name. The playroom use to be littered with dolls and trucks and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles because that was my favourite film when I was younger. On this particular morning it was covered in empty pizza boxes, empty bottles and tins, playing cards strewn about, a chair on its side that Temple was using as a pillow, and Dill hanging off the side of the sofa.
My parents had gone away for the weekend, so in typical fashion, as I did when I was 16, I invited a bunch of mates over. A lot of friends live near enough to stumble home, but I had invited the uni folk as well and some of the tube stops had roadtripped it down to mine for the night.
As I tried to figure out whether there was tomato sauce on me or if I was bleeding, I started to piece the night together. To simulate this, think of the song ‘Last Night’ by the Strokes and in the first few seconds where it’s just instrumental the world goes from me in the middle of the playroom at 9 am then starts spinning and rewinding through the previous 12 hours until it starts going at normal forward speed as “Last night, she said …” begins and I am standing in the playroom, with a beer in my hand, surrounded by twenty of my closest friends. Does that make sense? Cinematically speaking it makes perfect sense in my mind.
(If you've never heard 'Last Night' then educate yourself.)
Anyhow. At approximately nine o’clock in the evening the previous night was when the situation escalated from a casual get-together to a full on drink-fest. Playing cards were brought out, drinking games were played, and last I remember is getting in a physical fight with half of the tube stops. All in good fun, not in a malicious or angry way, just a ‘we forgot you were a girl and thought it would be okay to have a wrestling match with you’ fight.
Prior to that, however, was a brief conversation with Dill which went something like this:
‘So … it’s over between me and the missus.’
‘Is that so?’ I asked, planning my escape route in the back of my mind. If Dill’s actions while he was in a relationship were anything to go by, I had approximately fifteen seconds before he made a move.
‘Yeah … I mean. It’s like we talked about, it just wasn’t working.’
My eyes shifted around the room, we weren’t near anybody and I was pretty sure I was a minute from making a decision I would regret. So instead I made a statement I would regret. ‘Can’t say I didn’t see it coming.’
He apparently didn’t take it insincerely. ‘Yeah. I guess.’
He took it quite well actually. ‘Sorry about that mate. Let me know if you ever want to talk.’
‘Well, we’re talking now aren't we?’
I looked away, squinting down the corridor. ‘Yeah, but I think I hear Temp trying to break some furniture so I should really go check that out.’
‘Fair enough,’ he said, sipping his beer.
‘Talk later, yeah?’
‘Yeah. Sure.’ He knew we wouldn’t talk later. I walked in the direction of my imaginary catastrophe. My imaginary scenario of Temp breaking my furniture became very real when he ankle tapped me as soon as I walked back into the playroom. We had a mock-fight, which resulted in a lot of spilled beverages and pizza.
I got up to go clean myself off after the fight and once I was out of sight I ducked into my bedroom to call Grey (as well as to assess whether I was covered in blood or pizza sauce for the first time). I half fell asleep through the tail end of the conversation, but that had become routine. Calling each other at the end of the night and falling asleep on the phone. It had become second nature to fall asleep once I hung up, and that’s exactly what I did after this particular phone call. Goodge had come in later, stolen a pillow off the half of the bed I wasn’t using and fallen asleep on my floor. Like a watchdog to fend off unwanted party-goers. Namely, Dill.
The tubestops, including Dill, are still my best mates. But even Dill stops himself from ruining what everyone sees so clearly – my happiness. My Grey.
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