Love Letters to Anne

At sixteen, I had a job working for a local movie theater. The closest person I worked with was a box office clerk. I remember him well; tall, about a year or so older than me, and even though I only saw him at work, we liked each other and got along well during the breaks in between the rushes that came for the new releases.

Being older than me, he had experiences that seemed to me very fun at the least, and he had a sophistication that comes with age. He was working to save money for college. I was working because it was what was expected of me. Anyway, one day he invited me to his house to hang out after work; he was going to have a party, and I was excited that he thought enough of me to have me come over and join in the festivities.

We picked up a girl he was interested in and then went to his place. His mother was out of town, but he was responsible enough to watch the house…sort of. He puts on an old movie that was new to me: A Clockwork Orange. I can’t say it changed my life, but I was amazed and mesmerized at what I had in common with the main character. I was drinking whiskey and soda. They tasted so good the way he made them… the party got going while I was watching the movie, but since I was the youngest person there, I was largely left to myself as I kept watching. I remember at one point, the buzz transported me to the other side of the party, people leaving, people carousing. The movie over.

He came up to me as I sat on the couch, I was wasted and it was obvious. I kept it together enough to not embarrass myself or my friend. He says to me he was going to go somewhere; I think in the haze of that memory he was taking the girl home. He showed me his room and told me to get in bed and sleep it off. He would be back to check on me in a little while. He introduced me to his dog, a cocker spaniel who was to watch over me as I slept. I was instructed that if I was going to get sick, to use the door in his room to the yard and go outside, take the dog, she would take care of me. Apparently, she had done this sort of babysitting before.

I laid in his bed, and as the room spun around me I noticed the huge American flag he had pinned to the ceiling, billowing down and lit by Christmas lights between the flag and the ceiling. Twinkling, spinning, and Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon album. Now I knew The Wall as he had taken me to midnight movies where it played. We got into those shows for free as a benefit of working at the theater. This new album was like nectar to my soul. The dog jumped in bed with me and waited, watching me. I took in the whole of the experience. The sights, the sounds, my dehydrated breaths, the smell of the alcohol and cigarettes. I petted the dog and fell asleep for a few hours.

The house was still. The dog was still watching over me, and I noticed that I suddenly wasn’t feeling so great. I broke out into a full body sweat. The dog gave me the look, and I remembered that I needed to go out the back door. So, I slid out of bed... I was having trouble maintaining my motor skills, remaining vertical was proving to be increasingly difficult. There is a comedy skit that talks about the closer I got to the door, the further away the thing was. I was there. The sickness rising up in me, it was getting urgent now, I needed to get outside to the yard. The dog patiently guided me through the room to the door. I grabbed the door knob and turned and pushed, nothing. The door wouldn’t open. Panic.

It was getting serious now, it was bad enough that I was going to be sick, but if I couldn’t get outside, how embarrassing that would be to get sick in my friend’s bedroom. I was holding onto that door knob with a death grip, it was holding me up, even though I was on my knees. I put my flushed cheek against the metal frame of the door, it felt so good because it was cool to the touch. My eyes rolling around in my head, I caught a sight of the chain lock holding me in. I struggled to reach high enough, but after what seemed like hours, I got the chain undone and the door unlocked and the dog and I spilled out into the yard. Ok, well, I spilled, the dog was nonchalant about the whole ordeal. Crawling out into the yard I wondered about fire ant piles, but reasoned that I was numb, so whatever.

On my hands and knees I made it out to the middle of the yard and began to wretch. I purged, but was so drunk, I didn’t care, in fact, was laughing in between bouts of vomit that I had solved the door puzzle and made it out here into the quiet night, the moon beaming. I considered this a success. I followed instructions and it was going to be ok.

The dog was cleaning my face, her tongue was soothing somehow. I crawled back into the room and then made it miraculously back into the bed. The Christmas lights comforting me, the flag reassuring me, the dog never left my side until morning when my friend came in and woke me up to take me home. He asked about my night, I told him how it went and we laughed about it. I thoroughly enjoyed the experience.

We would do it again, but later, in Gainesville, after I ran away, but that’s another story.