“Can we get some food?”
I’d been at the Werewolf’s house for two days. It was mid-afternoon, my least favorite time of day, and the drugs were gone.
The house had seen better days. The Werewolf lived in an old house painted hunter green with a substantial front porch. We never spent much time outside when I was there, preferring instead to hide from daylight inside. I always hated watching the first rays of dawn come in through the blinds in his bedroom. Watching the early light creeping in through the cracks in the blinds always put an awful damper on our bender efforts.
Inside, the house was unassuming but functional. There was no glamour to the place. The wood floors were scuffed in some places but were a considerable upgrade from the ugly dark green carpet that used to rest atop them. The walls were mostly bare, although there was a large map of the United State somewhere in the house. The Werewolf never was much of a decorator. There used to be two deep green vinyl couches in the living room, adding to the overall greenness of the place. Those couches were replaced by a thoroughly comfortable neutral colored couch. It was impossible to get comfortable on the old ones. No matter how carefully you sprawled yourself on them your skin always stuck to that vinyl.
The dining room was empty except for a basic wooden table, compliments of Walmart. There was bench along one side of the table while chairs lined the other three sides, all equally uncomfortable. At the beginning of a bender, the table was close to immaculate and bare. By the end of the episode, it would be littered with ugly drawings, take out containers, dirty dishes and sticky cups.
The kitchen was never a good place to find yourself. Cramped, cheap, and empty of a dishwasher, it was not a place I liked to be. There was usually a mountain of dirty dishes in the sink, sometimes accompanied by a small army of fruit flies. The peeling plastic linoleum had seen more sanitary days and the cupboards were generally empty of any kind of sustenance. The fridge, however, was usually stocked with Gatorade, champagne, and leftovers with some kind of whiskey stored in the freezer.
We’d been up for a few days and I hadn’t really eaten since we started partying. The drugs were gone, the sun was out, and it was a weekday. I needed food and I needed to go home.
“I’m not getting any fucking food,” the Werewolf announced.
I was tired, cranky, and coming down. I snapped and left. And that was the last time I saw him. I doubt I’ll see him again. Our lives are moving in opposite directions in different parts of the country. Without the drugs, we never had much to talk about. When I was using I had no interest in sober people. Now that I’m sober, I doubt that he’d have any interest in me.
When I got home I looked in the mirror. I was green.