Places

The Hangover

I’m pretty sure it’s an old Cadillac, or at least it looks like one. I don’t know much about cars. It’s parked in the back left corner spot of the bank behind my high school, without fail, every day. The bank is where I smoke my cigarettes before school, I‘m always late, but I have study hall so whatever. The car is big and white with navy trimmings, a clear hood ornament, and a grill on the front that you never see on cars anymore. I heard the kid who drives it is a big creep, or at least that’s what Katie told me. I think he’s in my photo class. He wasn’t at school last year because his parents sent him to rehab or something crazy like that. Maybe that’s why I’ve never seen him before today; he seems nice, at least he does to me. He steps out of the car and introduces himself.
Mark? Hi, I’m Grace. Nice to meet you.
We’re already late for class so I agree to sit inside and get to know the new face; It is freezing after all, too cold for October, and I don’t have a coat on. The seats are perfectly worn in and I sink into them as I shut the heavy door. It has weird handles in an awkward place on the door, making it hard to shut all the way without maneuvering my hand in an uncomfortable twist. It takes me two tries. Mark says no one ever gets it right the first time. The inside is all blue leather, the same navy that trims the exterior of the car, which Mark tells me is a Chrysler, not a Cadillac. My bad. He bought it for a mere $1,000 from his grandpa and has been working on it for the past year or so. He turns the key to start up the engine. Without any warning an earth shattering bass blares from the Chrysler’s speaker system. I jump and laugh nervously.
Shit that scared me.
He chuckles and twists some knobs. He’s spent more money on his stereo system than the actual car itself. I can tell. I wonder what kind of music he likes. He looks at me with a scheming grin.
Hey.
I turn to look at him, he looks excited, and raise my eyebrow in curiosity.
Do you really feel like going to school today?
I grin and shake my head no.
That’s what I thought.
He puts the car in reverse and pulls out of the bank parking lot, music thumping, and we are on our way. This day changed my life.
The best and worst times of my high school career can, in some way or another, be traced back to this car. I met my first love, Mark’s best friend Jon, in this car. I fell hard and fast. He was a trouble maker of some sorts and spent most of his time either working or grounded. So Mark and I would cruise around in the Chrysler to visit him at work or home. I didn’t know it then, but my world would temporarily fall apart, because of this car. This car picked me up every morning for school, habitually late of course, and would take me home after “dance practice”, which was where I told my mother I was every day after school. I had quit the dance team for this car, spending hours driving and talking with friends, because I didn’t want to miss out on the fun. I had quit the dance team due to a dark secret that this car allowed me to mask. A problem that only this car seemed to know about. I didn’t want to scare away my new friends with my own aged problems. We were having too much fun being kids. In fact, I deemed this car “The Hangover” after one particularly hard night of drinking and other, more secretive, illicit extracurricular activities.
Shotgun.
My head is pounding and I think I’m gonna be sick. There’s nothing worse than the back seat of this car and there’s no way I’m sitting back there. I step in the front seat and put my hood up all the way so it’s covering my eyes; it hurts to look at the sun reflecting off the snow. My mouth tastes like the vague memory of spending a couple hours over the toilet last night after one too many shots. A metallic taste is still dripping down my throat, making my eyes water and my nose run. I’m paranoid that some one will find out my secret. Mark looks just as bad, minus my guilt, as do the other two kids in the back. I feel like shit. Mark nods in agreement and starts the car.
“BOOM!”
Holy shit Mark turn the fucking music down.
My head is vibrating in aftershock from the harsh blow of the subwoofers. We had been blasting some bass-heavy band when we had pulled up to the party last night, obviously forgetting to turn the music down before exiting the car, with various bottles and cases that we were about to consume. When the slicing pain dulls I chuckle.
This car is seriously a moving hangover.
Everyone is still holding their heads but I can tell they’re smiling; our home finally has a name.
It was a time in my life when I needed a couple pills to wake up in the morning. What started as recreational experiment introduced by an old friend turned into a reckless addiction. I was lying to everyone I loved, stealing from my family, and wasting away to nothing. I had quit dancing, my passion, and spent my time smoking cigarettes in this car, deflecting any glimpse of concern from others. I hid my problem from everyone, telling them I was just anxious, that I just didn’t feel like eating. This continued for a few months, until one night, in the heart of winter, my world came crashing down on my shoulders.
Mark, I’m really not feeling well.
My hands won’t stop shaking and I’m feeling clammy all over.
Are you ok? You’re not looking too good.
Mark turns to me at a red light and examines my face.
Yeah, I just haven’t eaten much today; too much caffeine.
He gives me a skeptical look.
Alright, whatever you say.
We pull into my driveway and I unbuckle my seatbelt.
Thanks for the ride.
I know I’m weak because I can hardly close the heavy door. I avoid icy patches as I punch in my garage code and make my way into the kitchen. It’s uncomfortably warm and it smells like I just missed dinner. Good, I’m not hungry anyway and I won’t have to make another excuse not to eat.
Grace, you need to give me your purse.
My mom is suddenly in front of me. She looks angry.
Why? What did I do?
I don’t want to show her. I can’t show her. I make an attempt to pass her and escape to my room, to eliminate all evidence, but she grabs my arm and swings me around to face her.
Give it to me now.
I’m crying. She grabs my purse and spills it out on the kitchen counter.
Jesus Grace.
She’s crying. Various pills, prescription bottles, and powders cover the table. Oh no. It’s over. I’m suddenly laying on the stone floor of what most people like to call rock bottom.
I was put away. Away from those lazy afternoons blasting music. Away from the distraction of exciting new friends. Suddenly I was confronted with myself, alone, without comfort. This raw stripping of my comfortable surroundings left me feeling homeless and scared. So I did what I had to. I dealt with myself, got to know myself, and fixed myself. After four weeks of being removed from my social surroundings I was finally free. My mom picked me up and took me to the bank parking lot, which was my request, and told me to be home in one hour. It was 3:00 pm, ten minutes before school got out. Sure enough, there it was, this car that I loved so much. I sat on the hood and waited for my friends to get out of class, looking at the clouds, appreciating the fresh air of the first signs of spring.
Holy shit, it’s Grace!
Mark is running towards me. I sit up and smile. Mark lifts me up in a hug and spins me around.
We thought you were dead!
Jon hugs me for what seems like ten minutes. I’m comfortable, finally, being held by the boy that I love. I’m not worried about keeping a secret that could ruin everything I’m so blessed to have in my life. My boys look at me in appreciation. I can finally see clearly. I’m a lucky girl.
Shotgun.
I grin at the boys and we hop in the car, enjoying each other’s company, and the wealth of being young. I know I’ve had my whole life given back to me. With my elbows propped on the edge of the open window, I smile, finally able to enjoy the car, my sanctuary, with a clear head and a new appreciation for everything it has done for me. I have two of the best friends in the world. I have a body that is fully functioning and healthy. I have a new appreciation for life and all of the people in it. I have a caring family who would do whatever it takes to make me happy. I love my life. I love this pla