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Why would anyone drink this stuff . . . on PURPOSE? I didn’t even know what it was. Just something that looked like water and smelled like propane. But as it turned out, yeah, unlike Jasmine, I had read The Tragedy of Julius Caesar rather than relying on either Upword or Cliff’s Notes, so drink I must.
“Neva have I eva . . . gone to a dance.” Maeve sounded sad as well as wobbly. She’d done a lot of things, and that turns out to be something of a disadvantage in what I am reliably informed – by my older, wiser, sister – is a classic drinking game. Unless, of course, your actual goal is to get shit-faced drunk, in which case it’s probably dope.
I had to drink on this one, too, since said older sister brought me to her Junior Prom. As part of a group, sure, but still. I was there. God, this stuff sucks!
“Cheer up, girl!” Jasmine over-gushed at Maeve while giving her shoulders a squeeze. “You’ll go! Lotsa guys want to ask you. Right, Austin?”
With his parents away and their liquor cabinet unsecured, Austin was acting as our “host” for the evening. Straight-laced and overregulated most of the time, he had so far not had to take any shots of the vile shit he was pouring. Austin didn’t get to do anything. As a result, he generally gave me the confidence that comes from knowing there are people in the world who are less socially adept than I am.
“Uhhh . . . sure. I guess” was the best answer he could supply to Jasmine’s question, and it clearly earned him no good will in her book. She rolled her eyes and gave Maeve another hug. “Don’t you pay him no mind, girl,” she crooned.
Maeve just pulled her knees close to her chest and wrapped her arms around them, causing her knees to poke through the holes in her pre-distressed jeans. “WhatEVER,” she mumbled miserably. “G’wan, Morgan. Your turn.”
I could tell Morgan was only a bit tipsy, since she still maintained perfect posture even while sitting cross-legged on the floor. Her arched back, coupled with the soft, square-necked top she was wearing, emphasized her perfect breasts while making her neck seem longer. Alcohol might make Maeve maudlin, but it definitely made Morgan mischievous. Make that “more mischievous.” Her green eyes twinkled and she smiled wickedly. “Never have I ever . . . had an erection.”
I blurted out, “Hey! Tha’s not fair!” and was a bit alarmed to hear the slurring in my voice.
“Serve’s y’all right.” Jasmine threw a scowl in Austin’s direction.
He blushed – something that comes easily to redheads, I guess. Anyway, it looked like he’d been slapped hard on both cheeks. After canvassing the crowd with a glance, he decided that he and I would get no support from the girls on this one. With a sigh, he knocked back his shot.
He’d read the room right, so I followed his lead, grimacing as the liquid burned down my throat. Then I had an inspiration that would have given me pause under more sober circumstances. Two can game that play! “Never have I ever had a pani-medi!”
Four pairs of eyes looked at me quizzically.
“Mani-pedi!” I corrected, flushing almost as red as Austin.
“So original,” Morgan scoffed, but dutifully drank. Jasmine and Maeve clinked glasses and followed.
“A what?” Austin asked, looking befuddled.
“Dude . . . seriously?” Jasmine shook her head.
“What you get for not having any sisters,” Morgan allowed, graciously enough. “A manicure and pedicure,” she womansplained.
His face cleared. “Yeah, no. Haven’t. Wouldn’t even know what it is!” He smiled triumphantly. “Never have I ever worn a bra!”
“See what you started, Morgan?” Jasmine complained. She drank.
“Maybe we should pick a different game.” Maeve took her shot without joy.
“Yeah, this is going down . . . uh. Hill.” I drank.
Four pairs of eyes bored into me.
Oh. Fuck.
“Let’s not stop just yet,” Morgan purred. “I think it’s just about to get interesting.”
Jasmine looked at her quizzically, then smiled. Giving her well-endowed chest a shimmy, she looked straight at me and said, “never have I ever . . . wished my boobs were bigger.”
Maeve, strictly an A-cup girl and not at all happy about it, drained another glass of hot sadness. Near as I could tell, my drama didn’t penetrate her personal misery.
Morgan arched an eyebrow. “Never? Hmmm. Maybe when I was eleven.” She drank almost daintily, then turned her green eyes back to me. “Well . . . Evan?”
“I don . . . I don’t even have boobs!”
Jasmine waved her hand dismissively. “Neither did Morgan, back when she wished they were bigger. C’mon, Evan!”
I shot a petrified look at Austin. He’d been my best friend forever. Since, like, first grade.
He set his glass down carefully. “You don’t have to answer them.” His voice was oddly gentle. “But . . . it’s okay if you do. You know you can trust us, right?”
Tears welled up in my eyes, which really annoyed me. I’m NOT weepy when I’m drunk! The room blurred and seemed to tilt, but somehow I got thumb and forefinger around one of the shot glasses in front of me and brought it, trembling, to my lips.
The blurry space was quiet as a locker room after a six-touchdown loss.
Cool fingers brushed my cheek, and I was surprised to hear what Morgan’s voice sounded like without mischief or malice. “It’s okay. Really. Austin’s right. You can trust us. Let’s just talk for a bit.”
On the other side of the circle, Maeve gave an unladylike hiccup. “No wait. Jus’ one more.” She seemed to be trying hard to annunciate. “Neva have I eva . . . wanned t’kiss Evan.”
I blinked back my tears, puzzled. The room was at an angle, but at least the blur was gone. Mostly.
Jasmine appeared to be just as confused as I felt.
Austin and Morgan shared a look and a secret smile. Then, suddenly and at the same time, they drank.
Oh. Fuck!
– The end. Sorta. Prolly.
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Comments
I hope you can continue this
looks like it's going somewhere interesting.
Roto-rooter
Thanks, Dot. I’ve been having real trouble writing lately, and a story I’ve been working on for months (off and on) is just not coming together. This kind of came to me out of the blue and I wanted to get it down quickly, hoping it might clear the blockage and get my brain back in gear. I didn’t really plan to take it anywhere. But of course, if something comes to me I’ll write it.
— Emma
Short and sweet.
This story was short and sweet, it was powerful and each word was wisely used. You've done something that most writers have never done. You've written a short story, a flash fiction were each word carried it's own weight and deilevered a emotional punch in the end. Good job!
Short and sweet?
That’s kind of how I imagine you, Rebecca! :). Thanks for the lovely comment.
— Emma
Hooray!
Lovely little short, Emma! Definitely had me smiling after a long day, thank you! <3
Smiles
Can’t have too many smiles — I’m glad I gave you one!
— Emma
Not a game I ever played…….
We were more into Truth or Dare - and it got me into some trouble just like Evan when I was younger.
D. Eden
Dum Vivimus, Vivamus
You’ve got me thinking.
I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve gotten really drunk. Generally, I chalk that up to being a control freak, which . . . yeah. I kind of am. Not as in “controlling other people,” but as in “controlling myself,” at all times and at all costs. It never occurred to me before to link that instinct to my dysphoria. Now I’m giving myself a dope slap!
— Emma
Fire-Engine Red
That would have been me if this game had been played when I was sixteen. I never heard of it before. I knew I was transgender, although we didn't have a word for it in those days.
But to be exposed like that, in front of my friends. Oh, the shame, and the aftermath!
Ayup!
I wonder how many people have outed themselves while under the influence? Yikes! Maybe I should stick to coffee!
— Emma
At Sixteen
I was a cheap drunk. Doing those teenage rebel things. I would drink three pints of 'scrumpy' cider at fourpence a pint, so drunk for a shilling, and then go out in the street and barf. I still can't drink cider!
Outing
Mine came from the intoxication of realizing I'd successfully finished a story. However, I forgot to close the Word document on the family Desktop. Ooooopsies.
While I remain nervous, it's really amazing how having accepting family members helps reduce the anxiety.
Great story!
Love, Andrea Lena
Your story is an inspiration!
A little acceptance in the important places would make a better world!
— Emma
Worthy...
Of a second chapter, but I tend to think that about all your SOLO works. Absolutely loved this line "The blurry space was quiet as a locker room after a six-touchdown loss." and it brought me back to my high school days when this exact silence was a weekly thing during football season. lol You're creativity and skill at making / taking us places is something to be marveled at. :-) <3 Hugz Chica!
XOXOXO
Rachel M. Moore...
Metaphors
There’s nothing better than the feeling you get when the perfect metaphor pops into your head!
Well, okay. Maybe there are better things, here and there. World peace. Tacos. That sort of thing. But, for writers, the perfect metaphor is kinda up there, doncha think? :)
Thanks, Rachel. Love ya, girl!
— Emma
Control Freak. Been there, done that
One of the many reasons I very seldom drink alcohol. A class of wine or a beer every decade is enough.
Fun and touching story.
I keep telling you, Bru . . .
. . . We were separated at birth. ;-)
— Emma
Maudlin
If I drink too much I get more introspective and maudlin. Which isn't exactly what you want if at, say, a party...
But that rigid internal control override remains, unless so blitzed that I've passed out. Which includes solving physics problems while utterly schlonkered in the college dorm when a tee-totalling fellow resident catches you in the hallway due to being desperately in need of help.
Got it right too...and he never knew! lol
These days I'm almost always the designated driver in any case.
Confession time
I only got drunk once, at a student party. So long ago now, but the consequences were such that afterwards, though not teetotal, I am always very careful. The care is assisted by living in a rural area where a car is essential, and the consequences of DUA are draconian!
I'm so glad to be able to read another of your offerings. Sorry also to read about your feelings of writing difficulty, because your writing has always seemed so natural.
I still look forward to more from you
Dave
Thanks, Dave!
I’ve always had a love-hate relationship with writing. It’s hard, but very satisfying when it comes together. Professionally, I learned to power through when inspiration was lacking, but it’s harder to do that when I’m writing for “fun.” :)
— Emma
Love-indifference relationship
I have a love-indifference relationship with writing. Either I feel like writing or I don't. If I don't, I don't write. I never force myself to write. Some time ago (around the time of the first dip in my triple-dip depression) I learned to distinguish what is really important to me and be prepared to fight to the end for that, and that only. Sorry guys, but writing is not in that category.
PS
Ironically the time I referred to is the time when I wrote most of my most popular stories here.
Professionally (tech writing) vs fiction
The writing I did professionally was easy. A matter of gathering known facts, organizing them and putting them down in a way that lay people could understand. The goal was to explain the mysteries of the computer world to typewriter users.
Fiction is whole 'nother ball game. There are no known facts to gather and organize. Oh there's plenty of research to be done, regarding the setting of the story and the time it is to be taking place and sometimes technical facts that may be represented.
However, the real meat of what's contained in the work has to come from the innermost recesses of the author's mind; created in whole without prior substance. It's far more than having a command of the English language. Without a firm grasp of the created characters, their goals and motivations and the situation they are placed in, as well as just where the story ends, the story dies a premature death. Conversely, if the author can put themselves into that situation and deal with it as they would in the real world, the story can write itself... sometime well beyond the scope of the author's original vision.
So it is with fear and trembling that I sit down before the computer and start a new tale, not know how well I'll do just that.
Hugs
Patricia
Happiness is being all dressed up and HAVING some place to go.
Semper in femineo gerunt
Ich bin eine Mann
Respect
Anyone that finds "A matter of gathering known facts, organizing them and putting them down in a way that lay people could understand" easy has my deepest respect.
Well, Thank You Bru!
That's what I did for the last twenty years of my working life!
Monty Python Sketch
"John Cleese's character talks to Sir Alan Seaman about his life and one of the lines is about how many words he says as Othello, to which Cleese says 'How many words did you say as Hamlet at the Aldwych in 1957?' (or similar)
The reply is 'Now I don't want you to get the idea that it is just the number of words, getting them in the right order is just as important - Sir Peter Hall used to say to me 'Alan, here's all the words now all we have to do is get them in the right order''
Love, Andrea Lena
A puzzle with an emotional center
I feel like this story is a well-fitting sequence of challenges and responses, but the real center of the story is the revelation, and the perfect portrayal of teenage relationships, which can be both spiny and affectionate at the same time. I love the way you set up the disclosure, the gentle amping-up of the embarrassing confessions that the kids toss off with a bravado cooked up by the alcohol and the transgressive context.
For such a short piece, it's got a strong payload.
hugs,
- iolanthe
Wishes
I had a group of friends in high school, but no-one I would have trusted nearly so far as Evan did. I wish that weren’t true . . . which, paradoxically, made this short easier to write. Just how drunk would I have had to be, to take the shot that pegged me as having worn a bra?
— Emma