The Seafood Series

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The theme was disco and it was my party. It was the only year I ever lived alone, because of crumbs on the floor that had summoned the mice within two weeks. Silver streamers and red lamps made up for stained carpet. I was wearing my ‘I’ve got a Wild Cherry’ t-shirt with the glossy Lolita mouth biting into a maraschino cherry.

I love disco. So much that 15 or 17 or 20 shots of vodka was just celebratory. Someone tried to put on Blue Monday and I stopped her. Somewhere between Got to Give it Up and Ring my Bell the night goes black.

I wake up foggy, wondering where I am but I’m in my bed. I am naked and I am not alone. Against the dark blue sheets, he is white like a ghost. I am still in love with someone and it’s not him. “We only kissed, I know it,” I tell myself. He’s a good guy. He and I had sort of gone on a few dates months before. We had kissed before and that was all. I remember it being too soft like wet pillows. I had ended it. He is asleep, but I would really like for him to leave and I decide to take a shower. The water is perfect and peels a layer of grease from my eyes. Something in my stomach feels sickening and strange, like my stomach has a memory but my head doesn’t and I can’t quite put my finger on it.

I forget to bring in fresh clothes, so I come out in a towel and now he’s sitting on my couch and he’s smiling. I sit down with him, even though the couch is dirty and I don’t really want to sit there. I tell him I don’t remember anything. I ask, “We only kissed, right?” He is offended. “No.”

“We did everything.”

Everything? I feel sick and I wonder, what is everything? He says, “You were closing your eyes, but I thought you were just really into it.”

15 or 17 or 20 shots to black but I hurt his feelings.

“I was probably sleeping.”

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Words & Imagery: Tashi Fay

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