Hungover and Over Again

I was sixteen, had dropped out of high school.

Lived with my dad for a year after he and my

mom divorced. Now back with Mom and my

two brothers, I had nowhere in particular to go,

no job, nothing worthwhile to do. Not a good

place for a depressed and unsettled teenager to

be.

Hot summer day in August, late afternoon, my

friend, Chris Gail, came over bored as hell like

me. He invited me to come with him over to his

house. His parents were gone to dinner and

and a show. We’ve got the place to ourselves,

lots of booze in the liquor cabinet. No one will

ever know if we sip a little bit from each bottle.

And so we did. I liked the vodka, a warming

sensation going down. Chris preferred the gin,

tastes like Christmas trees, he said. Here, take

a swig. Yuk! That’s not for me, I told him. Let’s

try the whiskey. And so it went for the next

hour or so, having worked our way taking giant

slugs from every bottle which remained.

I do recall stepping out of the house after night-

fall, and saying to Chris, It looks like we’re going

to get some rain. And that was it.

I woke up the next morning in Chris’s bedroom

with a hellacious, throbbing head. Chris asked,

you alive? Wish I was dead, I said. What in hell

happened?

He told me the story for I had been in what he

called a blackout and didn’t remember a thing.

We took a walk up the street. You fell into some

bushes and I couldn’t get you out. So, I left you

there, got home and went to bed.

About midnight, my parents returned and

your mom called asking if they knew where

you were? They woke me up and I told them

about our drinking and all that happened after

that.

They made me go out to find you and bring

you back here. You spoke with my folks and

they made you call your mom. And they all

decided you should spend the night here and

go home in the morning.

I did all that, I told Chris? I don’t remember a

damn thing. You got anything for a headache,

I asked Chris before I left? My head’s gonna

explode. He got me a couple of aspirin, and

I was on my way.

Now, the long and painful walk home, blurry

eyed, cotton mouth, headache from hell, and

more than a mile, weaving, wobbly-legged

only to arrive and face the wrath of my mom.

Never again, I swore to God. Never, ever again.

God, we were always told, knows all. And as my

future would enevitably prove, God didn’t believe

the promise I made that day.

It took me several days to wipe my miserable

hangover slate clean. The only lesson I learned

was that perhaps the next time things wouldn’t

be, no absolutely couldn’t be quite as bad.

Turns out, in life I was lost dozens of times. And

Lord knows, I could have died a hundred times

over again, but apparently I wasn’t done suffering

enough.

My saving grace—being sick and tired of being sick

and tired. Besides, in my old age today, I’ve got so little

time left to waste. And nowadays, my wobbly legs come

by me non-alcoholically induced but naturally.

                               -30-

Chris Hanch 6-6-2020