says. “That guy sounds like a jerk. You should have kicked him in the
balls.”
That’s
her answer to everything.
“You
know, there are other ways to make a point,” I inform her.
“Yeah,
but there’s no better way of making a
point than that,” she rejoins. “Read the text.”
“No,”
I tell her. “I’m serious. I don’t have time to start—”
“Oh,
will you just shut up and read the stupid text? We both know it’s going to
happen sooner or later, and I don’t have all day to wait around for it.”
“Actually,”
I smile, “judging by the way you’re swaying back and forth just standing there,
I’d say you’re going to be here for quite a while.”
“Nah,”
she says, “I’ll just have Jed pick me up when I get sick of you.”
“You
want another shot?” I ask.
I’m
not going to have one, but seeing as I don’t want to see, talk to or otherwise
encounter Jed, I’m going to get my sister drunk enough that she’ll forget about
calling her stupid boyfriend and just stay here until she’s safe to drive.
“Sure,”
she says.
In
our family, we all have our particular addictions, and we all have more than
one. Kristin’s addictions are torrid love affairs, every one of which is with
the latest “one and only;” her other addiction is alcohol. When played right,
that second addiction wins out almost every time.
So,
I pour my sister a shot and I pour one into the shot glass that I was using. I
hold up the latter and clink glasses with her.
She
immediately takes her shot, but I just set mine back down on the counter.
When
she’s done with hers, she wipes her mouth and says, “You know that it’s bad
luck to toast and not drink.”
“I
think I’m full up on bad luck,” I tell her. “I’m not too worried about it. This
one’s for you.”
I
pick up the shot glass and hand it to her.
“All
right,” she says, “but I know what you’re doing…”
She
takes the shot.
“…and
it’s not going to work.”
Judging
by the increase in her topside lateral motion, I’d say it’s already working
pretty well.
I
manage to talk her into one more shot, after which, she tries to talk me into
letting her have another, but I’m very familiar with her stages of drunkenness
and she’s about to cross over into whiny sick girl and I just don’t have the
patience for that right now.
A
few minutes later, we’re on the couch with a movie on the television and she’s
snoring loudly beside me. I hadn’t figured on her passing out so quickly, but
those are the breaks.
As
I sit here, I find myself feeling a little curious.
I
fight the urge at first, but it’s not long before my inebriated state, however
slight in comparison to my passed out sibling’s, manages to convince me that
it’s all right if I just take a look at what he wrote.
Kristin’s
message is, well, exactly what I would expect from her.
It
reads, “Hey there! My beautiful, talented sister gave me your number and said
we should talk. What’s up?”
All
things considered, it could have been worse.
His
reply says, “Not much. Having a bit of a day, but I’m glad to hear from you.
Sorry I haven’t gotten in touch before now. Work’s crazy.”
Before
I even think about what I’m doing, I’m typing a reply.
“I
know what that’s like. What do you do?”
I
send the message and force myself to watch the movie in order to distract
myself from overthinking this whole thing.
My
phone beeps and I check the message.
“I’d
rather not talk about work right now. I hope that’s not rude of me.”
On
most days, I’d find his message shallow: After all, who doesn’t like talking
about work? (Okay, work is one of my addictions.)
Luckily
for him, he caught me on the right day.
“I
totally get that. Things are pretty messed up where I work, too. Do you live in
the city?”
There
is an odd thrill to being able to have a kind-of conversation with someone I’ve
never met and probably never will meet. Obviously
balls.”
That’s
her answer to everything.
“You
know, there are other ways to make a point,” I inform her.
“Yeah,
but there’s no better way of making a
point than that,” she rejoins. “Read the text.”
“No,”
I tell her. “I’m serious. I don’t have time to start—”
“Oh,
will you just shut up and read the stupid text? We both know it’s going to
happen sooner or later, and I don’t have all day to wait around for it.”
“Actually,”
I smile, “judging by the way you’re swaying back and forth just standing there,
I’d say you’re going to be here for quite a while.”
“Nah,”
she says, “I’ll just have Jed pick me up when I get sick of you.”
“You
want another shot?” I ask.
I’m
not going to have one, but seeing as I don’t want to see, talk to or otherwise
encounter Jed, I’m going to get my sister drunk enough that she’ll forget about
calling her stupid boyfriend and just stay here until she’s safe to drive.
“Sure,”
she says.
In
our family, we all have our particular addictions, and we all have more than
one. Kristin’s addictions are torrid love affairs, every one of which is with
the latest “one and only;” her other addiction is alcohol. When played right,
that second addiction wins out almost every time.
So,
I pour my sister a shot and I pour one into the shot glass that I was using. I
hold up the latter and clink glasses with her.
She
immediately takes her shot, but I just set mine back down on the counter.
When
she’s done with hers, she wipes her mouth and says, “You know that it’s bad
luck to toast and not drink.”
“I
think I’m full up on bad luck,” I tell her. “I’m not too worried about it. This
one’s for you.”
I
pick up the shot glass and hand it to her.
“All
right,” she says, “but I know what you’re doing…”
She
takes the shot.
“…and
it’s not going to work.”
Judging
by the increase in her topside lateral motion, I’d say it’s already working
pretty well.
I
manage to talk her into one more shot, after which, she tries to talk me into
letting her have another, but I’m very familiar with her stages of drunkenness
and she’s about to cross over into whiny sick girl and I just don’t have the
patience for that right now.
A
few minutes later, we’re on the couch with a movie on the television and she’s
snoring loudly beside me. I hadn’t figured on her passing out so quickly, but
those are the breaks.
As
I sit here, I find myself feeling a little curious.
I
fight the urge at first, but it’s not long before my inebriated state, however
slight in comparison to my passed out sibling’s, manages to convince me that
it’s all right if I just take a look at what he wrote.
Kristin’s
message is, well, exactly what I would expect from her.
It
reads, “Hey there! My beautiful, talented sister gave me your number and said
we should talk. What’s up?”
All
things considered, it could have been worse.
His
reply says, “Not much. Having a bit of a day, but I’m glad to hear from you.
Sorry I haven’t gotten in touch before now. Work’s crazy.”
Before
I even think about what I’m doing, I’m typing a reply.
“I
know what that’s like. What do you do?”
I
send the message and force myself to watch the movie in order to distract
myself from overthinking this whole thing.
My
phone beeps and I check the message.
“I’d
rather not talk about work right now. I hope that’s not rude of me.”
On
most days, I’d find his message shallow: After all, who doesn’t like talking
about work? (Okay, work is one of my addictions.)
Luckily
for him, he caught me on the right day.
“I
totally get that. Things are pretty messed up where I work, too. Do you live in
the city?”
There
is an odd thrill to being able to have a kind-of conversation with someone I’ve
never met and probably never will meet. Obviously
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