After the festival , we pile into Haven’s car, we stop at her house long enough to fill her flask with
vodka and head back to town. She parks, we collect all our small coins to pay the parking meter, and arm in arm, we stroll side by side on the sidewalk, forcing pedestrians to
move aside to avoid us. We sing Call Me When You’re Sober
d’Évanescence, full throated and horribly out of tune, howling with laughter in front of the insistent or annoyed looks of passers-by.
Noticing an advertisement for a psychic in the window of a
New Age bookstore, I look away with disdain, too happy to no longer be part of this universe from which alcohol freed me.
We cross the street towards the beach, pass the Laguna Hotel and collapse on the sand, arms and legs tangled. We
we take turns filling the flask, which we empty in three gulps. I tilt my head back and vigorously tap the bottom and edges of the bottle to get the last drops out.
Damn ! There is none left.
Calm down, Miles urges me. Lie back and relax.
But I don’t want to lie down. And as for being relaxed, I am so relaxed that I wish it would never stop. Now that my paranormal powers are gone, I want to make sure they stay that way for as long as possible.
Do you want to come home? I said hoping that
Sabine will be out and we can drink the Halloween vodka funds to keep us high.
No, Haven declines. I’m completely bam. I think I’ll leave the car here and crawl home!
Miles?
I almost beg him. I don’t want the party to stop. I feel light, freed from the burden that weighed me down, in a word I am
returned to normal. And this is the first time since… that Damen has left, actually.
Not possible. Family dinner at 7:30 p.m. sharp. Tie optional. Straitjacket obligatory.
And he collapses laughing in the sand, immediately joined by Haven.
I cross my arms and look at my friends angrily. I do not
I don’t want to be alone, but I watch them wallow in the sand, laughing, without caring about me.
And me, then? What am I going to do without you?
On Monday morning, when I opened my eyes, I felt that my head no longer hurt!
Not as usual, anyway.
I roll onto my side and twist to grab the bottle
of vodka that I stashed under my bed when I got home Saturday night, and which kept me company yesterday. With my eyes closed, I drink a long
sip and savor the wonderful torpor that spreads along my tongue, into my throat, and which gradually numbs my mind.
And when Sabine pokes her head into my room to check if I’m awake, I’m happy to see that her aura has disappeared.
I hide the bottle under my pillow and jump out of bed to hug her. I’m curious to see what energy exchange will happen and am overjoyed when nothing happens. I try to smile, but my lips are all soft.
Nice day, huh?
Sabine looks out the window.
If you say so.
Indeed, the sky is gray, overcast and rainy across the
large bay window. But I didn’t mention the weather. I was talking about myself. My brand new self.
My new personality, not clairvoyant at all!
“It reminds me of home,” I said, taking off my nightgown before getting in the shower.
As we get into the car, Miles glances quizzically at my sweater, my denim miniskirt and my little ballet flats, relics that
Sabine saved me from my old life.
What is this…? Sorry, but I’m not driving
with strangers,” he continues, opening the door and pretending to get out.
I burst out laughing.
It’s me, Miles. I assure you. Wooden cross, iron cross, if I lie… In short, take my word for it. Close the door quickly. All that would be necessary is for you to fall and make us late.
Miles looks at me, speechless.
I don’t understand. Barely two days ago, it was borderline if you weren’t wearing the burka. And now it looks like you robbed Paris Hilton’s wardrobe. Except you have more class.
I smile as I step on the accelerator. The wheels slip and spin on the wet pavement, and I slow down only when I remember my internal radar detector isn’t working.
more. — Stop, Ever! Miles shouts. Are you out of your mind ? Haven’t you sobered up since Saturday, or what?
But no ! I decided to come out of my shell, you
understand? Sometimes I’m a little, let’s say… shy during the first four or five months! But don’t worry, it’s really
me, I say, hoping he will believe me.
Do you realize that you chose the most rotten day of the year to come out of your shell?
You have no idea how beautiful this day is. It reminds me of home.
I park as close as possible to the gate, and we
let’s rush outside, our bags on our heads as umbrellas, splashing each other’s calves in Here puddles. Haven
awaits us shivering in the shelter of a tree, and I want to jump for joy when I realize that his aura has disappeared.
She looks at me from head to toe, her eyes bulging.
What is this…?
Hey, you two will have to learn to finish your sentences! I said with a chuckle.
Seriously, who are you? she insists. What did you do to my girlfriend?
Miles bursts out laughing and walks through the gate, taking each of us by the arm.
Don’t pay any attention to Miss Oregon. She finds the day splendid.
When I enter literature class, I am reassured that I no longer see or hear what is not intended for me. Of course, Stacia and Honor are whispering to each other as they glance at each other.
disdain my outfit, my shoes, my hairstyle, and even my makeup, but I pay no attention to it. I suspect that they don’t say nice things, but as long as I
don’t hear anything anymore, their antics leave me cold. Meeting their intense gazes, I just say a friendly hello to them with a big smile, and they turn their heads away, furious.
In chemistry class, in the third hour, I start to
sober up and feel that the colors, sights and sounds threaten to overwhelm me.
And when I decide to raise my hand to ask for
permission to go out, I barely have time to get through the door before I already lose my footing.
I stagger to my locker, and spin the wheels of the lock, unable to remember the right combination. Is it 24-18-12-3? Or 12-18-3-24?
I glance down the hall, as the voices echo
in my head and I start to cry. That’s it, I’m there: 18-3-24-12. I dig behind my books and my binders, which tumble to the floor without me noticing. I’m looking for it
bottle of water that I have hidden at the bottom, and the deliverance that its delicious contents will bring me.
I finally find it, uncork it, and tilt my head back to take a long swallow, followed by another, then another, and another. Hoping to last until lunch, I swallow a
last drink when someone writes behind my back:
We don’t move anymore, it’s perfect! A pretty smile, perhaps? No ? It doesn’t matter, I have what I need.
Stacia holds up a camera on the screen of which, horror, I see myself downing my vodka.
I never thought you were so photogenic,
she continues. It’s true that it’s not often that we get the chance to see you without your hood.
She smiles, and even though my senses are somewhat dulled, I can tell that her intentions are very clear.
Who would you prefer I send it to first? To your mom?
She puts her hand over her mouth, looking falsely contrite.
Oh, sorry, excuse me! I meant your aunt. Or one of your teachers? Why not everyone? No ? No, you’re right, it’s worth
better send it to the principal to kill two birds with one stone, as they say.
I bend down to pick up my things and put them back in
my locker with feigned nonchalance, as if I had nothing to reproach myself for, even though I know very well that she must have as much sense as a drug squad dog.
What you have here is a photo of me drinking a bottle of water. What a scoop!
The water bottle trick? Really very original. You
must have been the first to have the brilliant idea of putting vodka in a water bottle. No, but honestly! You’re screwed, Ever, admit it. A little alcohol test, and it’s goodbye
Fairview and hello the Academy of Failures and Pintés.
She stands in front of me, very sure of herself. And she has all the
reasons to be, since she caught me red-handed. And even if the evidence is insufficient, we are both aware that she is right.
Everyone has a price, I just need to discover theirs. I read
in enough thoughts and seen enough visions, over the last few months, to know.
What do you want in exchange? I said.
She crosses her arms, after having tucked her piece of evidence snugly under her armpit.
To begin with, that you stop poisoning my life.
I’m not poisoning you at all. It’s you who’s ruining my existence!
On the contrary, my darling! she retorts with a venomous look. Just seeing your face every day is real poison. A deadly poison.
I always have my bottle in my hand which I don’t know what to do with. If I
put it back in my locker, Stacia will have it confiscated. And if I put it in my bag too.
Oh? Would you like me to skip literature class?
You have to pay me back for the dress you tore when you were running like crazy the other day, remember?
Here we are. Blackmailing ! Luckily I won at the races.
I reach into my bag and grab my wallet,
determined to compensate her and settle the matter once and for all.
How much ?
Stacia stares at me, trying to calculate at top speed.
As you know, it was a designer dress, not easy to replace, so…
I hand him a Benjamin Franklin from my wallet.
One hundred dollars ?
She rolls her eyes.
We see that you know nothing about fashion or the value of things. Frankly, we’re going to have to revise your offer a bit higher, she said, squinting at the wad of cash.
But since blackmailers have a habit of extorting money by increasing the stakes each time, it is well known, I tell myself that it is better to put an end to it as quickly as possible.
Look, you know as well as I do that you bought this dress
in a standoff on the way back from Palm Springs. I offer to reimburse you exactly the price it cost, that is to say, unless
mistake on my part, eighty-five dollars. So a hundred dollars is pretty generous, don’t you think?
Stacia grabs the ticket, which she immediately shoves into her pocket with a yellow smile.
Will you offer me a drink? she says, eyeing the bottle.
If, the day before, I had been told that I would get drunk with Stacia Miller
in the school toilets, I wouldn’t have believed it. And yet, this is what I do. I take him to a corner where we bottle
vodka hidden in a bottle of water.
Nothing like shared vices and little secrets to bring people together.
And when Haven goes to the bathroom and she finds us
- dead drunk, pressed together, her eyes literally popping out of her head.
- But what are you making? she exclaims. I burst out laughing until I rolled on the floor.
- Hello, goth girl… Stacia mutters.
- Did I miss something ? Haven asks, raising a suspicious brow. Is this supposed to be funny?
To see her standing there with her authoritarian air,
mocking and reasonable, redoubles our hilarity. And as soon as she slams the door behind her, we start drinking again.
It’s not because I drank with Stacia in the toilet
that I am welcome to the VIP table. Maintaining no
illusion, I head towards our usual table, but my head is so polluted and my brain is so foggy that it takes a long time before I
understand that I am not well received there, too.
I plop down on the bench, wrinkle my noses at Haven and Miles, and burst out laughing for no reason. In their eyes, anyway. But if they could see their faces, I’m sure they’d be laughing too.
Miles looks up from his text.
- What’s wrong with him?
- It’s as round as a marble, Haven explains. I got it
caught in the toilet drinking with… I’ll give it to you… Stacia Miller.
Miles is left like two rounds of flan, his face crumpled,
and, seeing him in this state, I start laughing again. He glances around quickly and pinches my arm lightly.
- Shh! he says. Really, Ever, have you lost your temper or what? Since Damen left, it seems like you…
- Since Damen left, it seems like what?
I move away so abruptly that I almost fall off the bench,
but I catch myself in time to catch Haven’s mocking smile.
- Come on, Miles, go for it. And you too, Haven, spill the beans!
Except that it goes something like “schrakleborso”, and you shouldn’t think that they don’t notice it.
- Oh yes, you want us to “schrakleborso”? Miles replies.
With pleasure, if only we knew what that meant. Do you know that, Haven?
- It sounds like German, she replies.
I try to get up, but I get confused a little and
hit my knee. In pain, I fell back on the bench holding my leg, my eyes filled with tears.
Miles hands me his bottle of vitamin water.
- Here, drink this. And give me your car keys. There’s no way you’re going to take me home.
Miles is right. I’m not taking him home. He takes care of it himself.
Sabine came to pick me up.
She helps me back into the passenger seat, walks around the car to sit down, and waits to start and then leave the parking lot to burst out, jaw clenched.
- Could you explain to me how you managed to get expelled, even though you are at the top of the class?
I close my eyes and press my cheek against the window to cool down.
- Yes, but it’s not definitive. Do you remember ? It was you yourself who pleaded for temporary exclusion. I was impressed, by the way. I understand better now why you make so much money.
The worry that was visible on his face turned into indignation.
I should probably be ashamed, feel guilty… But I didn’t ask him anything. I didn’t beg her to plead the
mitigating circumstances, objecting that if I drank within the school grounds, it was because of the seriousness of my situation, the terrible repercussions of the immense grief which struck me.
And even if she is in good faith and sincerely believes it, that doesn’t mean it’s true.
In fact, I would have preferred that she refrain from intervening and that I be excluded permanently.
From the moment I got caught in front of my
locker, I suddenly came back down to earth, and the events of the day flashed before my eyes, like the trailer for a film that I had no desire to see. With a pause on the
scene where I forget to ask! it’s up to Stacia to delete the image, which replays in a loop. Later, in the office of Mr. Buckley, the principal, I learned that the photo was taken with the phone
Honor’s cell phone and Stacia went home because of a
“food poisoning” very appropriate (not without having
concerted with Honor so that she transmits the photo to whoever
right, along with his “concerns” about me). And
even if I am up to my neck in trouble – know that this misconduct will be recorded in your school record, you
see the type? – I couldn’t help but admire him and applaud the feat.
Because, despite all the trouble she caused me, not only with school but also with Sabine, Stacia kept her
promised to ruin my life, and what’s more, she won a hundred dollars and a free afternoon to boot. Which, I admit, is remarkable!
Provided, of course, that you appreciate twisted and murky Machiavellianism.
Yet, thanks to the combined efforts of Stacia, Honor and
Mr. Buckley, I won’t need to go to class tomorrow. Nor the day after tomorrow. Nor the day after. I will have the house to myself all day long and will have plenty of time and space to continue drinking and build up my alcohol tolerance while Sabine is at work.
Because, now that I have found the path to peace, there is no question of letting anyone put sticks in my way.
the wheels.
- How long has this story been going on?
questions Sabine, who is walking on eggshells. I have to hide
all the bottles, right? That I forbid you from going out? Ever, I’m talking to you
! What happens to you ? Do you want me to make an appointment with someone? I know an excellent therapist who specializes in grief issues…
I feel his worried gaze weighing on me, but I close my
eyes and pretend to sleep. Impossible to explain to him, to tell him my stories of auras, visions, ghosts, and even less of my immortal ex-boyfriend. Sure, she hired a psychic for Halloween, but it was for a laugh, an innocent joke, a joke for casual thrill-seekers. It’s a rational mind, my aunt, a cerebral one, in whom everything is located in the left hemisphere, well organized, well compartmentalized, well based on black and white logic, above all
not gray. So, if I made the mistake of confiding in her and revealing my most intimate secrets to her, she wouldn’t just
make an appointment with a psychologist. She would have me committed without wasting a minute.
As promised, Sabine locks up the alcohol bottles
before returning to his office. As soon as she turns her back, I go downstairs to get the bottles of Halloween vodka, which she has put away in a corner of the cellar and completely forgotten about. I them
goes back to my room, flops down on my bed and relishes the prospect of three weeks without school. Twenty-one days of delight spread out before me, like a big bowl of cream
in front of a big, plump cat. A week of exclusion, tempered thanks to Sabine’s plea, and two weeks for the Christmas holidays, which really come at the right time. I fully intend to take advantage of it, to laze around all day in the vapors of vodka.
I lean back against the pillows and uncork the first bottle,
determined to impose a rhythm on myself, to space out each sip to let the alcohol flow through my veins before taking another one. Prohibition on locking in long bursts. No, it will be a slow and steady flow, until my head gets rid of the dross that clutters it, until I find myself in a world bursting with light, a happier place, without memories, which is no longer
immersed in mourning.
An existence where I will only see what I am supposed to see.
