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Printed from https://www.writing.com/main/view_item.php/item_id/1839033-Never-Doing-that-Again
Rated: 13+ · Prose · Other · #1839033
For the Writer's Cramp
Never Doing That Again



“I’d like a Black Tooth Grin please,” I smile as I said the order to the bartender. This was Dimebag’s favorite drink and now I could try it like I always wanted to do—even before I turned 21 a year before. “What’s that?” a puzzling look appears on the bartender’s pale face.

“Oh, Crown Royale, Seagram’s 7 and a splash of coke.”

“Alright,” she quickly mixes it and slides it across the bar, “order’s up!” “Thank you!” I grab my drink. Darkness quickly engulfs me, but then is replaced with the dim light that is scattered all over the game room. I rejoin my friends, who are playing billiards.

The feeling of the combination of Crown Royale, Seagram’s 7 and coke taste good. Then again I’m twenty-two and never had the drinks separately (except the coke). The feeling is so smooth. My taste buds begin to tingle and my body relaxes. I nurse my Black Tooth Grin for an hour and want to finish it before the clock strikes twelve and I have to welcome in yet another new year. It’s eleven; “bottom’s up,” I think and quickly take the shot.

My stomach hates me. I feel terrible and I think I’m drunk. I stumble, I think, to the bar. Okay, I wasn’t that drunk, but I feel awful and light headed. “Ice cream, please” I slur to the bartender—I’m handed a vanilla ice cream and polish it off in seconds.

My stomach hates me. My lactose intolerant stomach hates me. “I’ll be right back,” I say to my friend. I run, like running for the hills—I run past the billiards table and past the people that occupy that room now looking at me and seem like they are laughing at me. I open the door quickly to get away from their contorted faces.

The cold bathroom does not please me, but fortunately this displeasure doesn’t last. I become friends with the toilet bowl that sends a warmth through me.

“Are you okay?” kindly women freshening up ask.

“Yes,” I shiver. My stomach no longer hates me.

“NEVER DOING THAT AGAIN,” I think as I slowly sip the ginger ale at the bar waiting to ring in the New Year.


Word Count: 375
© Copyright 2012 Future Mrs. B (dunkelhetstern at Writing.Com). All rights reserved.
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