Through the Light of the Bottle

The doctor had left several minutes ago, and yet not a word has been spoken between Frank and I since that time.

“Damn,” he finally sighs, disbelief filling his voice as I stare at him, wide-eyed. “That is what you call ironic.”

I fail to take the joke as I collapse back into my bed, “Frank, you can’t tell anyone.”

“Oh sweetheart, I can’t make any promises,” he stands up, gathering his things to leave.

“Frank,” my voice strengthens as I stand at his form.

“Kate, you know our banter is anything but personal. If I were to let something slip, it would have nothing to do with who you are and everything to do with the fact that I’m being told to bring you down as soon as possible,” he smiles slyly before moving towards the door. “Get well soon Kate, I’ll have the guys sign a card or something.”

I groan as my ears are met with the sound of the shutting door.

It’s coming. The empire of my life has been slice in the heel.

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“Well, you’re certainly never a bore to be around,” Holly jokes as she drives me home later that day.

“Shut up,” I groan, leaning my head against the cold pane of glass of the car window.

“But in all seriousness, what the hell is wrong with you, to drink that much?” she glances at my form for an answer. When I supply none, she sighs in annoyance and turns back to the road.

The car fills quickly with an uncomfortable silence. She knows that I know something, and it’s killing the both of us with every mile that we drive.

We’re closely following the tour buses to their next stop, in the middle of nowhere, Florida, when I finally burst out what the doctor told me.

Luckily, the road is seldom used, and no one is behind us.

Otherwise, Holly’s action of slamming on the brakes and staring at me in complete and utter disbelief could have been tragic and not comedic.

After we sit in the motionless car for a good minute, I gently remind her that we must keep driving in order to get to our next destination. Her mouth is open in surprise still as she puts the car into gear, staring ahead at the road in a wide-eyed trance.

“Now, that was unexpected,” she finally speaks up in a forced calm tone.

“Frank knows,” I sigh, returning my head to its position against the window.

“That’s not good,” she lets out a shaky laugh, hands gripping the wheel even tighter.

I nod my head slowly in agreement, staring out the window as the Florida countryside passes us by. Ten minutes later, the music of the radio that Holly finally turns on, gradually puts me to sleep. And right before my mind slips into it’s dominant state, I hear her sigh softly, yet peacefully.

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I was fifteen when I first got properly wasted. A water bottle full of vodka and a night of dancing to bad eighties music at homecoming with Mark Baker, and I had met the fate of choking over a toilet seat the next morning.

I remember it burned my throat raw. We sat in the back of his car, passing the bottle back and forth, the plastic crunching between our nervous grips. Every sip was met with a slight wince; I’d squint my eyes and bite my lip as the drops sprinkled down the back of my throat. My head pounded slightly, but soon a haze took over.

My chest lightened, the weight of Mark’s arm around my shoulder seemed to be lifted. I rolled my head to the side as the car drove through the city streets to our gymnasium. The tires let out soft swishing sounds against the wet pavement.

A silence hung in the air as we held the liquid in our mouths, letting it fall down our throats. We all didn’t know what to expect. We all waited patiently for the glorious effects of the drink to take place.

I stumbled around the dance floor after the bottle was long gone. The music seemed distant and everyone around me seemed to be spinning manically in and out of view. Halfway through the night I lost Mark in the crowd, and I stumbled to bleachers, leaning against it.

The haze slowly wore off and suddenly the blurred faces became a threats. My mind raced as I realized that people were leaving, and I didn’t have a ride home. Sam’s face came into focus as he leaned over me. His breath smelled identical to mine and I grabbed his arm instinctively.

“Sam, I need to find Mark,” I yelled over the music, pulling his ear closer to my mouth. A girl sauntered up behind him, intertwining their hands as I made my plea.

“Mark, I need to find him,” I said again, a little more desperately.

The girl smirked; whispering something into his ear, she lightly tugged his hand away from me.

“Just calm down Kate, what are you on?” He laughed, taking small steps away from me.

“No, wait, I need-“ but he was already out of view and I was left slumped against the hard surfaces of the wooden planks.

I closed my eyes and clamped my mouth shut as a feeling of nausea washed over me. Finally, a hand reached for my arm, pulling me up and dragging me across the floor of the gym.

“What the hell, you’ll get us caught lying there in the open,” Mark’s voice alerted me to his identity, and I grabbed for his shoulder. He shrugged it away, mumbling something about “a messy drinker.”

Another girl sat in the front seat as I fell in a heap in the back. My pink dress was graying for the dust of the bleachers and is slightly wet from the drops that were falling outside. She ignored my existence as he drove me home.

The car pulled in front of my house and he dragged me out and made sure I was standing upright in front of my door before walking away.

“Mark, I can’t go in-“ I mumbled, but he’d already shut the door to his car and thrown his arm around her shoulder before quickly driving off.

I fumbled for my keys in my purse and was about to put them in the key hole before I halted my movements. I looked at my keys and then at my reflection in the window next to the door, before turning around and throwing my keys into the bushes next to our step. I slowly sink to the ground, my pink dress soaking up the wetness of the pavement below me. I eaned my head back against the door and shut my eyes.

The next morning, I woke up and told my parents that I lost my keys and didn’t want to disturb them or Lile to open the door. My father let out a laugh and my mother clicked her tongue, quickly providing a robe and a cup of coffee to warm me up.

Two hours later, when Lile took our dog out for a walk, she found the keys hanging off a branch in the bushes. She silently pocketed them and continued on with her day, the sharp edges slightly digging into her skin through the fabric of her shorts.

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“So…” Holly drawls as we sit down at the nearly empty bar.

“Basically,” I nod, knowing the question that was about to fall from her lips.

Suddenly, she lets out a small laugh. Her hand flies to her mouth, eyes wide, as she stares at me.

“I know, Frank already said it was extremely ironic,” I sigh, waving her fear off with my hand. The bartender, a middle aged man with a large, bloated stomach walks up. He attempts to grin as he asks us for our order.

“I’ll have a Miller,” Holly responds nonchalantly, barely glancing at the bar to see if it’s even on tap. The bartender grunts and turns towards me.

“The same?” he asks in a monotone, fully giving up on displaying any ounce of hospitality.

I shake my head no and place my order. Two minutes later, I rest my head in my hands as I casually sip my water from its warm glass.