Diamond Plate - Page 3

Feeling different this morning. Where the fuck am I? I was dancing at GeeGee’s, and now... I don’t recognize this couch. I peel my face off the cushion, setting my head throbbing. My mouth is as dry as a lizard’s snatch and I’ve still got shit caked all over my face. I can feel where salt lines have hardened in the cracks of my makeup.

But hey, this house looks nice. Much nicer than the places I usually wake up. It’s light out, but someone’s pulled the drapes closed so I can sleep in. And they even gave me a blanket: Bonzer.

I’m playing that game where you try to muster up the will to get out of bed. It’s like a little gauge you’re filling, and you almost get it to that tipping point where you get up, maybe you get your arm out from under the blanket, but then you feel the gauge empty and just sink back down.

It’s been about 20 minutes now. I really should get up.

Now it’s been about an hour. Any second now I’ll get up.

I hear footsteps racing down the stairs somewhere in the house. Little footsteps. Suddenly, I’m very willing to get up. I sit up on the couch just as two kids enter the living room. They can’t be more than 6 years old. They’re both staring at me with their mouths open, and the younger one has snot threatening to drip off her lip.

More footsteps from upstairs. “Jacob! Izzy! Come into the kitchen!” A brunette in her 30’s comes into the room wearing a flannel shirt worn open over a heather grey singlet. A ‘wifebeater’, as my Dad would have called it.

The woman grabs her kids (I assume) and ushers them out of the room. As she’s leaving, she shoots a glare back at me over her shoulder. Mumma Bear coming in to keep her kids safe, I guess.

She shouts from somewhere around the corner. “JOHN! He’s up!” Who’s John? I search around for my stuff to get out of here. My keys, wallet, and phone have all been put together on a sideboard next to couch, and as I pick them up, I can’t help noticing some family photos. The Dad is...

Oh, “John” as in “Johnno”? What the hell was he thinking taking me back to his place? Isn’t this some kind of employer-employee privacy breach or something? And I know just how he’s gonna act too. He’s gonna want to sit down, chat it out, ask me how I am, be MY Dad.

Even as I’m thinking about how crap that conversation would be, I’m already pulling on my boots. I look like a total mess, but I’m decent enough to get out the door. As I head out, I hear Johnno call from somewhere upstairs “I’m coming down!” But he’s too late: I’m gone.