Tag: growing up

Good Friends and Bad Decisions

Meeting Betsy after dinner at Nonnie and Papa’s. 

But not before swiping booze from their cabinet. 

Having just been dumped, 

she is determined to drown her sorrows. 

As her best friend, 

I’m determined to be right by her side. 

Swig for swig.

Bad Decision Number One.

The entryway sideboard is where they keep liquor. 

I’d come across the contents years ago 

while searching for sweets Nonnie always tucks away

in little, glass dishes 

and old, plastic boxes,

in closets, pockets, drawers 

and in cabinets throughout the apartment. 

The non-candy contents of this cupboard meant nothing to me.

Until now.

Taking a moment before dinner 

to slip into the entry, 

I squat in front of the cabinet

and quietly open the door. 

My knees crackle 

and I cringe, 

as if the telltale sound could possibly be heard above the TV.

I see bottles of all shapes and sizes. 

Some look old, dusty, 

half-drunk 

and wholly forgotten; 

while others, 

still in their special holiday wrapping, 

look ready for a party 

they’d never be invited to.

In front all of these, an unopened quart of Jack Daniels. 

THIS is the bottle I’ve decided to get drunk with 

for the very first time.

Bad Decision Number Two.

I’m antsy, anxious and on edge about the heist all through dinner, 

causing Nonnie and Papa to give each other sideway glances. 

But I worry myself over nothing. 

With Nonnie is washing up in the kitchen 

and Papa already snoring in his recliner, 

I say my good-byes, 

slip the bottle into my purse, 

and slide out the door; 

wondering how soon – 

if ever – 

the missing bottle will be discovered.

In minutes, Betsy’s in the car with Jack and me, 

and we’re heading to Janet Kerf’s party, 

already in full swing. 

Shuffling through the crowded, parentless house, 

to the backyard 

and the back of a garden shed, 

we crack the seal.

Bad Decision Number Three.

Timid first sips burn our throats, 

but quickly warm our insides 

against the evening’s autumn chill. 

The more we pass the bottle to each other, 

the less we care about the burning, 

the cold, 

or the dangerous level of alcohol we’re consuming.

Blurred Decision Number Four.

Betsy’s Ex, 

who we knew to be there, 

becomes the slurred focus.

Blurred Decision Number Five.

Emboldened by my best friend’s broken heart 

and half a quart of Tennessee’s finest, 

I wobble my way through the backyard, 

the kitchen 

and into the Kerf’s living room 

where I proclaim to a packed house,

and at the top of my notoriously powerful lungs

that Kelly Walsh is an asshole.

Bold Decision Number Six.

Loud enough to be heard over the music 

AND din of teenage voices. 

All heads within earshot – 

including Betsy’s Ex – 

turn my way. 

Having never met, 

I don’t really know the ex, 

so I couldn’t really say whether or not 

he is,

in fact, 

an asshole. 

But my best friend – 

and Jack Daniels – 

say he is.

The swaying crowd is more momentarily confused 

than concerned 

as I abruptly stumble from the house 

and back to my very drunk friend 

before anyone has a chance to question 

my center-of-the-party proclamation.

With the ex-boyfriend properly cursed, 

Jack Daniels completely consumed 

and friends really concerned, 

I’m led to a phone

where someone helps me dial home and Chris answers. 

I babble and burble and beg for her help, 

then wait to be poured into the back of Mom’s car.

Early the next morning, 

after having spent most of the evening vomiting,

Betsy and I are woken with unwelcome reminder 

to drive a carful of friends to a football game.

Bad Decision Num-

oh, screw it.