Woke up next to a gorgeous frat boy. The morning light shone golden brown through a wicker shade. He looked like a kid, so much younger than twenty-two and much younger than my twenty-three. He looked at peace, as though wrapped in a perfect dream.
So I thought I'd just slip out. Nothing really there to say anyway. And it struck me that I didn't even know his name.
Another reason I shouldn't drink alcohol. It goes straight to my head, and makes me float. I felt like a god last night, but today I'm down in the gutter.
Hopefully we won't run into each other on the street any time soon, or cross paths on campus. Thank God he was drunk too. Perhaps I'll only be a hazy memory when daylight finally pries his eyelids open.
Remember driving back to his house. He was filled with laughter and bad jokes and corny come-ons. But, in my drunken state I found them oddly appealing. The air was crisp and clean at two a.m., almost cold for late September. He laughed at my super stupid
joke, the one about brocoli and boogers
We went up to his room; the music was so nice. I got lost in his face; his brown eyes
were so deep that I was drowning in them when he looked at me so long and so intensely.
His grace and charisma were as intoxicating as those fucking tequila shots had been just
an hour before. And somewhere in there we fell into his bed.
The sheets were crisp and cool against hot limbs. They smelled fresh and of bleach. The blankets so soft and warm as they wrapped around my legs. Forgot all my promises about not doing this ever again, about waiting for mister right before going to this place. Those vows seemed very far and very insignificant.
Just can't remember his name. Kept calling him Johnny, and he kept correcting me. God, what was his name? Rick? Steve? Joshua? Johnny he shall remain.
Found my clothes and fled the scene. And, I'll probably never know what his name is. But, he'll remember me. Of that I'm sure. And, he'll remember me when I'm a big star.