As fucked as it seems, there’s a masochistic pleasure in waking up with a hangover.  The odds are, if you have this hangover, it was a direct result of a good time the night before.  Yes, your head might feel like it’s been beaten repeatedly with hammers, but as you come-to in the morning, you’ll piece together a montage of good memories and good times.

Marc found a strange sense of joy when he woke up and wasted away Saturday’s like this.  The chance to drop out, chill out and do nothing all day was something Marc could never afford to do when he was in school.  Between his six classes of school a semester and his part-time job it was logistically impossible.  And even if Marc could have mastered his university schedule and made time for a random Saturday to do nothing at all it still wouldn’t have worked.  Up until 4 years ago, Marc had lived with his parents.  By his parents standards, sitting around on the couch all day, being a poster boy for the slacker generation was pretty much considered sinful.  If Mom and Dad had a Saturday full of errands and chores to take care of, Marc was never going to be able to play the hangover card.  But that was ages ago; Now Marc was allowed to be as masochistic, brain-dead, and lazy as he chose.  This is the glory of living on your own terms.

As Saturday morning came Marc woke up, cautiously opening his eyes to beams of sunlight thrashing through the curtains on his bedroom window.  When Marc first moved into his one bedroom apartment, he had these grand visions of turning the place into a little fortress of rest and relaxation.  Marc spent his time furnishing and decorating each room using a motif of light cream and white colours.  He’d compliment the light, relaxing colours with soft, natural, stained, wood tones.

Today, unfortunately, Marc’s attempt at interior design was biting him in the ass.  The white curtains in his room were letting the bright morning light flood in.  Even though he knew it was futile, Marc repeatedly groaned, and hid his head under the covers as he attempted to muster the strength to get out of bed.  When he finally pulled the covers back to stand up, the hangover hit Marc at full strength.  His head felt like his brain had swollen to twice its normal size, the jagged discomfort forced Marc to stumble forward as he reached for his beat-up housecoat.

Marc was now moving around his apartment with the grace of a boxer who had just fought 9 rounds.  With each step his brain slowly started spark up.  When Marc raised his head after he finished brushing his teeth and washing his face, he recalled Sara, Trent, and himself at The Rountree.  As he moved into the kitchen to begin the process of making a pot of coffee, he began to remember sitting at the table and playing countless rounds cards with his new friend, Craig, at the house party.   And as he fruitlessly checked his call display and voicemail, he remembered catching up with Miss Lauren Miller.

Marc then smiled to himself, but stopped short, wondering if he had said or done anything stupid while chatting with Lauren.  He momentarily worried, shrugged, and then laughed out loud, all while shaking his head at himself.

While he waited for the coffee to percolate, Marc paced around the apartment.  He figured if he stood still, the hangover would be his only focus… and soon his demise.  He moved to the living room and opened a window.  As the window opened, sounds of Snoop Dog’s Doggystyle filled the air.  The music was coming from 2 floors above.  This was one of the hidden charms or Marc’s apartment complex - the building was only 4 stories high, and each floor was filled with single 20-somethings.  Even though the tenants had their own separate lives, they all seemed to be crossing paths with one another.  You could always count on everyone to stop and genuinely say hello to each other in passing, and simply from their body language and the few things they might say, every tenant could figure out what was going on in each other’s ever-changing lives.  Marc was a part of a collective of tenants who all respected and reveled in the fact that everyone within the building was young and trying to figure out their place in the “real world”.  And so, when the weekends arrived, music wafted from floor to floor, neighbors would stop by to borrow bottle openers, ironing boards, or perhaps Tabasco sauce so they could whip up a stiff Breakfast Ceazer.  No one was worried about the noise, the late nights, and no one had a complaint about one another.

As the sharp autumn breeze from the window hit Marc, he realized it was far too cold outside… certainly far too cold to leave the house today.  He quickly returned to the kitchen and poured himself a cup of coffee. For a moment he became lost in the swirls the cream and sugar in his cup created.  As he began to sip and take solace in his coffee, he looked up and noticed the deadbolt on his front door shift from a horizontal position to a vertical one.

“Hellllllllllllo?!”, Marc enquired.  He assumed it was a neighbor looking for coffee.

“Good morning, Sir-Drinks-a-lot!”.  It was Sara.

“Morning!”, Marc eyed Sara up and down, “God… Take a look at you!”

Sara’s appearance was a far cry from last night. Gone was the fitted skirt, matching purse, and styled hair.  Instead Sara was dressed down in casual gym clothes, finished with cute little white Adidas running shoes.  As Sara closed the door behind her, Marc noticed she was clutching a brown paper grocery bag.

“You’ve got to seize the day, Marc-y boy”, Sara entered the tiny kitchen and delicately navigated around Marc, helping herself to a cup of coffee, “I’ve been up for a couple of hours, “I’ve already run a bunch of errands and I’ve been to dance class to sweat last night away”.

“Uggh… You morning people are gross…”, Marc laughed, “How on earth can you drag yourself out of bed to do things like that on a morning like this?  Tell me you’re familiar with the concept of sleeping in?”  Marc looked back at Sara, he noticed how good she looked, and soon realized how relatively disheveled he must have appeared.  In a completely vein attempt he tried to comb his bead head hair-do with his fingers into some sort of a respectable look.

“How many times have we had this discussion?  You and I run on different body clocks.  Sure, Marc, you can stay up all night and sleep all day… I just can’t do that.  But don’t worry about it.  I was in the neighborhood, and I figured you’d be in this morning-after type state.  So… I picked up some stuff to make you lunch.  Don’t forget… I know you like the back of my hand, and most importantly, I know your favorite hangover cure.” Sara laughed as she purposefully further messed up Marc’s bed hair.

“You brought food?!”, Marc now had more enthusiasm than a 5 year old boy at recess.

“You bet!  I figured you’d be starving, stubborn, and knocking on your neighbor’s door looking to borrow a bowl of cornflakes.  Darling, you’re better than that… and I got ya covered…”, Sara pulled out a couple of packages of ramen noodles and various fresh veggies, “Now look… get out of the kitchen, go sit on your couch and watch some TV… I know that’s what you’re dying to do… I’ll bring your food in a few minutes”.

Sara playfully kicked Marc, and sent him into the living room.  As he walked to the couch he could her Sara singing along to the chorus of Gin and Juice as she rummaged around to find clean pots and pans.  Marc found his remote control, his couch blanket, and settled in.  When Marc was in this hung over state it wasn’t so much what he watched, but how he watched it.  He loved to surf the channels idly, with no agenda, or TV Guide dictation.  He once watched an entire afternoon of golf, just because the colors on the screen coupled with the announcer’s voice felt soothing.  Keep in mind, that Marc had never played a single round of golf in his life.

As Marc punched up and down the series of channels, he stopped to wonder what Sara was really doing.  It wasn’t unlike her to use her spare key and randomly drop in the day after a night out.  But why the food, why the waiting on hand and foot?  Marc looked at Sara in the kitchen for evidence, but could only see her backside as she worked over the pot of cooking noodles.  Sara would occasionally let out a cry of “Bow wow wow yippie yo yippie yay”, as she continued to sing along to the music filtering through from two floor above.  Marc inaudibly laughed at Sara and realized, perhaps, he was yet again over-thinking things.  His attention turned back to the TV.  Marc settled on the SuperStation.  He noticed there was a Steven Segal movie marathon on.  Marc smiled, because there’s always a Steven Segal movie marathon of some sort on the SuperStation.

Minutes passed, and Marc started to get into the opening sequence of Hard to Kill.  His eyes were beginning to feel heavy.  Until the sound of two bowls hitting the living room table stirred Marc.

“Lunch and / or breakfast is served!”

“Thanks, darling… you didn’t have to do this, you know.”

“I know.”, Sara pushed Marc’s legs off the couch as she sat next to him.  They both began to devour their meals.  Sara began to focus on the movie on TV.

“Can you please tell me what the deal is with TV’s need to show marathons of bad action movies all weekend?  Is it a guy thing?”

“Ha! I have no idea.  It’s fantastic, if you ask me.  Well not fantastic, but ironically entertaining.  I mean look at Segal… he’s running around pretending to be a cop… he has a pony tail… and he’s not even remotely apologetic about it!  Can you believe people actually went and saw this crap in the theatres?”

Sara put her half empty bowl on the table and stood up to face Marc, “Actually… that’s why I’m here?”

“You’re here for Steven Segal – and not me – this is so insulting”, Marc’s voice was rich with sarcasm.

“No, jack-ass I’m here to be apologetic.  I’m here to apologize.”

“For what?”, Marc sat up slowly.

“For last night.”

“What are you talking about?  What about last night?”

Sara sat down on the table, she was now facing Marc from a short distance, “That’s just it… I have no idea.  I just know that me and the girls… and Trent too… got a bit… ok… a lot… out of control last night.  I passed out the couch, at a house party, half way through the night for Christ’s sake.  What am I… in the eleventh grade all of a sudden?”  Sara paused, “ I don’t know… I woke this morning and I had a feeling that I had done something wrong, or something to piss you off.”

Marc looked puzzled and force a smile, “Uhhhh… no not that I’m aware of.  Based on what I saw, you had lots of fun last night.  We certainly didn’t fight.  And we didn’t have a falling out.  Hell… even when you did pass out, I carried you out with only the most tender lovin’ care.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.”

Sara sat back on the table, “Oh thank god… I was so upset this morning…”

“Well… hold on… that’s not totally true, if you consider our falling out by the Rountree jukebox, earlier in the night”, Marc realized what he had said and silently cursed himself for bringing up the subject.

Sara was now sitting close to Marc again.  The worry in her voice was replaced with a stern confidence, “Oh Yes… that falling out.  Marc… I’m sticking to my guns on that one.  You let me down, made me look stupid, and that upset me!  You made me look like an idiot!!”, Sara gathered her thoughts and continued, “Why won’t you believe in yourself… or at least give yourself some credit, and take some pride?  You need to explain yourself…”

Sara was beginning to get worked up, Marc instinctively became defensive and started to retaliate, “Dammit Sara, I told you this last night.  It didn’t feel right.  I’m sick and tired of people looking at the few creative things I do, making an issue of it, and trying get righteous, and pushing some vague little hook up my way, thinking they’ll quickly turn my life into something wonderful.  Fuck that!”

“You know… you’re a huge asshole.  Holy fuck!  I am so glad this didn’t come up last night, you would have wrecked a perfectly good evening.”, Sara quickly gathered the two bowls and began to head to the kitchen.  It became clear that Sara was leaving, and upset.

Marc continued to curse himself as he chased after Sara, “Sara, wait.  Just stop.”

Sara turned and scowled at Marc as he waited for him to continue.

“Sara, I’m sorry… you’re right, I’m being a total dick.  And the condition that I’m in right now isn’t helping either.  I get defensive about this kinda stuff, and we both know how taking the road less traveled is a beautiful thing on paper… but in real life it terrifies me.”, Marc took Sara’s hand and lead her back to the living room, where they resumed their old seats.  Sara still was waiting for Marc to further his case.

He tried to smile, “Look, what you did for me… it was fantastic, and I should look at all opportunity – no matter how obscure it may seem to me as a good thing.  Let’s just agree that I messed up.”

“Yes… you did.”

“Look, I’m in no state to have a profound chat right now.  The biggest hurdle I had planned for today was to master a child proof aspirin cap and get through a Steven Segal marathon – which is quite tough to do, I’ll tell ya – but if you and I are going to have a heart to heart let’s do it when I’m not wearing a housecoat”, Marc finally got Sara to smile and nod.

Marc needed to sweeten the deal, “I’ll tell you what… let’s go for a drink later in the week.  Just you and me, and you can play therapist and I’ll play…”

“The jerk who buys all the drinks?!?”, Sara interjected.

“Yes… I’ll be that guy.”

“Ok Marc… realize we’re not done here.  I’m gonna chalk of this up to you being wonderful, but not very socially smart as of late.  I’m also gonna blame all this on the fact that you and I haven’t seen each other in over a month”, Sara motioned for Marc to lie back on the couch as she placed his blanket over him, “We’ll chat tomorrow”, Sara kissed mark politely on the cheek.

“By the way”, Sara waited for mark to look at her.

“Yeah?”

“Don’t answer your phone today?”

“Why not?”, Marc was puzzled.

“Trent.”

“What about Trent?”

“He’s looking for you.”

“Oh God, why?”, Marc could see where Sara was heading.

“He’s got plans for the two of you tonight… something about a pub crawl”, Sara looked back at Marc.

“Is he crazy?  Forget it! Please don’t tell him you were here.  I’m going into hiding for the rest of the day.”

Sara enjoyed watching Marc squirm, “Ha, ha… you’re secrets are safe with me… for now.”

Sara stood up from the couch, threw the remote at Marc, laughing as she walked away, locking the door on her way out.

next chapter >

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