Watch Me Disappear

hand on her leg.
    “That’s what friends are for,” he says.
    Missy twists in her seat and smiles weakly at me. “You guys are the best,” she says turning back around, and I think maybe it’s my turn to cry. I’m not the best anything and I know it. I am selfish and tired and sad. And Paul isn’t the best either—he used me to get to Missy and he led me on and broke my heart. I wish my parents hadn’t suddenly decided to be cool. I wish I were on my way home instead of on my way back to the party.
    It’s after one o’clock by the time we get back to Jessica’s, but no one seems to have noticed we left. No one except Maura. I walk in ahead of Missy and Paul, unable to stomach the pep talk he’s giving her, unable to stand the sight of him with his arm around her. I make a bee-line for the fridge and instead of reaching for soda, I grab a beer. There is an empty spot on the couch and I take it.
    A few minutes later, Maura comes over and finds me.
    “Lizzie, I have to talk to you,” she says, tugging my arm. I get up and follow her to a quiet corner. “You came here with Paul, right?” she asks.
    I nod.
    “Well, who the hell did that bitch come with?” she asks.
    So Maura had seen Missy and Paul.
    I am sleepy and already slightly buzzed from the better part of one beer. I am in no mood to protect Missy or Paul. “Paul rescued her from Wes,” I say, gulping down the last of my beer.
    “Well you should hang out with me,” she says. “And we both need another drink.”
    I follow Maura to the bar. She pours us each a shot of something or other. I don’t even ask what it is, and I damn near throw up when it hits my gut. Maura has a good laugh over the look on my face, gets us each a beer, and leads me back to her shady new guy friends, who are playing cards. They’re playing “Asshole,” and when Maura and I sit down, we are immediately dealt in. I don’t know any of the rules, and I am quickly becoming too drunk to comprehend them anyway, which means round after round, I am designated the “asshole,” and the “asshole” has to drink a lot. I don’t know how much I’ve had, but all of a sudden I’ve had one gulp too many. I can feel myself turn green, and then I am up, stumbling out the side door of the garage again and puking on the lawn.
    When my stomach is empty, I lean back against the wall of the house and sink down onto the walk. I like the cool feeling of the wall against my head, so I just stay there. I don’t even realize I am crying. I wonder if anyone will miss me or if I will die of hypothermia outside Jessica’s garage before anyone finds me. I don’t feel cold, but I know it is cold out. After a while the door opens and a head sticks out. Maura, looking for me. For the first time in my life, I am truly happy to see her. She spots me and comes out to sit down beside me.
    “What are you doing out here?” she says, her words slurring.
    “Sick,” is all I can manage to say.
    “Feel better now?” she asks. “You should eat something.”
    I shake my head.
    “Are you gonna come back inside?”
    “I want to go to sleep,” I say, feeling as if I might burst into tears again.
    “Sleep when you’re dead!” Maura says, wobbling to her feet. She reaches a hand down to pull me up. “More rum!”
    “No more rum,” I say.
    “You’re funny. Sweet little Lizzie.” She throws an arm around my shoulder and steers me back inside. She plunks me down in the chair next to hers at the card table. “No more asshole for Lizzie,” she says.
    “Strip poker?” one of the guys asks.
    “I need to go find Paul,” I say, standing up.
    “No!” Maura says, pouting. “Stay with us.”
    I sit back down. Suddenly I am too tired to move anyway. I slump sideways and lean my head on Maura’s shoulder. “That’s better,” she says.
     
    *          *          *
     
    When I wake up the next morning, I am curled up on the floor shivering with just a little afghan on top of me. When I open my eyes, I am looking through the framework of a pull-out bed. Apparently some people were lucky enough not to sleep on the cold hard floor. When I turn my head I think my brain is going to split open, and as much as I want a drink of water, I don’t even dare try to get up. There is light coming in the basement windows high above my head, but I can tell it’s still early. I want other people to start waking up, although I doubt anyone will any time soon.
    I drift in and out of