Ingredients: Rum – 80%, Beer – 5.2%, Cider 5.1%, Vodka 35%, Wine 12.5%, Black Current Juice 0% and Prescription Medication.
“That fucking fuck, fuck,” Choncey pauses looking for the correct word to say to me, his eyes telling me nothing but how drunk he is. “Fuck it,” he pauses again, “What the hell did you put in this?” He’s motioning towards the glass in his hand, the brown and severe liquid inside spilling over the edges onto his jeans. He doesn’t care and nor do I.
“It doesn’t matter, not now anyway,” is what I begin to verbalise somewhat drunkenly too, hoping that this feeling is going to not last forever.
The room is moving, or is that me? There is no way of telling exactly what is going on anymore, we’ve lost all momentum in our limbs. We flail, we fall, we laugh. It has been days since we’ve left this room and I’ll be the first to tell you that confined drunks are the worst of them all. We’ve gone beyond the point of comprehension. It must have been something to do with the prescription medication in our booze, as if it wasn’t strong enough already.
“We must leave here tonight,” he says, eyeing the door suspiciously and trying hard to ignore the skewed worldly terrors we may face if we do somehow make it out there. He looks back at me, his head swinging initially too far before finally resting on where I sit and thinking hard about what he’s about to say. “Maybe we shouldn’t,” he pauses again, his head lulls forward and his drink spills some more. “Maybe we should stay in here and take some more Coedine. We still have rum, and we still have each other.” None of this is posed as a question and I understand completely, his advances are heterosexual and I understand completely. And it’s true what he’s saying, we do still have rum and pain medication, why would we want to leave this hole where we reside so comfortably. We are Comfortably Numb. We are what we need to be right now and going outside could only seem detrimental to what we set out to accomplish in the midst of this binge. However, as we were seemingly losing sight on reality, we were also losing sight on our goals. This started out as an experiment, we began attempting to become doctors in the loosest sense of the term.
“We have not failed yet,” I’m standing up uneasily and raising my hand dramatically, although I’m not sure why. “We must succeed, or this is all for nothing!” I’m shouting rambunctiously and clumsily making a fist, stretching my index finger out towards Choncey.
“Don’t point that thing at me!” He suddenly screams, clearly uncomfortable due to my hand gesture, yet excited by my excitement. “And sit down, there’s no need to act the fool,” he finishes.
“You’re right,” I say fumbling in my pocket for something, anything, and fingering a pack of cigarettes finally I pull them out and smile at him as if we’d won something unimaginable.
“OK,” Choncey says looking at the pack of cigarettes, “OK, but don’t open the window too far, they’ll drag you outside and take me too.”
I have no idea who or what he is talking about, however, I do not want to find out either. I open the window a sliver and light a cigarette throwing the pack somewhere behind me, carelessly and blow smoke out of the window through the tiny crack, my eyes wide and petrified, deceiving my clouded mind.
“What?” I can hear him asking behind me as he too lights a cigarette. I’m not sure that I said anything and so ignore him, my tongue in clear danger of blurting something ludicrous out at him.
“We’re going to be here for quite some time,” I say, finally, sucking in hard on the cigarette and looking at both the darkness outside through the crack, and the reflection of Choncey sitting behind me staring at his hand before trying to flick something from it and, satisfied, taking a sip from his drink.
The television is playing a static at full volume that had somehow, up to now, gone unnoticed.
“We must leave here tonight,” Choncey is saying after an moment of silence and I knew he was right, there was too much mischief to be had outside. And we were locking ourselves away ignoring it. ”Put on your shoes!” He continues, standing upright and pointing down at my feet. I look towards my feet and notice that I’m not wearing shoes and no longer am I wearing socks either. Choncey looks at me. “We can go on without socks,” he assures me, somehow.
“OK, but first, finish your drink, we must make sure that we have entirely no recollection of being outside. I, for one, do not need to remember what I’m about to do.” I find myself saying this and not really understanding my meaning but Choncey nods in agreement anyway, thus meaning that my nonsense and I are in the clear. For now.
Open wide and to be continued…
Dickie LeRoo
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