The last time I was drunk, sad and scared at the same time

Wallet was gone, cell phone was dead, train was not running and I had to be at work soon, impossibly sober. I was far from home. I shivered, wrapped my arms around my arms, watched the cement move under my feet. I spotted a wad of cash on the sidewalk and an empty cab stopped at the light.

Checklist

Long johns in secret jacket pocket (weird)
Paper
Rx
Glitter (why?)
Ticket
Phone charger (will need it)
Condom (will not need it)
Emergency cash stuffed in sock

Subway

A man in cowboy hat and sequined jacket plays “Auld Lang Syne” on a guitar like it was a mariachi song. A final argument replays inside of me one more time and again, nasty words about a painted skull with sparkling eye sockets, a gift, stolen and stolen back. An Arab reads The Jewish News. A tiny square of paper turns to pulp in my mouth. A couple is dressed up for the night. Dude leans his head back on the wall and closes his eyes. He has a shiny bracelet. Every time it flashes, I catch his girl checking me out. I look away. I look back, she’s looking. She looks away, I look away. I chew on the pulp. I look back, she’s looking. She looks away, I look away. Pulp. And such.

Warehouse

Puffy snowflakes melt into wet asphalt and clouds hide a blue moon that is not really blue. I open a small Ziplock, rip off another tiny square of paper, dab it on the tip of my tongue and go inside. There is already a long line at the coat check. My friend finds me. We walk around the warehouse, past a bar chiseled from a block of ice, a tent called “The Seizuredome” with flashing lights and a deejay, a woman reading tarot cards, massage tables, hookahs, an art installation with clapping crowds looped on old TVs. We bow. “Thank you, thank you. You are too kind, everyone. Thank you so much.” We bow.

He bumps into his ex. Hi hi hi. It is awkward. She loses herself in a crowd of costumes. In the most obvious and clumsy way, I open the small Ziplock and tear off a couple squares for my friend. We sit on a bench surrounded by glowing neon squid and jellyfish hanging from the ceiling. Soon, a blur of laser lights and dancing and hula hoops and feathered hats and wandering. Gut-shaking speakers grind bones with industrial beats. It is dark inside the port-a-potty. My hands can no longer solve the complexity of a Ziplock. I almost drop the paper into the black shitpisshole. Not sure if there is one or two squares in my mouth.

I find my friend. It is midnight. We hug, cheek-kiss some women next to us. My hair is covered with glitter. “That shit never comes off.” My phone shakes in my pocket and all the texts say the same thing. I think about texting her, but do not; she does not. Better unspoken. A friend calls and we yell over the noise. Some women are naked now. A man spanks his girlfriend’s bare ass and asks if I want to take a picture. I walk away. It is getting later and later. My friend and I meditate in “The Seizuredome.” We walk around. He says he has to talk to his ex, properly say goodbye for good. I sit on a bench, neon jellyfish tentacles hanging around my face. I think about things I should not think about. And other things. Maybe I should just leave. I want to leave, but do not. The hardest part about leaving is the fear of missing something amazing, even though I am sure nothing amazing will happen. Maybe I should eat more paper. A beautiful naked woman hugs a man and dances a few feet away from me. I am dizzy in her shimmering breasts.

My friend finds me. We discuss our options. The sun is not up yet. I tell him about the skull, the argument. He says I am stupid. We talk about women and relationships. He gives me advice, tells me to be in the moment, tells me to talk to some girl nearby. I say: “For what? Look, I think another relationship right now is too much for me to handle. I just want to be alone for a while. Even talking to a woman is too much trouble. If I have to stand up to talk to one, that is too much effort. I am just going to sit here and wait until some pussy lands in my lap. And if that doesn’t happen, that’s fine, too.” He shakes his head. We watch people pass. I hold my hands out, palms up, eyes to the ceiling. “Why won’t shit just fall into my lap?”

A girl walks by, does a double take. She knows my friend. He introduces me to her. I stand up. We talk and talk and talk while the guys she is with act like monkeys behind her, slapping each other in the nuts. Everything she says sounds wonderful and kind. We go our separate ways, me with my friend and her with her friends. We all gravitate back to each other a few minutes later. She dances with my friend until the cops shut the party down. She is an amazing dancer. The coat-check line is ridiculous. Her eyes glint. She rubs my arm and says, “You can do it, baby. I know you can. You’re a big boy now.” I say, “You’re hired.”

Inside the van

Someone’s phone is playing a song I do not want to hear. Nobody will cop to it. She passes out.

Pocket check

Keys
Wallet
Cell phone

After-party

We drop her and her friends off in front and park my friend’s van. It takes forever. By the time we find a space and get in line, they are coming down the stairs. Outrageous cover. Her friends want to leave but when she sees us she tells them bye and stays. It is freezing in the stairwell. A woman brags about her fur coat, says she thinks it is wolf and waits for everyone to be impressed. Each step up takes forever but it is a freak show. We are in. We cannot move. The floor is an earthquake and I hope we fall through. Things break. People dance on furniture and light hand-rolled smokes and sniff stuff and eyes roll into the backs of skulls. My favorite color is not a color, she says. Titties. She brushes flecks of gold off my shoulder and laughs at my hair. My friend tells me to take good care of her and leaves. He is a good friend. She rubs my arm and says, “You are a big boy. I know you can do it. Just keep trying, okay?”

She smiles and sunlight cuts through the windows, like she made it happen. We stand in the middle of madness and soak in it. She rubs my arm and we leave. The new morning air is cool, and the sidewalks are slush. We have no idea where we are and since we do not care, we are not lost. “You say things and it’s just the way you say them that — I don’t know.” A barking dog jumps onto a chain-link fence and one of us falls on his ass. People on the way to work stare. Someone from the party runs down the street hooting about the imaginary new time we live in. We wander. A black sedan beeps, pulls to the curb. We slide across worn leather.

My shoes

Black, like the skull. Shiny in parts, like the sockets. They move me across sidewalks, and “toward” is better than “away from.”

After-after-party

A bouncer named Beast gives her a hard time for walking past him without flashing ID. She knows the sound guy. He is one of her roommates. Another dark space with tweaked-out eyeballs, sweaty skin stretched tight on skulls, necks bouncing to huge beats. “I hate fire trance.” Her mouth makes many other sounds and my lips move, too.

Bagel shop

“I want that croissant right there.” I touch the glass with my finger. We sit in the window and she picks at a bagel with cream cheese. Men are this, women are that, why oh why, we say. We laugh. The steaming tea is too hot to drink and smells like shrimp. People look at me weird. “You are covered in glitter.”

Another warehouse

She shares the space with a dozen people who are barely living or totally alive. We walk down a long hall of doors and she tells me who hides behind each. She shows me her room, things she made with thoughts and hands. Everything she says equals a smile. We devise several million-dollar ideas. “We just agree on everything all the time.” She rubs my arm. I do not fire her. I wake up to her texting. Her phone glows, the pillow sparkles. It is dark outside. I think I should leave, but do not. We find seats in the corner of a diner. Ears eat words. She leans her head against the wall and my phone charges.

Subway

A crazy-bearded man sits across from me. He will not stop staring. I listen to music, loud in my ears. His mouth moves. I stare back a second too long. He blabs something, scowls. I try to ignore his twisting face. He yells so loudly parts are understandable: “I like ‘em big! Blah blah! Your momma something something! Blah crack your skull something!” He pulls out a bottle from a plastic bag and unscrews the cap. Coke is not yellow. He stands up, throws his arms in the air and some piss froths out. I do not want to be splashed with piss. He stands there staring, a showdown. His eyes flicker and sink into the sockets. Finally, he screws the cap back on, stuffs the bottle back in his sack, and walks to the doors next to me. Leans, yells. I watch him in the ghost reflection of the window across from me. My hair twinkles. He reaches into his jacket for something, and I cannot take my eyes off his reflection, ready to jump if he whips out a blade. “You won’t be the first blah something in the hospital!” The train jerks to a stop, the doors swoosh open. He steps and turns around, yells at someone else. “Say that to my face, faggot!” The doors close on him, rattle open. He yells again. A big guy jumps up and shoves him out. The doors bing shut. The big guy says, “Bye!” and waves as the train sparks into darkness.

A week later

A speck of glitter hangs from a hair on the back of my hand.

Robb Todd wants you to know that you are a good person and you have something in your teeth. No, not there. To the left. No. More lefter. Look, just lean in and he will get it for you. You are welcome.