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I’m sprawled out on the floor. People step over me as if I’m a carpet. Chatter and music from TV speakers flood my ears. I can’t make out a single word. Is someone talking to me? There’s a hand on my shoulder. None of this is fun. It never was fun. I open my eyes to see my best friend looking at me, concern in her eyes. Her face flashes red, blue, yellow, green, orange, white. The same colour as a Rubik’s cube. I never finished my Rubik’s cube I keep by my bed. Maybe I should. I don’t consent to the flashing lights in my eyes, yet I must deal with it. It’s torture. Is my friend speaking to me? What’s her name? I’m too exhausted to deal with this. I close my eyes again, sighing heavily, as a particularly drunk person checks on me. Their breath reeks of an alcohol I’m not sure I can identify. They speak with a foreign accent. Is it a Canadian accent? My thoughts are interrupted with an eruption of cheers as a seemingly popular song starts. People start singing drunkenly. My friend tries to drag me out of the room.
I open my eyes again to find that I’m outside. I’ve been outside the whole time. I’m sat against a crumbling brick wall, which fails to block an elderly’s well-kept back garden from the gravelly alleyway her bins are kept in. My mind is foggy, my vision is clouded, my memory is hazy, the weather is misty, nothing is clear. Where is my friend? That’s right, she went missing eleven days ago. Fuck. Right, I was gonna text her friend about where she was. Am I friends with her friend? We met once, but she never spoke. She seemed to not hate me. Am I sober? I’m changing the topic a lot. Was I at a party tonight? I should have been looking for my friend. Where even am I? Let me ask someone. No, not him. Or her. Or them. What’s this? It’s a bus stop. Oh, yeah, the mayor gave us buses so people would stop cycling on the main road. Potholes. The government’d focus on anything except potholes. Pathetic.
What bus stop is this? Where’s the sign? I need to sit. I slid off the bench and fell on the floor. I think my glasses might have shattered. Am I high? Drunk? I don’t remember doing anything like that. I try hard to stay sober for my family’s sake. I don’t remember much. What’s my name? Where am I? Where is she? Fuck. Right, I was gonna text my friend about where her friend is. I think I said this wrong. I need to piss. Where’d the bus stop go? There’s a bottle of Irn Bru in my pocket. It’s empty. Is it mine? I hope so. Maybe this is why I’m like this. I need to piss. Maybe I’m just sleep deprived. What time is it? Where did my phone go?
I lean against the bush I’m next to and close my eyes. Just a second. I open them back at the horrible party I was at five minutes ago. What’s going on? I’m on the stairs. I can see the lights through the doorway. Oh, this is a block of flats. Is it one of those shit ones? Always. My friend is comforting me. I feel weird. Was that the past? The future? Is this the future? I might just be high. I hope not. I try to stay sober, so I’m not like my family. I need to get out. Where’s that dude with the funny accent? I think he might have been from California. That’s right, California. The military imported some American military here recently, so California might make sense. Probably a Yankee no matter what.
I look at my friend and try to speak but it sounds wrong. She doesn’t seem to notice anything different. I want to go home. Where am I? What have I drunk, or smoked, or popped, or what? I better not be high. I need to be sober so I’m not like Dad. I say something I can’t comprehend and my friend takes me outside to breathe. I look at the sign on the door. “21-23 Bellview Street”. Bellview Street? That’s in fucking Dalbaan. I live in Òr. How did I get here? How do I know where I live? I look in the window of what I can only assume to be flat 21A. Am I conscious? Where is she? The colours from the lights carry on flashing. I catch a glimpse of the TV, but I can’t read what it says. What’s going on? Fuck. When is it? Where is it? Who is it? Who am I? I just sneezed. There’s a painful lump in my throat and vomit on the floor. I didn’t sneeze. I look at my phone. Right, I have to message my friend in case she’s seen our friend.
It’s the 19th of May. It’s the 13th of February. It’s 11:58 p.m. and 2:41 a.m. at the same time. This has happened before. I remember. She was with me in February. I was sober, just overwhelmed. I’m sober, just overwhelmed. I’ve messaged our friend about my friend. I might go to her house. I know where she lives, just at the end of the street, and a right turn into the nice estate. Maybe her mum can drive me home. Where do I live? Who am I?