In the gulf near Beer Can Island (the worst, until Milton made it a reverie), we are surrounded by aquamarine water that mirrors the sky and is made brighter by the razor-sharp yellow of the sun. A black fog of lovebugs hover around the boat. We laugh and hold our drinks above the gentlest waves, but I quickly panic over the state of the boat with the bugs. I’m too drunk. I can’t stop looking at the swarm. I can’t fixate on anyone’s faces for too long.
Am I the only one who can’t touch the bottom? Is anyone as drunk as me? Is everyone peeing in here?
“She is the happiest drunk,” I hear Sierra tell her friends, and I smile brightly as if on cue.
It’s been a while since I drank like that. I remember climbing up on the boat and swatting the bugs away, trying to find our sandwiches. I also remember squatting near the stern, hoping no one could see me smashing food in my face as if the crunch and coolness of a veggie sub would trick my anxiety. I laugh at myself and look for the swarm only to realize they’re around the girls.
or did I imagine that?
When everyone agrees to play my preferred music (baby part 1), I feel the shift in my personality go back to reasonable and less trapped. Sierra holds me in the water (baby part 2), and I’m reset as I let the sun hit my face.
(Daily Writing 045)
Thoughts?