This time last year Abraham and I would spend most of our time lying in bed together. We laid on his creaky hand-me-down mattress under the safety an ancient navy blue comforter. His flat, lumpy pillows left something to be desired. But the company was nice.
Every few days that we saw each other, he'd roll on his side and face me. "My birthday's coming up," he'd say "But it's not a big deal."
I knew by his frequent mentions that it was a big deal. Abraham knew he liked me--he thought of us as together by that point--and he wanted me there.
So I went. I sat at a table at our bar as friends approached him with shots. There were a lot of friends; there were a lot of shots. At the end of the night, he climbed into my car and I took him home and gave him his present.
He was less excited about his birthday this year. Thirty-six was older than he was ready to be. We pleaded with Abraham to make plans until he sighed and said we would just go to the same bar.
There were less people around this time as it wasn't one of our usual nights there. I asked the bartender to make Abraham the pinkest, fruitiest, girliest drink he knew. Someone else iced him, which is presenting him with Smirnoff Ice. But he mostly drank beer this night.
Abraham got drunk. Despite not having shots, he was drunker than he was last year. I think it was because we have calmed down quite a bit over the last year; we don't drink as heavily as we used to.
Abraham fell into my car and then kept telling me to drive slower. I was driving 35 mph. When we got to his house, he walked into his bathroom and plunked down by his bathrub.
"What are you doing?" I asked him.
"Preparing myself."
Within a minute he had his dead in the tub, vomiting.
"That's good, baby, let it out. You'll feel better." I called from the other room.
Despite the hour, I picked up my phone and texted South Carolina Bestie: Guess who is lying on the bathmat and yakking in the bathtub. Hint: it's not me.
Within a few minutes I stopped hearing him throw up. "You okay?" I called.
No response.
I peeked in the bathroom. Abraham was snoring on top of his pile of dirty laundry.
Hahaha she replied. Life comes full circle alright :)
11:25 AM
1 week ago
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6 comments:
Love love love.
Vom in the tub?? Wouldn't the toilet be the better choice? Gross. You two are made for each other.
Brilliant :)
Danielle - I was thinking exactly the same thing. Ha. Anyway, am glad he had a good birthday. How was he feeling the next morning?
That is the one thing I try to avoid anymore...getting so drunk I vomit.
I hate feeling like that and try avoiding it. I figure that is something I should have learned with age. I fact that is about the only thing I have learned with age.
Amateurs. At 36 you should be able to hit the toilet with puke from at least 4 feet away, more like six if you're really good, the bathtub? c'mon kids... and being a complete professional when it comes to substance abuse i find it a bit sad that one gets so hammered on their birthday every year that they vomit in the tub... at 42 i don't vomit anymore unless i feel the need or take magic mushrooms but that just makes the trip better. And you can blame DofW for me even being in this place.
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