I’m sitting in a coffee shop thinking about how I spent last night
Sitting in a bar that I wasn’t old enough to be in
With people that I’m not cool enough to be friends with
Drinking beer that wasn’t cheap enough for me to enjoy.
Last night I dressed to impress. Strictly neutrals. Primarily blacks.
Thank god for the guy with the Arthur Rimbaud tattoo who was nice-drunk enough to lend me his ID.
I’m not from Florida, but I tried my best to play the part of a guy who’s three inches taller than me and weighs fifty pounds less.
Last night, I sat at the bar, wishing I was twenty-three,
Wishing I was in the MFA program
Wishing that I had completed a thesis comprised of short stories about the places I plan to go
And the drugs I plan to do when I get there
Advised by the dean himself.
But I don’t even know if I’d be allowed to write a thesis like that
Or if I’ll even make it to grad school
Or sophomore year, for that matter.
Friday night I wore a t-shirt with a shitty joke scribbled across the front with a magic marker
To my fraternity house.
When I got there I drank three whiskey cokes and a beer as fast as I could.
And then I smoked two cigarettes in a row
And talked about how bad I wanted to kick someone’s ass although I don’t remember who.
Then I drank two 7 and 7’s
Lost the t-shirt
Tried to beat the shit out of that guy
And failed.
I made my girlfriend cry by midnight.
I had cried more by one o’clock
My mom had cried more by two
Because when I called her at 1:45
While my best friend tried his hardest to explain to the police officer why we were in the car
I told her for the first time in two years that I was scared of myself.
And I swore to god at least four times that I hadn’t hit the slopes again
And I’m not even that drunk came out in chunks of McNuggets mixed with whiskey that burned a lot more on its way out.
I told her I was sad because I don’t know where I’m going to live this summer
And she assured me that I was still allowed at home
But ever since my father called me three days in a row last semester
With three different reasons to be disappointed in me
I don’t even know what I do wrong anymore
And the feeling I get when I pull into my driveway and he’s the only one home
Isn’t new
But it still scares me.
And I hope to god that this poem will actually mean something
But I just keep thinking back to Saturday night
And how much I’d love to write about the girl I took home who loved Bill Withers and red wine
Or the night on the town my best friend and I had
Loaded up on this-aline and that-adrine
That ended with us shivering and chain-smoking and writing quotes all over the walls in his old-fashioned country house on the outskirts of town.
Even though what truly happened is I said hi to the people that I work with
And got thrown out after I had been in the bar for ten minutes
Because the guy with the Florida ID came back in after his cigarette
And that was the third time the bouncer had seen that ID that night.
And then I drove myself home
Because why would I walk when I’ve only had one beer?
And I’m sitting in this coffee shop now
Chewing aspirins and drinking black coffee
That’s making me gag because it’s gotten too cold
And I realize that who I was Friday and who I was Saturday
Are not the same person.
Which would normally not be a huge deal
Except I don’t want to be either one.
Pace Ward is a Freshman English major from Southaven, MS
