I drive home, sliding along the Southern State, racing towards the rising sun, orange glow slowly replacing the dark blue hue of last night. The dawn is moments away, and I really should be in bed, asleep, or pretending to be asleep, beside her.
I don't want to go home, not now, not ever. I don't want to have to fake another moment of my "life", a happy drive-thru grin stuck to my face. Smile as she berates me for not doing the dishes, for not cleaning up the dog piss, ignoring the silent anger she beams at me for sitting around, watching movies and smoking weed in the dark, alone.
My foot eases off the gas pedal, the speedometer drops, my heart sinks. Last night is over, the morning is here, and I am fucked. The adrenaline drains away and I watch as the alternate reality my life should have been dissipates as bursts of sunlight stream down the parkway through the trees on the horizon eradicating any proof of last night's existence.
I push my right wrist out of my jacket sleeve a bit, and the paper band stuck tight around my wrist pops free. Proof that I was of drinking age, proof that I overpaid to see a band, proof that last night happened. It'd have to be good enough for now.
Pulling up outside the house, I was myself again. A twenty five year old going through a mid-life crisis. Guess that means I only have til fifty before it all ends. I'm not sure I can go through this routine for another moment, but, as I turn the keys, shut off the car, flip off the headlights, I know that I can.
I shuffle up the driveway, reach over the fence, gently lift the mechanism that keeps the gate closed, and slip inside, lowering the mechanism in one swift and practiced maneuver. I have my door key ready in my free hand, it's point jutting out of my pocket. I slide the metal into the lock, and with the slowest twist possible, I unlock the door, angry at the dull thud of the lock retracting.
Turning, then lifting the door by the knob, pushing it forward a millimeter at a time, the draft dodger behind the door swooshing across the tiles, I open it just enough to slide in. The key's jagged edge bumps its way free, the keys drop into my pocket, and holding the knob on the inside, lift the door, turning the knob, switching hands, I close the door.
Slip out of my sneakers, jacket placed upon the rack besides my girlfriend's faux fur trimmed fall coat. Her brown, elegant, yet animal friendly fashion clashes with my ratty, beat up and broken in black leather. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and let myself die inside.
My heart pounds as I tip toe across the kitchen, but feel the safety, the sanctuary of the bathroom. I, too frantically, close the door, unintentionally making a bit too much noise in my rush to get inside. Once I'm there though, I really don't care. A bit of last night has changed me.
Turn the faucet and let the water run. The pipes squeak and squelch as I dip my hands into the stream, lean over, and splash my face. I run my palm down my face, tugging my eyebrows down, pulling my eyelids open, smooshing my cheeks, pressing down the tip of my nose, molding my mouth into an 'O' shape, and run my thumb and forefinger down my jawline.
I look up into the mirror. Not the same guy. Never going to be different. Just a lie. Now I, have to look this guy in the face and tell him, reveal to him once and for all that everything he's ever wanted is going to have to be replaced with all he has now, and that nothing will ever change.
"You goddamn spineless, sniveling, mama's boy, can't even get this right, too afraid of...", I mumbled to myself, staring myself down, losing a staring game to myself, a final indignity before bed.
I didn't brush my teeth. I'd swig some orange soda from the fridge before bed and some orange juice when I woke up. Who needs teeth, really? For the first time in my life, I began to get cavities. I inspected them in the mirror, pushed on the bad ones, somehow satisfied that I'd poisoned my perfect choppers that never needed braces, nor fillings.
Besides, she always told me to brush my teeth. It irked her that I didn't. Disgusted her I hoped. I opened the door, glanced over at the dishes in the sink and chuckled. I won't do them. In some sort of instant karma, I nearly slipped and broke my neck in dog piss. Thankfully I just slammed my wrist into the counter.
I pulled off my sock, dripping with dog urine, and let it drop into the yellow puddle. I sauntered into the living room, feeling a bit more ballsy suddenly. If this was the life I was stuck with, and seeing as how I done broke the rules already, coming home just after sun up, well, may as well misbehave to the bitter end.
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