You hold my hair back, I'll drive the porcelain bus.
"Here, drink this," she said as she handed me a glass of water. "Just chug it."
"I dunwunna. I'm full," I slurred, eyes half open.
"Well you should be full. You drank a barrel full of booze."
Something happened, something definitive that made me want to forget it was even a possibility. And I was a hot mess of shots and slammers and yards and forget the mixed somethings, just give it to me straight. In my drunken stupor, I called her. I shouldn't have called her, but 4 hours into my mind erasing extravaganza, her name looked so good on the screen.
She took me home. Any number of my celebratory entourage could have gotten me home, I'm sure. But she made sure it was her. Three hurls later, we both ended up on my bathroom floor, facing each other, my legs fitting perfectly into the spaces of hers.
"What the hell happened? What made you drink so much tonight?"
"I don't know."
I didn't tell her, of course. The details are unnecessary. The fact of the matter is she's here with me in my state of complete disarray, and I wish I was sober enough to appreciate it.
"Drink this. I can't let you go to sleep until you finish it," she said as she shoved another glass of water into my hand.
"Okay, fine. But if I do, will you stay with me?" Apparently that barrel of booze came with some balls.
"Deal."
Of course, I immediately passed out after that. But I don't think I've ever felt so indebted to something so mundane as a glass of water. Because from that, something happened, something definitive.