I drove. Amy put the window down and cold air rushed in. We stopped at a red light about a mile, about 3 minutes, from Amy’s house. At this stop, here, the alcohol in Amy’s system had been inside her long enough. I heard it; I heard it coming up and out of her. I won’t admit to shrieking, but I kept saying, “Head out! Head out the window!” She got her head out of the window. She did not, however, clear the car. I had alcohol-based vomit all down the passenger-side door. Of my parents car. At 1:45 in the morning.
She pulled her head back inside the car, more coherent now. Still drunk.
She tried to apologize. I brushed it off, unsure how I was going to fix the mess she just made. Wondering how I was going to not be angry at her later, later when she would be sober and wouldn’t recall puking.
I dropped her off, refusing to get out of the car when we pulled up to her house. I wanted her gone. I wanted the night to be over.
No carwash place would be open at 1:45. I drove around for 30 minutes, trying to find one that was 24 hours. I finally found one and drove the car through. Problem solved. But I didn’t get to fall into bed until a few minutes past 2:30 A.M., tired, lonely and frustrated. And I knew she wouldn’t thank me. She wouldn’t even mention it again. And I’d just end up doing it again for her.
That was a lie. It wasn’t for her. It wasn’t for me, it was for attention. It was for adoration I knew I would never get, from her or anyone else. It was pure need, pure greed.
Typical.
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