Tiny molecules of Indica smoke, Jeremy’s friend Ethan’s highly-rated “Blue Betha,” clung to the soft plastic of my contacts. Blues and reds and oranges of the street lights and the moonlight and stop signs blurred at the edge of my vision. Two in the morning and I stood underneath a basketball hoop with a ragtag group of party stragglers in the driveway wearing Jeremy’s black boxers and Jeremy’s red sweatshirt. Blinded by Betha, I missed free-throw after free-throw.
“Didn’t you play basketball?” Jeremy said, bringing my ball back to me after I watched it roll like a tumbleweed into his neighbor’s yard. I grabbed from him, lightly grazing my fingers over his in the exchange. His were bony and cold.
“I was a middle,” I said, arching my arms out, framing my next throw.
“A middle?” He adjusted my pinky position on top of the ball.
“A middle.” The ball nearly rolled out of my hand. It tumbled down my forearm, so I followed it like we were doing an elaborate dance. A cockroach scurried across the driveway, right past my foot. Moonlight reflected off its shiny brown back. Falling into myself to avoid getting close to it, I rolled the ball back up my arm, took the shot, and missed.
“You’re so high.” He said.
“I’m going to take my contacts out.” I tried not to slur.
The booms of mid-2000s pop rock floated around me. A faint moaning, and retching, played against the bass. Red and blue puddles covered the dining room table like a sticky patriotic tablecloth–or a feast for flies. The only bug I saw was the cockroach. One followed me inside from the driveway, nearly crushing itself under my feet, rushing for safety under a kitchen cabinet or maybe a bathroom tile or underneath a bed.
Shutting the bathroom door couldn’t shoo out the bass, or even the sounds of retching, only the cockroach. The retching was my best friend Amy. I focused on myself in the mirror trying to drown out her moaning. Vodka, wine, and whiskey all coalesced inside her on top of Jeremy’s twin bed while he played basketball.
My own face was sallow, its color absorbed by Jeremy’s red sweatshirt. My reflection gently vibrated back at me, shaking along to music. I looked like a pulsating heart with sunken eyes and a messy bun. My contacts gripped my pupils until I pulled them from my face. A quick flick of my finger and they cocooned between white soggy tampons and empty red cups in the garbage.
I reached for the door, ready to join Amy in her wretched slumber. But I wasn’t wearing shoes and I didn’t grab Jeremy’s blue sneakers when he gave me his boxers and sweatshirt. My hand fell an inch from the bathroom door knob. What if the cockroach ate my feet? Can cockroaches do that?
I imagined the cockroach pattering its little feet toward me at the sound of the click of the bathroom door opening. I imagined it had already chose me as its victim. The melted Jell-o shots and crumbs on the floor weren’t enough for it. It needed blood, or whatever fetish cockroaches went for. Feet, maybe. My eyes clenched shut and I pushed the door open, ready to scurry into bed with Amy.
“Fuck!” Jeremy said. The wooden door, and ill-placed knob, smashed into him coming down the hall.
“Oh my god. I’m sorry.” I said, pushing the door back into place and cringing at the fuzzy sight of Jeremy cupping his balls.
“It’s cool,” he said through gritted teeth. “You good? Good party, right? ”
“Yeah.” I steadied myself on the wall, lifting my feet up and down hurriedly, thinking about where the roach could be
“I was just about to head to bed. Gonna curl up with Amy.” I added.
He grabbed my arm before I could take a step.
“I didn’t upset you, right? You’re so high. You were a center when you played basketball. You couldn’t remember the word earlier.” He said. Bony fingers tightened around my bicep.
If I stayed in the hallway any longer, the cockroach would get me. Eat me alive. I dashed toward the bedroom.
“Did you hit it off with that guy from my work?” He whispered closely, following me, as if Amy would have woken up if he hadn’t dropped his voice.
“No. Should I have?” I spooned Amy and Jeremy joined behind me, ladling both of us.
“Would you—”
“Maybe. If he talked to me,” I said, cutting him off. I didn’t want to fuck his friend.
Amy’s moans were louder now. Amy’s chest heaved up and down. Mine heaved up, down, and around and back again. Jeremy’s chest heaved like Amy’s, even as he held me and not her. I never seemed to get the rhythm right.
Jeremy had the same twin-sized bed since elementary school. His parents wouldn’t get him a new one unless he paid for it. He worked two jobs and only bought himself vintage 90s rap vinyls and baseball caps.
“Jeremy, you need a new bed,” I said. “I’m gonna go sleep in your parents'.”
My voice came out in an unusual slur: part sleep deprivation, part Jello-shots, part Indica.
My body shifted out awkwardly from the middle of the drunken sandwich. My knee rested on Jeremy’s thigh. Straddling him horizontally, I peered out from the sheets, examining the floor and hallway beyond the bed. No cockroaches. But I felt it still. The next room was only a few feet away. The roach couldn’t prey that quick. Unless it was waiting for me.
“I’ll join you,” Jeremy said, grabbing my waist and helping me off the bed.
Jeremy’s hand clutched my hip as we crossed the hallway to his parents’ room.
He turned for a moment, back to Amy. My head was pounding and the only thing that could cure it was Jeremy’s mom’s Tempur-Pedic. Behind me, Jeremy half-assedly tried to get Amy to join us on the bigger, squishier bed. She moaned her responses, unable to speak, let alone move any part of her body.
I enveloped myself in the softness of the sheets around me, the comforter tucked over my shoulders.
Then, the door clicked. The bass retreated. The door was open long enough for the cockroach to get in.
“I’ll check on her again later,” Jeremy said. He climbed in beside me. He didn’t sound defeated. My best friend’s boyfriend, my other best friend by some association, got closer, cradling me like I did Amy. One arm draped over my side. I grabbed his hand in mine and pulled it to my face. I heaved and he heaved a pace later. We both took a pass on Amy for the night. Normally, we’d both be cuddling her. In Jeremy’s parents bed, we opted for each other’s company and cut out the middle man.
His arm was wrapped around me. Tight. And there was definitely a cockroach or an army of cockroaches in the room, waiting for me to get off the bed to prey on me. So I couldn’t get down. I flipped around to face Jeremy, so the hood of my sweatshirt–of his sweatshirt–wouldn’t get in his face.
Nose-to-nose, our breathing followed each other in awkward waves.
There was only darkness and the faintness of house music and boys being boys. Basketballs bounced out the window and Jeremy’s hand slid underneath his red sweatshirt. Then it squeezed his black boxers. He felt the fabric of his own clothes and my warm skin underneath them. I felt Jeremy’s wet tongue and eager lips, like feelers, creeping into my face and so many legs intertwined with mine.
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