I’ll Just Sleep Here.
Wearing skull rings on my fingers and sorority letters on my butt, I returned to college for my senior year – just in time to celebrate my 21st birthday.
I was supposed to be an adult at 21, no more excuses, no more childlike irresponsibility. Instead, I was now a biker chick suddenly thrust back into a world where there were rules and classes and visiting hours.
I’d gotten a single room since Bonnie wanted a single again and no one in their right mind would have roomed with me. My new single was directly across the hall from the dorm’s Resident Advisor.
This was an unfortunate coincidence; my comings and goings were monitored much too closely. I’d gotten a loft bed for my room. I don’t remember who built it for me; I certainly didn’t do anything for myself.
But on my 21st birthday, none of that mattered. I went to The Hood – where else? – and partied with a hundred friends and strangers. Everyone bought me drinks: beers and shots and more beers and more shots… I am sure I was wasted by the time midnight rolled around, but I stayed until 2 a.m. when the bar closed. As usual. And I kept drinking.
When I finally had to leave, The Redhead (my freshman year darling, “RH”) offered to walk me home. The rest of this tale is recreated from his story to me the next day, since I remember nothing.
I literally could not see straight when I stumbled out of the bar. My first step missed the top stair outside, and I fell down three stairs and landed on my face.
RH rushed to the bottom of the stairs to help me up, but I insisted on staying down.
“No this is good enough!” I whined, rolling in the gravel at his feet. “I’ll just sleep here.”
“Nope, let’s get up,” he said, pulling my arm until I finally flopped to my feet. We had a long way to go.
Arm around my waist, RH dragged me the entire way from The Hood to the back door of my dorm, where I finally fell over for the last time. This time, I didn’t get up.
I passed out on the sidewalk outside of the dorm door.
The reason this is symbolic is that I’d never passed out on a sidewalk before. But I remembered my mother telling me that my alcoholic grandfather had passed out on the sidewalk once outside her house. As a youth, I remembered wondering why my grandfather didn’t just go inside to sleep.
Now I knew.
I was too drunk to walk another step. I was snoring before my face hit the pavement.
I’d left my key in my room, so there was no way for either of us to get inside. RH knocked on windows, hoping someone would let him in – but everyone was asleep. He sat on the ground next to me for a long time, waiting to see if anyone else came by, but no one did. Eventually and remorsefully, he left.
I woke when someone swung the door into my back, trying to get out.
Too drunk to be humiliated, I dragged myself down the hall and passed out on the floor of my room. Getting into the loft would have been impossible, even hours after passing out on the sidewalk. I didn’t go to any classes that day.
Happy birthday to me.