Forgetting Last Night

“Where were you last night?”

It’s a simple enough question, and yet I find myself caught off guard by it for a moment. Where was I? Losing chunks of time isn’t something I marvel at, although I know I have no one to blame but myself. It’s not as if this is new, I’ve had this encounter with my mom about 100 times. This is 101.  

“Well?” she asks looking like a landmine ready to explode.

I open my mouth to speak and suddenly realize that I am on the floor of my bedroom covered in a sticky substance. I don’t know what it is, but I also don’t really want to know either.

“Would you believe me if I said I didn’t know?” The sentence leaves my mouth followed by a sad, sheepish grin. She wasn’t really buying it however.

“Do you think this is funny?” It’s rhetorical, but I shake my head all the same.

“I called you several times last night after you ran out of the restaurant. Where did you go!” I look at her with a face painted with confusion. It’s genuine.

“When? What restaurant are you even talking about?” Now she’s the one who is confused. With just a dash of utter frustration… Taking a deep breath and pinching the bridge of her nose, she exhales saying, “When I told you we were getting divorced, you ran out. You really don’t remember?”

I say nothing. Because no words seem adequate.

The rest of the conversation went something like, “It’s not your fault,” and “we’ll always love you.” Truthfully, I checked out. Seemed easier than the alternative. When I come to, I am sitting at the bus stop on the corner next to my best friend, Shane.

“Where were you last night?”  

And even though I can’t remember, I simply mutter, “Watching my parents destroy my life.”