I've never been one to test friendships.
Sometimes it happens, though, ironically, the example I'd used to offer my loyalty to Arno -- to clean up his puke if he ever couldn't handle it...
...happened last night.
To me.
The pool hall was a magical place last night, my elbow finally swinging just right, my fingers sore but effectively splayed, the waitress all smiles and admiration of my tattoos and attitude.
I practiced that tricky middle shot so many times that by the end of the night I couldn't miss it.
At some point it was decided that tequila would even the score, make the boys miss a little and relax me enough to stop raising the end of my cue and sending the ball slightly askew.
It worked. Marvelously. I sank shots that had everyone scratching their heads in disbelief, and young Maja couldn't decide if she was more in awe of the Canadian Bodyshots Tradition, or of the fact that when we played girls against boys, the girls won.
Twice. (although once was them scratching on the eight ball)
But you see, I was on an empty stomach, and cramping for my period.
And when we stopped at Guillaume's on the way home for coffee for Seb who didn't feel comfortable driving yet, Maja and Guillaume and I had cognac.
Nice, smooth, lovely aged cognac.
The last thing I remember was leaning forward off the chair.
Then I was on my knees before the procelain god.
It was all liquid coming out.
Then I woke up.
In a strange bed.
Guillaume asleep lying the other way.
"Hey, uh, did we...""No."
"Oh. Is that, uh, a pile of sheets in the corner?"
"Yes."
"I puked in your bed."
"Yes."
"You washed my face."
"Yes."
"I...uh...thank you."
"Thank you."
The metro ride home was a rediscovery of hearing, the way the world was before heavy metal concerts and punk rock shows dulled my ears and the world with them. Metal screaming against metal, ricketty old subway cars chattering against the rails. Storms of perfume smacking me in the face as they went by, the click of heels, a little girl laughing, my brain rattling around inside my head.
I didn't even drink that much. Two beers, three tequila shots, and a cognac.
On an empty stomach.
With menstrual cramps.
Destructive urges at their best, a reminder that monstres can be desperately stupid.
And fortunate enough to have friends like that.
Last time I woke up in a strange bed my first stop was the clinic for testing.
I was lucky, I was clean.
This time, I was infinitely luckier.
And strangely enough, I've learned infinitely more.
Next time, I won't be needing the alcohol to relax my swing.