January 19, 2008
I was still a mess. I had just turned 23, it was Saturday night, I was almost 2 months sober, and my friends all wanted to take me to a bar. I’d been out of the house since 8 that morning, and I was supposed to meet them at Independent to “celebrate.” Instead, I drove to Carter’s house, dropped off my car and caught a ride with him. I made the mistake of saying I would be the designated driver that night. Big big mistake.
By the time 11 rolled around, I was ready to call it a night. I had been up since 6:30, my phone was dying and I didn’t have a way to charge it, and I was stupid enough to not bring my own car. Carter, of course, wasn’t ready to go home yet, so I went outside to get away from the noise. Then it started raining. I was stuck outside of a club I paid to get into, my phone had died, no one knew I was outside, and now rain was pouring down onto my stupid brown fedora. I hated tonight.
I decided I was going to walk about half a mile to a friend’s house who I hadn’t spoken to in ages. At this time, it was already 1 in the morning, and I was getting pretty frantic without my phone. My plan was this: get to said friend’s house, ask to borrow his phone to call Carter or ANYONE to let them know I left, I didn’t have Carter’s keys, but don’t leave me because I don’t have a way home. By the time I get to my friend’s house, I’m soaking wet. Knock on his window once, twice, three times. A light comes on. The door opens. It’s his mother.
“Who’s there? Jake? Jacob? Is that you?”
She’s more inquisitive than angry and when I answer yes, she seems relieved that I wasn’t some burgler or random homeless person. I go inside and she tells me Frank isn’t there, but he might be home in a few hours.
“That’s okay. I really just need to borrow your phone, if that’s okay.”
“Oh, Jake. We don’t have a house phone. We usually just use Frank’s cell phone to make calls, but he’s not here. Maybe he’ll get here soon.”
I look at the clock. It’s almost 2. My eyelids are heavy and I think I dozed off for 3 seconds before she says, “You can pass out here until he gets here.” Close my eyes again. I fall asleep for what feels like forever.
I wake up again and look at the clock. It’s 2:05. Fuck. My friends are gonna think something happened to me, or that I’m an arrogant asshole and I left on my own accord. In spite, they’re going to leave me here without a car and I’ll need to find my own way to Carter’s house. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. I hate tonight.
Finally, at 4:55, Frank walked in, high as a kite. “Heeeeey motherfucker! Long time no see, buddy!” Quick hug, a smile, then, “Let me borrow your phone, Frank.”
“Man, you gonna take me out to dinner first.”
I call everyone, but no one answers. Leave a message. Then I ask Frank if he can give me a quick ride somewhere, and I’d pay him gas money. He says, “I would, but I don’t have a car.”
Oh. My. God. I think I’m going to kill myself right here in Frank’s house, the guy I haven’t seen in years who is apparently a pothead, on my 23rd birthday. Life is grand.
Once I calmed down, I decided to call me one resource in case of emergencies. She picks me up at 5:30 and takes me to get my car. On the way home, I stop by Whataburger for breakfast. Life is good again.
And this is why I will never leave the house without a fully charged phone ever again.
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