Black-out #99

blackout

I woke up startled. I think I live here. I think I know who this guy  is. He talked to me the night before as if he knew me and I went along. He looks familiar, maybe he does know me. Wait, no, I don’t live here.

He asked me what was his name. I asked him for three chances to get it right, but I knew I would need at least 50, and pen & paper.  He called me by my first name, told me I was an asshole, and that his name was Jim.

I wanted to say I was kidding, that I knew his name. But  I wasn’t, and I didn’t.

He tried to refresh my memory about how we met, but I had no follow-up questions. I have learned that blacking-out is sometimes for the best. I don’t go back and read drunk texts, I don’t try to figure out the origin of hand stamps or paper bracelets, I don’t wonder where the bruises came from. Delete it, wash it, snip it, and mask it with make-up.

I do remember he was driving a car that didn’t belong to us, speeding down the interstate with the windows down. The music was deafening but I could hear ourselves giggle. I remember sitting side saddle on his lap as he was driving, kissing his neck and becoming intoxicated with his smell. I remember him saying “across the border we could live like kings”.

I remember he carried me over his shoulder from the bar. I insisted I could walk but he said we needed to run. As he sprinted through the parking lot I looked inside and saw fists and a table flying. Or maybe it was a chair. I told him we needed to turn around and not miss the show. He said ‘babycakes, we are the show”. He didn’t have bleached hair, score.

I remember a girl yelling at the girl I was patting on the head, something about her friend being an awesome singer and that she was jealous. There must have been some bad blood I didn’t know about, or couldn’t remember.

I remember I hugged a girl in the bathroom. She was distraught about the terrible music. I consoled her because her hair was curly and I wanted to pat her on the head. She liked it.

I remember  the bartender corrected me, he said Jack wasn’t whiskey, it was scotch. I didn’t say anything to that because he is a bartender, I wanted a drink, not a chat.

I remember I told Jim “I am standing next to you”. He seemed confused. I asked him what he wanted for breakfast tomorrow. He said he didn’t have a kitchen and that mine was in Seattle. I didn’t know how he knew I lived in Seattle, I knew I was either very pale or I must have talked to him before. He said he knew of a place we could go.

I remember guys trying to pull games from The Game. When each one approached our group, I was the last one they spoke to. They all pretended they didn’t notice me there, and I wished I didn’t want to fuck them. The guy across the room seems to notice me, and no one else. I like him- old school.

I remember I was told that two chicks were fucking the same guy, to avoid him. He had bleached hair and I wondered who the hell would ever want to wake up next to that.

I went to a party with a girl I just met. She swore it was full of cute, smart, white guys. She also asked me if I needed a place to stay. She introduced me to her friends, and her friends introduced me to their friends.