Wednesday, November 12, 2008

Growing Up or Something Like That

2am and I stand in the back of some guy’s apartment surrounded by drunk girls playing beer pong on a half rotting wooden table. I have a warm beer in one hand a half lit cigarette in the other. One girl in shorts smaller then underwear passes by me, spilling her Corona on my shoes, “chusse know someshum here?” she asks, leaning against me.

I nod my head. I did actually. The owner of the place. And when I round the corner to the bedroom, there he is, encircled in a cloud of smoke, and I could barely open the door when I noticed some guy behind blocking it. He looks through the opening at me.

“Password?” He says.

“Jeff don’t be an asshole”. I say, and push my way inside. But being inside was like pushing through another door because I couldn’t see beyond my fingertips. Cody Chesnut and the Roots 3.0 are blasting in the background and I search around to see Chris’ face. And then suddenly it was like he was on top of me.

“Kim!” Chris says. An odd element of surprise in his voice. “You enjoying the party?”

“Of course she is!” Jeff chimes in. “Look at her! But no Baby look at ME…did you see my t-shirt babe it has an Olson twin on it...” Chris eye’s Jeff as he starts to giggle like a little girl.

I just smile and move over closer to the bed. But the more I breath in the more confused I get as to where I am going.. or who I am here to see again ..and more convinced that I need a burrito than anything else.

“Kim did you bring this dog here?” Someone says from outside the room, carrying in the tiny Yorkie.

“Yeah, but I am just puppy sitting, it’s not actually mine.”

“Well I think the dog is high…just look at him, eating all the pretzels off the floor.”

“Ah, well I am pretty sure he would do that regardless….but fuck, I don’t know if a dog can get high but more importantly how am I supposed to get him home?”

“How did you get him here anyway…in the puppy express van?”

“No, I snuck him onto the bus.”

“Well then you can sneak him back on.”

The dog just looks back at me. His small hair matted in the front from beer spillage and his tiny paws covered in cigarette ash. He apparently didn’t know he was going to be partying this weekend.

I pick up the small dog and put him in my arms. Step outside the smoky room and into the hallway. I make my way up the backstairs to the roof. As I open the door, the shot of cold air, taking away my breath for a second. And I step out onto the patio, letting the wind break against my cheek. The dog hovers into the side of my sweater, until his face if fully covered by purple wool. The city lights are high in the sky and I carefully move each heel beneath the platform so as not to drop myself and pup off the ledge.

And we just sit there. On a broken patio chair. Me and the Yorkie. Looking out over the skyline. I take another drag from my cigarette.

Sometimes we are supposed to be grownups in our 20’s. And sometimes we can barely take care of someone else’s dog for 2 days. I keep staring at the Yorkie, making sure he is breathing. “Just keep him alive for 1 more day.” I think. I feel the tiny mouse of a dog shivering into the armpit of my sweater.

And I can’t wrap my mind around the idea of people my age having children.

And I can't think about being married, or having a mortgage, or even paying my credit cards off in full.

And I can’t even end relationships peacefully and maturely.

And one day I will learn to stop crank calling the pizza delivery guy and asking him to send ten Large Pepperonis to 69 Yourmama Street.

One day. But not tonight.