I open my eyes afraid to move. I don't remember much about the night before, but I know what consequence it brings. The fear of pain keeps me absolutley still.
I slowly open my eyes, the light coming through the narrow openings in blinds burns white-hot through my brain. I clamp my eyes shut, the red traces of light dance along the inside of my eyelids. My mouth is full of cat hair, the remnants of a gallon of spirits imbibed the night before. I reach over, unconciously knowing about the glass of water that years of such abuse has conditioned me to keep by my bedside. My eyes open again, slowly reaching focus. I pull myself up on my elbow, leaning over, each movement sending waves of pain throught my body.
The water is warm, but soothing, sending comfort down my throat, washing away layers of filth. Pulling myself up is a hurclean effort. I fight the agony of each step making my way into the bathroom, on my way there I kick a discarded wine bottle, the pain in my foot is overshadowed by that in my head.
As I make my way to the bathroom I pass more bottles. Cheap Lambrusco, brought by the delivery man with each order of forty marks or more. We'd been saving them up for a couple months, I went through them in one night. I fish out the Excedrin and Mylanta, washing the former down with the latter. Back into the entry way I fish out a stale bagel and the bottle of orange juice.
The drugs have started their effects, and I make it to my desk in a little less pain. I sit down in front of my computer, choking down the bagel, with some help from the OJ. There it is sitting on my keyboard, the reason for this excess. A letter, penned by a one-time love, she tells me that she's met someone else, that being away from me was too much and she couldn't do it. She'd been seeing someone else for two months. Two months of lies, two months where I thought everything was OK. two months where her memory soothed me through the horrors faced in southern Turkey. But now the German hospitality, the food, the beer, offers nothing... |
