D is for Drunk

These girls sure know how to throw ’em back don’t they? Only a non-drinker of wine would write a scene this obnoxious. Obviously it’s coming out. But have a laugh with me as you read another “Love Poetry” flashback scene, originally posted April 4, 2015 for the A to Z Challenge.

“I have a bottle of Chardonnay in front of me, and I’m trying to figure out why it’s not empty,” Alex, Jessica’s roommate from college, said into the phone.

“Girl, it’s not even eleven,” Jessica said laughing.

“I don’t care. It’s five o’clock somewhere. Get over here!”


Ten minutes later, Jessica was at the front door of Alex’s pool house apartment she rented from her grandfather, holding up two wine glasses.

“I’ve already started,” Alex said with a smirk.

“You’re such an alcoholic.”

Alex flicked her brownish blond corkscrew-curly bangs from her face and motioned for Jessica to come inside. Jessica was often jealous of Alex’s hair. She’d tried everything to achieve those perfect curls that came naturally to Alex. She succeeded once. Beginner’s luck, more than likely, because with each attempt after that, she ended up with a frizzy mop on top of her head. Alex, on the other hand, hated her hair, blaming it and her biracial background for those awkward conversations she had with complete strangers that often started with the question, “So what are you?”

The living room was surprisingly clean. Usually Alex had clothes tossed over the couch, the coffee table, the television set. Sometimes, Jessica couldn’t even see the carpet for all the panties, club dresses, and stiletto heels, thrown about. Today, the place was spotless. The dust on the teal window curtains had been vacuumed, the wood coffee table polished, even the the Merlot stain on the couch had been blotted away, although, Alex might have just flipped the cushion over.

Alex stood behind the kitchen counter and poured Chardonnay into the two glasses.

Jessica noticed that the wine left in the bottle came to just above the label. “You already drank half.”

“Yep,” Alex said, making a popping sound with her lips.

Jessica sat on the stool at the counter, and Alex slid the wine glass down to her. “I feel like I’m at a bar.”

“For sure.” Alex took a sip from her own glass.

“So what’s the occasion?” Jessica asked.

“Pop’s kicking me out.” Alex took giant gulp.

“Really? I thought he liked you living here. He could use you as a taxi whenever he wanted to go somewhere.”

“Well, he got pissed when I dumped the last guy I was dating.”


“Yeah. I think he only liked him because he was white. Pop can be kinda racist sometimes.” Alex refilled her glass, and Jessica pushed hers forward for Alex to top it off.

“He’s old,” Jessica said over her tipped glass. “So why’d you break up with Rick? He seemed nice.”

“You have terrible taste in men,” Alex snapped.

Jessica choked while drinking and coughed to clear her throat, returning the glass to the counter and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. “OK, you’re drunk,” she said in a raspy voice.

“No, I’m being serious. You have terrible taste in men if you think Rick was a nice guy. He’s just like that Whitmore of yours.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Needy, controlling, possessive. Did you have to ask him permission to come here?”

Jessica opened her mouth to respond but was interrupted by the muffled sound of Magic’s “Rude” coming from her purse on the stool next to her. She retrieved her phone from the front pocket to see Whitmore’s lips twitching to the lyrics, “Marry that girl. Marry her anyway. Marry that girl. No matter what you say. Marry that girl. And we’ll be a family,” playing repeatedly. When had he changed my ringtone? Jessica thought.

“Speak of the damn devil!” Alex leaned over the counter and snatched the phone from Jessica. “Whitmore . . . This is Alex . . . Alexandria, idiot. Who else? . . . What do you want?. . . She’s with me . . . No you may not . . . We’re having a girls’ day . . . Is she not allowed to spend the day with her girl? . . . Don’t you have friends? . . . Bye, Whitmore . . . Goodbye, Whitmore!” She hung up the phone and slammed it onto the counter.

“That was rude,” Jessica said.

“No, what’s rude is him accusing you of cheating whenever you’re not with him.”

“Did he say that?”

“Yeah, talking ’bout, ‘Who the fuck is Alex?’ with that fake-ass, deep voice like he’s trying to intimidate someone. I hate you’re boyfriend, Jess. I hardly ever see you anymore.” She wiped tears from her face as she poured more Chardonnay into her wine glass.

“Maybe that’s enough—” Jessica started.

“Don’t you ever get tired?” Alex asked, swallowing hard.

Jessica snatched up her glass and slurped what was left. Alex held up the the bottle, the liquid now below the label, and Jessica let her fill the glass all the way to the rim. They toasted to the ceiling and proceeded to empty their glasses.

“I need to be drunk to talk about Whitmore and his . . . everything,” Jessica said.

“Hell, I got some Tequila.” Alex pointed to the cabinets behind her.

“This is so irresponsible,” Jessica said.

“College was only five years ago. I think we’re allowed.” Alex untwisted the lid to the 1800 Coconut Tequila and poured it. “I don’t know what I did with my shot glasses.”

“A wine glass works just fine.” Jessica brought the glass to her lips and threw her head back. “What?” she asked when she noticed Alex staring.

“I want to set you up with someone. Bruce. He works with me at the radio station. He’s dope.”

Jessica drummed her fingers on the counter. She didn’t think Alex had ever liked Whitmore. She was always throwing better options Jessica’s way—oftentimes, while Whitmore was present. However, this time, Jessica put some thought into Alex’s proposition.

It might have been the alcohol. It might have been the impromptu marriage proposal playing on her phone’s speakers. Jessica didn’t waste any time searching for a reasonable explanation. She only said yes.


Thursday Night

“Tequila ain’t a drug,” he says. He tilts my head back, pours the shot down my throat.

I cough. “It tastes horrible!”

“The best do.” He whisks me onto the crowded dance floor, where the people barely dance. Women rhythmically arch their backs while men rub their crotches against anything female until the front of their pants become too tight.

I spot two couples stumbling toward the women’s bathroom. Nobody cares which is the boy and girl. I have the sudden urge to dunk my head in the toilet, but I keep grinding. I don’t want him to follow me.

word count: 100


moral_mondays_logoJoin Moral Mondays, a new weekly challenge to write a 100-word fable or story based on the moral/lesson provided in the prompt. This week’s moral: say no to drugs.

Spilt Alcohol

Three people walked into a bar. They used to be friends. What happened next nobody will ever understand. Let’s just say that a fourth person was involved. Fact is that nothing will ever be the same again.

Bar-hopping with his fiancé and her best friend was not how Ryan had planned to spend his Saturday night, especially when the game was on. He needed his boy Steph to pull through with the win. He was sick of LeBron and his self-entitlement. History still hasn’t taught him that he can’t win a championship by himself.

Ryan dropped a crumpled five into the tip jar as the bartender slid him a Yuengling. Next to him, Adrianna and Heather shared a stool and shouted at each other over the heavy metal rock music and the people surrounding the bar. Ryan chose to ignore them. Petty female shit, he thought to himself, best to stay out of it. He turned up the bottle, finishing the rest of his beer and holding back a burp.

“Babe, isn’t that your friend Johnny over there playing pool?” Adrianna asked tapping his shoulder.

He shrugged.

“You didn’t even look,” she whined in that high-pitched, dog-whistle voice that he would have to get used to if he was going to go through with this marriage.

He looked over his shoulder to the right of the bar. Leaning on a pool stick with his arm around the waist of a blonde with a thick ass was his boy Johnny in a black and red plaid lumberjack shirt and a Bulls snapback hat.

“Yea, that’s him,” he answered flatly.

“Who’s the bitch with him?” Heather asked.

“I dunno.” He caught the bartender’s eye and held up his empty bottle.

“Gotcha,” the bartender said.

“Heather’s dating Johnny,” Adrianna said.

Ryan raised an eyebrow. “Since when?”

“New Years!” they both said.

Ryan stared at them. No way they believed Johnny was the type to have a girlfriend, more less, mess around with the same chick for five months. Johnny was the one who had told him that proposing to Adrianna was suicide. “She’s a cute girl and all, but she’s too needy,” he’d said. “You’ll get punished every time you leave the house.” He had to admit that Johnny wasn’t exaggerating. They’d only been engaged a few months, and that space he’d cherished so much while they were dating closed almost immediately after he’d popped the question. Adrianna felt the need to invite herself to every place he went. Poker night, game day, the bar, even grocery shopping became a couple’s outing. Living together wasn’t enough. They had to be attached at the hip, forever live up to their “Best Couple” title in their high school yearbook.

“Look, me and Johnny talk almost every day, and he’s never mentioned you.” Ryan said.

“When do you talk to him?” Adrianna asked, cocking her head to the side as if jealous of Ryan spending his time with someone other than her.

“He’s fucking kissing her now!” Heather shrieked as Johnny and the blonde swapped spit, wrestling tongues. His hand slid down the small of her back and cupped her ass.

Ryan turned back to the game on the screen, taking a second Yuengling from the bartender and nodding his head in a silent thank you.

“Can you do something?” Adrianna whined.

“I’m watching the game.”

“Heather’s my friend!”

“OK, Johnny’s mine, and I know him better than you think you do.”

“So you would continue being friends with a guy you know cheats on his girlfriend?” Heather asked.

Ryan nearly choked from laughing. “I don’t know what he said to you to make you think you were his girlfriend. It was obviously some played-out line to get in your pants.”

Tears swelling in her eyes, Heather jumped off the bar stool, covering her face, and ran for the door, nearly colliding with a server carrying a plate of 50 hot wings.

“Ryan!” Adrianna shouted.

“What? That’s Johnny!”

“Then you sleep on his couch tonight!”

She stormed off after her friend, but not before taking a shot glass of vodka that one of the pool players had sat on the edge of the pool table and throwing the drink onto the blonde’s exposed back. She shattered the glass on the hardwood floor and fled through the door before security even realized there was a commotion.

Ryan returned his attention to the game. One minute left. He’d missed almost the entire fourth quarter.

“So you’re riding home with your ‘cheating’ homeboy.” The bartender leaned over the bar and gave him an obnoxious wink.

“Nah, you see that ass on her? He ain’t giving that up for me.” Ryan said, downing the rest of his drink.

“Looks like I’m calling you a cab then.”

Ryan nodded and motioned for another beer.


This is in response to Finish It! #17 hosted by Author S B Mazing. It’s also inspired by the Daily Post prompt, Fill In The Blank