I woke up to a door closing. My head exploded from the back forward as I opened my eyes and looked around my bedroom. The halo of discomfort worsened as I found myself naked and feeling sore all over.
had been fun, I guess. My memory was still foggy, only varied flashes of the debauchery out at the Honky Tonk
I rolled over and smelled flowers, lavender with something tart mixed in. The sheets also still felt warm, as if someone had just left. I remembered the door closing and reached to the nightstand for my glasses. All I found was a piece of paper.
I squinted at the lined notebook paper torn from a binder on my desk. The words seemed big, but between the pain radiating through my head and not having my glasses I could not focus.
I sat up and felt around my nightstand but found nothing helpful. Reaching down, I slid my hand around the base then radiating outward. Nothing.
Sometimes I think having glasses is a crutch. They say the blind overcome their slightlessness, their brain reconfigues to compensate, to let more information in through the other senses. People with glasses trick the mind into thinking everything is a-okay, all systems go, but the reality is without my glasses I am essentially blind as there is no way to compensate for the blurry shapes that fill my vision. Add a dried-out husk of a brain in the midst of a collosal hangover, and I am pretty useless.
I closed my eyes and made my way to the bathroom. I splashed some cold water on my face and rinsed out my mouth. I chewed two asprin, gagging at the bitter mix of the medicine and mouthwash. Getting within an inch of the mirror, I stared into my bloodshot eyes.
Drunks waking up to pure hell will often make promises to themselves. "Never again" is a popular one. "Only on the weekends" is another. Mine is a simple but quiet mantra, when I have the time or care to recite it.
"At least this isn't the best I'll feel today," I said to that man in the mirror, paraphrasing one or more members of the Rat Pack.
I walked back into the bedroom and found a pair of jeans. Slipping them on, I found my way to the kitchen. Two glasses of water later, I was starting to feel more like I deserved to be walking upright among the other peoples. Then my cell started to vibrate on the kitchen table.
I picked it up and found my glasses beside it. I put them on and answered the phone.
"Hello?" I said.
"Evan? Where are you?"
"Hey, mom. Remember, I told you, I went out to Dave's bachelor party last night. I'm not coming in until about noon."
"Evan, it's two in the afternoon."
"Then I guess I'll be in as soon as I get presentable."
"Don't bother. Betty opened and I can close. You boys have fun?"
"Yeah, real fun."
"Not that I'm aware."
"That's what I'm afraid of," she said, "Eat some asprin, sip don't gulp water and we'll see you bright and early tomorrow for the wedding."
"Sounds like a plan. Thanks, mom."
"No worries, baby. Just get some rest so you don't look like crap tomorrow."
We hung up and I walked back into the bedroom to take a look at that note. It read:
Had a great time last night, we should definitely do that again. Once more with feeling.
Call me, Cassidy.
After the name was the unmistakable imprint of a lipstick kiss.
Who the hell was Cassidy?
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