The Whiskey Monologues

I hadn’t really thought much of that night until today. I’m not sure what brought it into my head. Perhaps it was passing the neighborhood within which you reside, or being tailed by a car that looked ominously like yours. But it got me thinking.

About when things were really over. I hadn’t expected your text message, but it wasn’t out of the ordinary either. It was only 9:30, and you said you’d had too much to drink and needed a ride home. Of course, I obliged. I reluctantly drove there, in hopes that I could drop you off and head home, to be with a more sober bunch, one that I actually sought the company of.

When I pulled in, it was hard to make you out among the horde of other girls dressed in slutty costumes, and the guys in slightly less revealing clothing. But only slightly. I made it a point to blare some metal from my stereo. You climbed in, rather, stumbled in my car, and you giggled all the way home. I felt distanced from you. Never before had I seen you so…unflattering. Jayhawk Boulevard was a long, long road, and I couldn’t help but to have my mind on other things.

You sputtered over your words, you hadn’t eaten anything all night. I finally parked the car, making humorous small-talk because I wasn’t sure when you’d feel comfortable leaving. You asked if you could just come back to my place. For the first time, I blatantly said “No”. Even if you really just DID need a bed to crash in, I’d had my reputation smothered by that before, and I knew your head would get the best of you if I let you. I continued to say no, even with your drunken pleading.

“I’m sorry.”

“Fine.”

And then you stormed out of my car, perfectly sober. I huffed a sigh so big I fogged my windshield.

When I arrived home, even I felt ashamed. I felt like I had to explain what just happened to everyone, and how…unhappy I was with the utter frustration of that situation. You texted me again, telling me you felt sick. I told you to eat something. At the time, I didn’t read into, but now I understand you were asking me to come back. Maybe I ignored it on purpose. In the back of my head, I saw you crying in your bed. I didn’t feel guilt, though, just…solemn. 

Only today, did I look back, and understand that it was a last resort. That night had been a final call of distress. A flare gun, the final card in our game. And though we saw each other after, that night will forever be the night that I let go completely. The night I knew I’d never go back, the night I knew I’d finally have to let you down hard.

I regret absolutely nothing; I’m extremely happy where I am. I just hope you’re happy, too. You do deserve that.

when it gets cold out, tears start to feel like little, lit candles on the outer glass of your eyes.

Submitted by Quinn Brabender.