You arrived at the party at a little after midnight. You were already buzzed from the swigs of red wine you took driving out to Medina. It was a 2009 Cabernet sauvignon that you stole from your parents’ wine cellar. Every time it touched your tongue it made you feel queasy, but it was all you had, and it got you drunk quicker than beer.
You would’ve been earlier if you hadn’t shown up at the wrong address. It was awkward, standing there holding a bottle of red wine like a loving mother holding a newborn baby, when a middle aged woman with a tired face and curls in her hair asked who the hell are you and what the hell you wanted. You asked if this was the Russo residence and she told you to get off her property before she calls the police, then she slammed the door in your tipsy face. Not wanting to go to jail, you walked back to your car when you got a text message from Gabe saying he fucked up the address, it was supposed to be a 45, not a 54. You texted him back, but forgot to hit send.
The door to Tina Russo’s house was open a crack so you didn’t bother knocking or ringing the doorbell. Tina had known you since the first grade, having had playdates often at her old house. There was this giant bounce house shaped like an elephant she had in her backyard and you and her would jokingly peck each other on the cheek, until the day you had the nerve to kiss her lips. When you asked her if she liked that, she responded by biting you on the nose before crying her eyes out and screaming for her mommy. Since high school started, you didn’t really see her as much as you used to despite having mutual friends.
“I’m so fucked up, bro,” said Michael Zimmer, who was sitting next to you on Tina’s living room couch. You nodded your head in agreement, even though you weren’t really that drunk. “Look at that over there, bro.” He pointed across the room to two girls making out. It was Stephanie and Sara Black, identical twins who had a knack for keeping wasted teenage boys entertained. It was hard to remember a party you went to where, at some point, the Black twins didn’t make out in front of everyone. They both had turquoise colored braces and you stared for a while at them, wondering if the urban legend about teenage lovers getting their braces stuck together could ever actually happen. People started cheering as the two sisters latched on to each other’s tongue.
“Isn’t that incest?” you ask to no one.
“No way, dude. Can’t be incest if they’re twins. You’re basically kissing yourself,” said Noah Combs, your best friend since the days of diapers and Sesame Street. Then he took a seat next to you on the couch and asked you if you wanted a hit from his pipe shaped like an elephant.
Ignoring Michael Zimmer’s shrieks announcing the entire play-by-play on the incestuous lesbian kissing going on ten feet away, “No thanks, but ask Tina Russo. She likes elephants,” you said. Noah looked at you puzzled, then he shrugged and lit the elephant on fire. You hated the smell of weed so you got up and tried finding the nearest bathroom that wasn’t occupied by five girls who simply can’t pee alone.
The bathroom you found is completely white, and it reminded you of those rooms they put insane people with straitjackets in; in the movies, at least. The brightness of the room made you squint it was so strong. You noticed someone left a beer can on the sink countertop next to the hand wash gel. You shake the can to see if there’s anything left in it, and there is, but only a tiny bit. You finish it off anyway, then toss it in the trash can next to the toilet. A quick vibration went off in your Levi’s. It was a text from Nicole and it said “I love you”. You weren’t sure how to respond so you just ignored it. Someone started rapidly knocking on the door, but you ignored that too. You ignored everything, and layed down on the wooden floor, closing your eyes.
“Are you sure?” you ask.
“Yeah. I mean, I’ve taken the test like three times already. And every time, it said yeah.” says Nicole.
“What am I supposed to say to that Nicki? Like, what am I supposed to do with that?”
“I don’t know. I thought I should tell you. You know, cause it’s yours.”
“How much is it?”
“How much is what?”
“To get an abortion. How much is it?”
“A couple hundred dollars. Maybe more, I don’t know. I’ve never had to know this stuff before.”
“I got to go right now. I have practice in an hour. Can we talk about this later?”
Nicole slowly nods her head, and you leave the room before you can see her cry. In her hallway you can hear her quietly weep, but pretend you don’t and exit through the front door. You don’t really have practice either. You ignore her texts and calls for the next two days. You avoid seeing her at school, and since you two share Physics together, you skip that class too.
You opened your eyes and the world came back to you. Whoever was knocking on the door hadn’t given up yet. The voice sounded like Brady Jorgensen, but you weren’t sure. “Open the goddam door,” then after no reply, “Is someone screwing in there? If you are, make sure to use a condom!” You couldn’t help but laugh. Not because of what Brady Jorgensen said, but because if you didn’t laugh, you’d probably cry. The knocks stopped and Brady left, but you remained horizontal on the floor, laughing incessantly.
Written by Tyler Northcutt