He stumbled. He knew the way, or at
least he was reasonably sure he did,
but he had a hard time staying on
track.
He fell. He decided to just stay there
for a minute, and catch his breath.
When he got up, a moan escaped his
lips; he didn't hurt, exactly, but he
was frustrated. He looked up at the
afternoon sun, and he didn't
remember it getting so late. Where
did the time go?
He just shrugged and walked it off.
Home. That was his thought
process; I have to get home.
He'd been drunk before, of course.
There were times where he couldn't
remember events from the night of
revelry, but he'd never had a
substantial blackout before. For the
life of him, he couldn't remember
what had happened between doing
shots at the bar and stumbling
around now, at least sixteen hours
later. Was he asleep? Where were
his friends?
Why did he have only one shoe?
He thought about asking the woman
sitting in the park bench. Asking her
what? He forgot.
He was so confused, but he was
sure that he couldn't be drunk
anymore.
"My god," he thought, "am I sick?"
The lady on the park bench was
pretty. He moved in her direction.
She looked past him.
He loomed over her, and she
continued to ignore him.
"Hey," he tried to say, but his words
came out a gasp. Tongue tied, he
stood there, trying to ask a simple
question without appearing to be a
fool or simpleton. He just needed to
use her phone, if she had one. He
grew nervous and agitated; it was
like he was stuck in a dream, and he
couldn't get the words out, but he
knew exactly what he wanted to
ask.
All she did was dismissively grunt in
his general direction.
He knew when to take a hint, so he
kept walking towards home.
He wasn't tired, but weary and
hungry. There was a shadowy spot
underneath an old oak; he liked how
the moss hung to give shade. He sat
down, leaning against the trunk. He
looked back towards the hotel, but
he couldn't see it. Where were his
friends? What had happened to the
bachelor party? He didn't remember
walking so far, but things had been
a mess since waking up.
His eyes wandered the streets
around him, and he thought it odd
how there was absolutely no vehicle
traffic. Cars had stopped in some
places, and the roads were
completely clear in others. Vaguely,
he registered the sounds of alarms
and horns blaring in the distance. He
saw a lot of folks walking, not
seemingly in a hurry, and completely
unconcerned about the heat of the
day.
He drifted off, tired of thinking, tired
of trying to remember and piece it all
together.
Awareness floated back to him on
the beams of a full moon. He was
walking again. Just as confused as
earlier, at least he was no longer
hungry. He found it odd that he was
now barefoot, but he didn't dwell on
it.
He had to get home.
He smiled a little as he remembered
being this drunk once before. He was
being led back to the hotel from a
night on River Street by his less-
inebriated friends. He became
obsessed with the fact that his wife
was missing. "Where did she go? IS
SHE OKAY?" he yelled, and he lit out
to find her at a full-trot. A keystone
cops moment followed, wherein he
ran circles around the old weathered
brick building that housed a
nightclub, chased by four of his
closest and dearest. When he finally
stopped running (he found her safe
and sound hugging a lamp post) the
almost-sober of the group ushered
the concerned parties to the suite
before police could be involved.
Lost in thought, he tripped over
something on the shoulder of the
interstate.
Wait. The interstate?
Headlights in the distance
illuminated his path. He looked down
at what nearly made him fall. He
couldn't tell for sure what it was, but
it was slippery and smelled
delicious.
"A food truck accident?" he thought.
He shambled on towards the
headlights, intending to wave them
down for a ride. He reached out to
them, waving his hands.
The car swerved towards him, and
didn't slow down.
Confusion turned to anger when a
side-mirror grazed his arm. He spun
around, and landed in the ditch. The
car kept going, red taillights in the
distance weaving around other
vehicles in the dark.
Anger added itself to the perpetual
confusion and frustration. He tried to
get up, but found his left arm
uncooperative. He roared in
frustration, and slowly got back to
his feet.
He looked down, and in the
moonlight, his arm hung, twisted and
obviously broken.
"Wow. I must really be blitzed," he
thought hazily.
There was no pain.
He walked on.
Slowly, the miles melted away as
surely as his thoughts. Blackouts
became more common. Words
became disjointed images in his
mind, and soon the only two things
that he knew were hunger and the
need to go home.
Time became a blur, discomfort
became a constant companion, and
anger colored everything with a hazy
white film. Days became nights, and
strangers walked beside him. He
didn't speak. After it became
obvious that they would ignore him,
he began to return the favor.
He finally recognized the exit ramp
for home.
He left the pack of weary travelers
that had both welcomed and spurned
him, and he refused to rest until he
could do so in his own bed.
His wife and children would be
worried sick, and the Missus would
probably be angry that he hadn't
called. She never really wanted him
to go off to Savannah with the boys
for the bachelor party, anyway.
These thoughts seeped in and leaked
out just as quickly, and it was hard
to concentrate. He vaguely
remembered being angry that she
hadn't come looking for him, but
these complex ideas, too, just
became images.
Home. Hunger. Eat when I get there.
Rest when I get home. One foot in
front of the other, fall down. Get up.
Keep going. Home.
Hunger.
Her.
Love?
Longing for her.
Longing for home.
Blackout.
He couldn't get inside. The front
door wouldn't open. He knocked with
his good arm. he beat at the door
with both arms
"I'm home, let me in," he thought he
said. a growl escaped his dried,
cracked lips
He heard crying from inside.
Something was wrong! Hunger
flared, anger peaked. He knocked
louder, and he yelled for her to let
him inside. his arms flailed against
the door, and his growls became a
constant moan
Finally, the door opened, and there
she was.
He saw a flash of light, but never
heard the thunder that echoed into
the pines and elms surrounding their
secluded country house.
"There will be others. Close the door
and let's get the barricade back in
place before they get here."
"We need to bury him, mama! He's
been missing since this thing
started, but now he's home, and we
need to take care of Dad!"
"That's not your daddy any more,
baby. He died weeks ago."
Under the cover of darkness, as
quietly as they could, they laid him
to rest next to other family
members. Each of them in that
shallow makeshift cemetery had
been driven by longing and hunger;
each of them had been looking for a
missing piece of themselves that
could only be found back home.