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This is the begining of chapter one of a book I am working on. |
| Chapter One Walking into my friend’s small cluttered dorm room the smell of alcohol and vomit hits me in the face just before I trip into the miniature fridge on the floor stocked with (you guessed it) alcohol. Beside the fridge is a trash can filled to the brim of empty beer bottles. My friend, as one would surmise from the first three feet of her door, has turned from a sweet, straight laced kid to a self admitted alcoholic. After I shifted my eyes from the trash I can see my friend curled up in a ball in the bed pale with red spots on her cheeks with another trash can beside her where she is obliviously yet again hung over. As I walk through I pick up the “party” clothes thrown all over the floor and walk across the room to open her closet to place them in the hamper, I see the two parts of her personality. One side is who she is and of whom she has become. She has her slutty revealing skirt and shirts with plunging necklines, so deep that you can see all but her nipples; crying out for attention. Next to that is her conservative clothing, appropriate for her parents to see. Next to her hamper inside the closet is her “partying supplies” which include pepper spray, a huge half empty box of condoms, and pregnancy tests. Shaking my head I check in her to see if she is ok and breathing, and then flopped down on her second bed of her last dorm partner that left after a week. Seeing the remote to her c.d. player next to me, I switched it on to hear Sugarcult blast from the speaker I quickly mute it and turn to her more traditional music pop music. My mind started to wonder while switching cds about Michelle’s current life and where it would end. Now standing up I look around the room with its concrete walls to the bulletin board covered with pictures and post cards from her parents saying how proud they are of her and of her many accomplishments. Looking closer at her pictures many of them are with her parents, showing what I already know, that they are a big part of her life. Most of her life changing decisions was based on their beliefs until recently. Around them she is conservative, angelic, respective, and quite, but here in her dorm room she transforms into a completely different person. I will give her this, she has the best poker face of anyone I know. But are they really this blind to the problems? They make her stay home her first year of college when she needed to spread her wings and then push her out in her time of desperation. It doesn’t make sense; they must really have missed the mark on something. I look under the bulletin board to the oak colored desk at a calendar. I could mark the calendar day, Nov 16, 2005, that lead to the biggest changes her life. We had met 2 months prior in high school. It was random circumstance that we meet. I am actually two years younger but as fate would have it I walked into my gym class to see a senior on a bench reading a Bible. Kids made fun of her, as kids do; but I stood up for her. We really didn’t talk much after that until Dane got involved. We became the kind of friends that hung out at school and she had spent the night once. Don’t get me wrong, we got along from the start but it wasn’t until after Dane we have started to really talk and become friends. Next to the calendar and her text books lays a photo album. I flipped through the pages I begin to see the transition of before Dane and after he had left. As I flipped through pictures it went from AE t-shirts and Wal-Mart jeans with a big smile and friends to her down to her on all fours puking being able to see all the Lord gave her. She keep all her drunken pictures her so called new “friends” had taken because she said they were funny. I can’t say I laughed. There seemed to be less pictures of her over the past year with friends and she seemed lonely in them. I snap back to reality as I hear my friend puking and the smell was perforating the room as I run to her side. “Sam, are you ok?” “ Jo….is th….that….. you?” Sam tried to ask between each yak. |
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