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You and Friday night – you and Saturday night – you and Sunday night.
You and Monday morning. Party animal. There was a midterm stuck in there somewhere. Of course you didn’t study. You don’t need to study – you have all the answers – you traded a pack of Marlboros and have them on a napkin.
What’s that smell – you’re never eating Mushu Pork again. It’s all over your pillow – your face is lumpy and stuck with rice.
Your mouth feels like an upholstered chair – your throat feels like a sand pit – your eyes aren’t working – your head’s been turned inside out – your hair is lava.
That fucking clock radio – the buzzer – gotta be at school in an hour – your body is concrete.
Head spinning – can’t remember much – you took your clothes off – people stared. That girl – you don’t remember her name.
Stagger to the shower – no hot water – dad used it up – he always uses it up. Ice water – you shiver – your brain starts working.
Can’t look in the mirror – don’t recognize you anyway. Gotta practice a smile – pretend nothing’s wrong – imagine you’re normal.
You’re in automatic – clean shorts, socks that match and a t-shirt that doesn’t smell like four laps around the track.
Grab a Diet Coke out of the fridge and a five out of your mom’s purse and the morning air hits you at the bus stop.
You reek of Right Guard – you sit next to a girl who looks at you with a question mark smile as the bus fits and starts all the way to school.
Head is clearing – girl looks at you and shakes her head. She knows something but you don’t ask.
You swear you’re no longer a Party Animal – days are over. You’re going to the library – you’re going to eat health food – you’re going to be in bed by nine. You’re never going to look at Jagermeister ever again.
Prince concert is next week. Okay. . . in two weeks you’ll stop. You swear. Stack of bibles – new you – honor student.
Along with a kind of murky hour and a half’s worth of Shana from KLOS on February 11, 1985.
