A Bad Morning


It’s Saturday morning and I wake up in my boyfriend’s bed, but he’s nowhere to be found. I pull the covers down and the first thing I see are my bloody knees. He’s going to be pissed, I think. He hates blood. My head is swimming. I think I’m still drunk. What the hell happened last night?

The door to my boyfriend’s room flies open, hitting the other wall with such force I feel it in my already pounding head. “Get the fuck up,” he barks at me. He slams the door shut, sending another painful surge through my head, and I get up and try to pull myself together. Where are my shoes? Did I lose my shoes? How does that even happen?

A couple seconds later my friend opens up the door and tells me she’s taking me home. I amble behind her, still having no idea what went down. I get into the back of her jeep, and as we start to drive off, my (ex?)boyfriend is standing on the curb. My friend pulls up to him as he hurls a blanket of mine that has been at his house for a month and a half at the car like a 5 year old having a temper tantrum. “Don’t hit me up… ever,” he yells dramatically. My friend and I find it hysterically funny.

On the way home, I try to call him. After the 3rd call, he answers, yells at me to stop calling, and hangs up. “You were really drunk last night,” my friend says matter-of-factly. No? You don’t say?

My friend drops me off and I walk, barefoot, into my house. I walk up to my room, cry for about 3 seconds, then realize that I lost my pack of cigarettes and it is imperative that I get some RIGHT NOW. My car isn’t in the driveway, so I grab my brother’s keys and climb into the driver’s seat of his light blue Mustang.

I get to the gas station and pull into a parking spot. Next thing I know I hear a loud noise and inertia jerks my body forward, and then back into the seat. Ohhhh shit, oh shit, did I just hit a car? I just hit a car. Well I was just pulling into a parking space… It can’t be that bad, right? I slam the car into reverse and hightail it out of there. There’s another gas station right up the road.

After I get my cigarettes, I go back home. I climb into my bed and close my eyes. I’ll just sleep this off and everything will be okay when I wake up. I’ve just started to drift into sleep when I hear my brother call me. “Abby?” “Yeah?” “Uh, there’s a cop here.”

Well, damn. I go downstairs and am directed to the garage by my brother. A cop is standing there, glaring at me with his hands on his hips.

“Have you been at (whatever) gas station?” He asks me. “Yeah.” I reply. “Did you hit a car in the parking lot?” “Uh… yeah.”

He asks me a few more questions, and then, “Have you had anything to drink.” “No, not today.” He tries to test me by making me follow his finger with my eyes. I tell him I’m not wearing my contacts, and he drops his hand.

In the distance I see my brother’s girlfriend climbing into his car through the door on the driver’s side. The passenger side door is jammed shut. I find the sight slightly amusing, because I am a horrible person. I guess I hit that car harder than I thought.

After a few minutes, the cop writes me a ticket and drives off. I walk back up to my room, and collapse on my bed. I am now shoeless, boyfriendless, and have a $300 fine. Well, at least I’ve got some cigarettes.