One Gay at a Time

When I woke up in the morning, I had little recollection of the night before, even leaving the bar. I could only remember a flash of about ten seconds of sex, and I actually remembered enjoying it. It was a scary feeling.

As the morning progressed, I didn’t let on that I blacked out the night before. I was hoping Smiles would divulge enough details for me to start piecing things together. I had so much to drink, I was still drunk when I woke that morning.

He hopped out of bed and went into the bathroom. I took the opportunity to lean off the bed to retrieve my boxers and put them on.

I went to the bathroom and cleaned myself up as best I could. I tried to fix my hair, but it was no use. I made a comment to Smiles about this, and he noted it was because I showered the night before. I showered the night before? I did not remember that AT ALL!

I wanted nothing more than to brush my teeth. Of course, Smiles didn’t have an extra toothbrush. I squirted toothpaste on my finger and brushed my teeth Survivor style. This was turning out to be a pretty sh*tty morning. I asked Smiles if I could borrow a t-shirt instead of my button-down from the night before.

Smiles detailed what he wanted to do with his day. He had a lot of boxes in his apartment he wanted to get into storage. He was able to procure a storage unit across the street from his apartment. It was necessary to transport his belongings from a storage unit in Harlem. I volunteered to help him since I had no plans for the day and was looking forward to spending more time with him. I had no idea how big a mistake that would be.

We began our journey at Starbucks. He ordered his favorite “salty pretzel drink,” and I ordered a coffee, a brownie, and pound cake. I was starving. We quickly snagged a cab to stay on schedule and sped up the FDR Drive. The cab wasn’t able to drive all the way to the storage facility because the New York City Marathon route was between us and the facility. We arrived at the storage unit just before his appointment only to find that the storage shuttle he booked was unable to make it to the facility. The trek uptown was for not.

We walked to the nearest subway stop downtown, and hopped aboard. At this point, my hangover was kicking in hardcore. I was feeling very sick. With every subway stop, I climbed deeper and deeper into the misery hole. Smiles was trying to talk to me, and I was giving him “um hm’s.” When we were about three stops from getting off, I started to feel extremely nauseous. I was not going to vomit in front of Smiles and in front of everyone else on the subway. I was going to make it, even if I had to run to a trash can on the street. I used all my being to keep it down and not give it up. Smiles could see I was not doing well, and suggested we hit up a bodega for a bottle of water. The minute I entered the fresh air, I felt infinitely better, but I still wasn’t 100%. I downed a bottle of water and soldiered on.

We walked around a bit and did some window shopping before stopping to grab lunch at Lucky Strike. I ordered a sandwich, but I wasn’t able to eat it. Smiles was very sweet all day long trying to take care of me. He gave many suggestions for ailments, but many of them involved liquor. No matter how small the amount, the mere thought was triggering my gag reflex. I asked the bartender to box up my lunch so I could eat it later in the day when I was feeling better. He provided me with some relief by offering peppermint essential oil to rub on my temples and under my nose. Surprisingly, it worked quite well.

We walked back to Smiles’ apartment so I could gather my things to head home. It was clear I was no longer a human being. I was a mere shell of a man. I kissed Smiles goodbye and walked north to the Christopher Street PATH station.

I went home and curled up on the couch and watched TV while I contemplated my recent life choices. After about an hour I was able to eat my croque-monsieur, and it was delicious. Hopefully my day would end better than it started.