Where am I? Something was running. There was the muffled sound of birds chirping. Was that a car that drove past?
As I stretched, muscles groaned from inactivity. It dawned on me, my frame was too long for a full stretch upon this surface.
Through closed blinds, sunlight found a way. I was warm from being curled up in cover. It was soft and filled my nose with a pleasing smell. At the same time, the air surrounding my face was cool, nice.
Were my eyes open? A blue screen of death? That wasn’t a computer? Was it? What is behind it, on the wall? A blob? Focus. A gold wall sconce, with something on it. The ability to focus; to tell you what it was, no. My vision was drawn to it. Why? It was crooked. Yes, crooked. That did not sit well in my mind.
Finally, my vision was no longer blurry. That crooked wall sconce brought me into focus. As I rose, a painful gift reminded me of my night. Why I was in this state of confusion in the first place. The soft pillows called longingly to my throbbing head.
On the coffee table was a can of water, a bottle and a note. With a stiff arm, I reached for the note. “Medicine is old. You may have to take a double dose to get desired results.”
Who keeps old medicine? Can that not hurt you?
On the corner of the couch was a dog. A little dog with big ears. He looked at me with disgust. Sighed, as he laid his head back down. I had disturbed him from his nap. How dare I? He had no fear of me.
Where am I? I read over the note again looking for anything to tell me where I was. On the back I found, “I have plenty of food if you get hungry.” The thought of food send bile rising to my mouth.
My phone was on the table charging. I hadn’t thought about what would happen it my phone died. My wallet. I patted my back pocket. Yes, that was my wallet.
Dear God! One text. One message was all it took to send my world into a (to repeat a popular phrase) dumpster fire. How did I get here? Have I hurt anyone? Did I have a jacket on? Where are my shoes?
The raging in my head got worse. The expired medicine was starting to look nice.
That message was still on my phone. That gut punch, soul crushing, mind numbing message. Through a haze, I pulled myself up. Kitchen? Fridge? Alcohol? That’s what got me here in the first place: alcohol. God, my head. The cold air spilling from the fridge felt like a heaven sent. Calming my inabilities. A clicking sound pulled my attention to the floor. That little dog with the big ears followed me. He looked at me with curiosity.
Must make it back to the couch. Soft pillows to a hurting head. He followed me. Using me as a spring board so he could sit on the back of the couch.
My phone screen lit up. At some point, the ringer had been turned off. Had I done that? Did it matter? Missed calls. Missed messages. Make them stop!
I heard a new noise. A clinky rattle. “Cheekie.” Sang a sweet voice. “Time for potty town.” The jingle of metal chimed out as a clicking echoed on the floor. The door shut. How long was the voice gone? It was back again. “Dinner.” I know this voice. Right? Soft sweet voice.
“Kibble and grease. A little baby dogs best friend.” She sat down beside me. “Hi. How’s your head?” Gentle fingers caressed my temple. With that touch, all my defenses fell. Those impenetrable defenses I had built with too much alcohol hours earlier. That gut punch, soul crushing, mind numbing message. Those emotions couldn’t be contained.
“Where am I?” I finally squeezed through sobs.
“My house.”
Could I cry any harder? Yes. I did. Real men don’t cry? Right? Crying, I couldn’t stop. Sobbing, I couldn’t contain. The dam had broken.
“I don’t even know where you live.” With tight fists, I clung to the material of her shirt. My life line. Arms slid around my shaking frame.
That dumpster fire has to be faced.
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