Slowly

The next month passed in an uneventful stew of humiliation. I texted Jack first thing in the morning, despite a throbbing headache that made it difficult to form coherent thoughts. He wrote back glad that I didn’t **** on my own vomit during the night. Slowly, steadily, I moved on. I returned to work. I sometimes passed Frank or Jack in the stairwell and gave them a polite nod, a “Hey, how’s it going?” They didn’t tone down their volume, but, now, when someone laughed incredibly loud, I thought to myself:

Hey, that’s Frank.

And instead of feeling resentful, I felt like a third roommate, someone in on the joke.

Dale returned for two weeks before jetting off again, this time to Germany.

“It’s like a work-study thing,” was all he said about it.

My life almost returned to normal, the night I made a fool of myself a distant memory, when I got a text from Jack:

“Alright dude, this Saturday we are going ALL OUT. Everyone’s gonna be there. Do not miss it.”

My stomach twisted. God, I wanted to go. What little I remembered of the party was the most fun I’d had in months. If I kept myself in check, there was a chance I’d remember this party for the rest of my life. Still, the thought of everyone made me nervous.

“What’s the occasion?” I texted back, trying to stall.

“It’s Memorial Day weekend,” he responded immediately. Then sent along some saluting emojis.

“I don’t think I can make it.” I hit send, and regret washed over me.

“PLEEEEEEEEEEEASE!!!!!!!”

“It’s a family thing. I’ll let you know if I can get out of it.” Okay, I’d bought myself time. Five days. I could make a decision in five days.