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Bonnie was Savannah’s girlfriend. They’d been going together for two years, and I’d never seen a pair more right for one another. Tom was the newest—he met Bonnie at their job at the local Target. I didn’t know much about him because he met me in my emo era. He hadn’t known me before my mom got sick, so he’d only seen my closed-off side.
The night was uneventful. We’d always ended up in the basement of Savannah’s house because her parents told us if we were going to smoke pot or drink, we had to do it down there. That way, they knew we’d be safe instead of drinking and driving. It seemed odd that her parents were so okay with that fact. Rich people lived by a different set of rules. My mom would’ve never let that fly.
I was thinking about Mom again. I was too sober.
Chris, Tom, and Brian sat in front of the television, playing a video game, going back and forth about something. I wasn’t listening closely enough to pick up on the conversation. I couldn’t think of the last time I talked to them. Most of the time, I just showed up, smoked, and drank.
“Stop being a hog. Pass it over here,” Savannah said, nudging me in the leg as we sat on her couch with Bonnie. I took another drag of the joint before passing it to Savannah. “You’re being weird,” she mentioned before she passed the joint to Bonnie. “Are you okay?”
That felt like a loaded question.
Savannah always asked me if I was okay. She constantly worried about me. With good reason, I supposed.
“I’m fine,” I said. Same answer I’d always given.
“Rumor has it that you hooked up with a girl last night at that frat party,” Bonnie mentioned.
“Is that the rumor?” I asked.
“That’s the rumor,” they said in unison.
“Then the rumor must’ve been true.”
“We need you to find another form of coping, Milo,” Savannah said. “Sexually transmitted infections are real. Speaking of, I hope you’re still wrapping your dill pickle.”
“Please don’t refer to my cock as a dill pickle,” I flatly replied.
“Yeah, Savannah. I’m sure he’s more of a summer sausage,” Bonnie added. “If he’s a dill pickle, that means it’s green, which means an STI is going on.”
Savannah turned to me. “Is your dill pickle green, Milo? If so, we can help you with that. It’s nothing to be ashamed of.” She said it with such motherly care that it made me miss my mom.
I stayed quiet again because talking about a dill pickle green dick wasn’t at the top of my to-do list for the night. Feeling numb was the only thing I was searching for.
Savannah nudged me again. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I replied.
She frowned because she cared. I hated how much she cared. All of my friends cared. They’d watched me go through the worst years of my life and stuck by my side even when I tried to push them away. I didn’t deserve them. I didn’t deserve much of anything from anyone.
“You’re so weird tonight. Are you sure you’re okay?”
No. I’m not, Savannah.
She wasn’t wrong.
I was weird that night. Because while I was there, I wasn’t there-there. My mind was elsewhere.
It’s been almost one year, Mom.
One year without you.
Shit.
I was still too sober because my heart was still beating, and my thoughts were still thinking. I knew my friends wanted me to open up, but I didn’t know how. Plus, I didn’t need to talk about my sadness. I lived with it day in and day out. That seemed like enough torment on its own—no need to put words to it.
Ignoring my friends, I stood from the couch and headed to the bar. Reaching into the cabinet, I pulled out a red plastic cup and poured myself half a cup of Hennessy. I was almost to the point where I couldn’t think about Mom, which meant I was almost blackout level.
I chugged the alcohol. It burned on the way down, but I hardly flinched.
I poured another cup full and downed it, too. I did that a few more times when no one was looking, and after a while, the noise in my head subsided.
“Hey, Milo. I have a question for you. I heard you and Erica Court hooked up before, yeah?” Tom asked me as he walked over and patted me on the back.
I had to give it to the guy. He didn’t let my closed-off ways faze him. He was always kind to me, like he was nice with everyone else. He talked too much for my liking, but I thought everyone talked too much. Most of the time, I wished people knew how to shut the hell up.
I gave him bonus points because he always had a mint container with feel-good pills if anyone needed an extra boost. That, and Jolly Ranchers. He was obsessed with candy, both the legal and illegal kind.
