Bar Fry

Illustration by Bob AulSend anonymous thanks, confessions or accusations —changing or deleting the names of the guilty and innocent —to "Hey, You!" c/o OC Weekly, P.O. Box 10788, Costa Mesa, CA 92627-0247, or e-mail us at letters@ocweekly.com.

I'd always heard about guys like you, sociopaths who put stuff into girls' drinks, but I never took it seriously. It seemed more like an urban legend than suburban life—until the other night. Sure, I was drinking on an empty stomach, but still: does the room get blurry and wobbly after two drinks? I'd like to tell you how miserable I was, but I only recall the rest of the night in images, like flash frames. I remember trying really hard to get a friend's attention, and when she finally looked at me, instead of saying whatever it was I wanted to say, I just started laughing instead because suddenly everything seemed really funny. I remember walking to the bar to get some water, and I remember on the way back from the bar suddenly not being able to walk. In slow motion, two men (or was it one?) reached under my elbows and pulled me back up. I felt really stupid because I have never in my entire life been so drunk that I've fallen down. In the car on the way home, someone in the front seat yelled to someone in the back to open the door because I looked like I was going to be sick. I was. I threw up out the side of the car while my friends held on to me so I wouldn't follow my barf out the window. Later, I knew I was going to be sick again, but I didn't have the energy to tell them, so I just let it fall wherever. When we got home, they carried me out of the car. I remember one of my friends saying, "Come on, honey, you have to walk. Just try—try to walk." I couldn't. Two friends managed to get me upstairs, but I thought one of them was someone else. I threw up about a million more times (though, according to my friends, nothing was coming out other than foam and bile). I couldn't hold myself upright. My friends put me in bed around 2 a.m. When I woke up at 10 a.m., I wasn't hung over, but my sense of equilibrium was off all day; I felt like I was on a boat. Things were off for about a week. The scariest was when I saw a bunch of cars parked along the street and thought for a second that they were all facing the wrong way. It was as if my brain was scrambled. I still don't know how I really feel about everything; I just feel confused. I should be angry at you, but I don't know who you are. It doesn't make sense to me. I could have died that night.

 
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