I glanced around the room that just happened to spin a little faster than it was a few seconds ago. The lights on the fan above me started to blend into one huge yellow and white mass, hovering like a pollen-fattened bumblebee sans black stripes. I stared at it in wonder, in disbelief, in a reverent awe that was inappropriate for something so ridiculously commonplace. With every move of muscle, it was becoming more and more evident that my appendages were soon to give way to uselessness; my fingers were already tingling lightly with the inevitable numbness that was sure to follow. The very reason I was even sitting down in the first place was because my legs had been teasing me ever since I walked through the doorway of this unfamiliar house. My body wasn't taking the alcohol well; I'd never had much of a tolerance for the shit. But it always happened this way and I was accustomed to these reactions—I think it could be safe to say that I had begun to welcome it over the months of partying. It was one step closer to feeling nothing at all, which is almost like being on the fringes of life and death, only not nearly as dramatic.
I had lost track of Daniel and Michael again. Maybe they figured it would be easier to deal with me if they didn't deal with me at all until absolutely necessary, which would probably include moral support while I bowed before the Porcelain God later on that night. There were people all around me and yet no one at the same time; plastic red cups filled up the coffee table as if I were watching a poorly created stop-motion film.
The sofa I was sitting on was old, and by old I mean the kind of old ones that tend to slowly suck you into themselves, as if their age has transformed them into something very alive and ravenous with a purpose. With every shift of position—much like quicksand—the deeper I found myself to be within the crevices of the faded blue cushions, and the harder it would be to pull myself from the depths. Untold stains on the armrests and on either side of the middle cushions, and probably under me as well, plagued the surfaces, and looked as though they had seeped their way into the foam within. I could only imagine what kinds of grotesque filth I was sitting on, but to be honest, I couldn't have cared less at that point in time.
My head was swirling, and for a moment I amused myself imagining that my mind was like those orange creamsicles swirled with vanilla. I suddenly felt like throwing up at the thought and actually covered my mouth hastily with the back of my hand, only to wipe my mouth with a nonchalant expression, like I did that with complete intent. No one was watching me, but someone always is. I felt myself leaning, swaying, drifting to my side. Perhaps I could lie down, just for a few minutes. Maybe my drinks were drugged, because I had never felt this fucked up in my entire binge drinking record.
My ear rubbed against the sofa's armrest, and I nuzzled my way into it to find my place of comfort. Just for a few minutes, to gain my bearings. Everything was a blur now, splotches of gray and yellow and red. I could hear someone laughing, suddenly so loud my eardrums were going to burst. I willed my hands over my ears, but they had gone numb along with the rest of my body. A low groan escaped the bottom of my throat and I could feel myself sinking deeper than the furthest place imaginable, deeper than the couch or quicksand. So deep that there was nothing, nothing, only splotches of something I once knew to be color.
The clammy grip on my forearm thrust me back into life, or something parallel to it. My vision corrected itself for a split second just to inform me that Michael was standing above me with a hint of concern draped over his usually calm and collected features. Standing next to him was a boy I had never before seen in all my life. He smiled warily, the left side of his smile longer than the right. His green-rimmed, metallic glasses reflected into my eyes, and then, everything was clear. I still don't know what I mean by that. But there are no other words to describe it: I was still drunk off my ass and I was still suffering from the effects of whatever else I had consumed over the course of the night. But he told me that everything was going to be alright, even though he never spoke a word to me, and that was enough.