Free Black Box 86ed by Andrew Kjelland Page A

sigh in my head, trying to think around it, but it crescendos into a roarish scream. Your arm! Just put your arm around her! Brilliant, subtle enough and something you can work your way up from. Casually stretching as what has been made apparent in my favorite movies as the best way to perform such a maneuver. I pull my arm around her, turning to look deeply into her eyes; I’m met with close ones and soft snores. God she passed out! What the hell she was here just a second ago. Her head tilted back and mouth slightly open as gasps of air flow in and out.
    God I’m such a… such a smuck I guess. Removing my arm, feeling like I’m the biggest piece of crap in the world for trying to get with the girl who called me because she might die from being so drunk. Like some crappy documentary “Rapist the beginning years” I think.
    Standing from the couch Grace limply slides down in between the cushions. Well I can definitely say that out of all the directions I could have planned for this never made the list.
    Graces breathe stutters for a second choking on god knows. Crap, what do I do? She did kinda have a reason to ask you over Will. Ya but, how would it look if she wakes up in the morning and she’s just like, what the hell are you doing here Will? Or I could leave and she dies trying to reenjoy her dinner?
    Deciding to do a little of both I lug Grace from out of the couch. She stirs a little but doesn’t come to. Rolling her onto her side shoving pillows under her until she seems stable enough to not roll over and choke on her own puke. I begin to make my graceful exit out the door. As soon as my foot hits the top step I hear her move. Turning around to what looks like her choking. O Jesus or fuck! I think as I run to the kitchen grabbing a dinner plate (dumb I know but the first thing I saw) I run back to her at the beginning stages of an all puke marathon. She shakes and convulses, as I hold the dinner plate under her chin, it quickly filling with the nastiness catching and running down my forearms. I pull out my phone to dial 911, when she suddenly stops. Laying there like nothing happened, gently snoring once more. Quickly turning around and running to the kitchen I dump the plate rinsing it of what has to be a terrible mixture of tequila, wine, and umm it looks like pizza. I hold down my own vomit as the smell hits me.
       Sanitize! Sanitize! My brain screams at me as I drop the plate and focus on my forearms, taking everything in reach with a 99.99 percent labeled on it, I mix them in my hand reenacting every doctor show where they scrub up before surgery.
    After sterilizing myself to my satisfaction I grab an entire roll of paper towels heading back to G race, still unmoved. Huh, the plate was a dumb idea but I was able to catch most of it. I dab at the few spots I had missed until you can’t even tell what sort of massacre had just taken place.
    Sitting against the couch I put my head down next to Graces. I figure when I fall asleep and she deicide to choke again it’ll probably wake me up.
    My eyes start to close, the glow of the television slowly swimming in and out of my eyes. I love this part of falling asleep. The half dreaming half reality, caught between worlds where everything is just a little bit softer, a little bit gentler.
     
    CHAPTER...
     
    My eyes slowly open. There's a light above me. It's hard to see, my eyes still fuzzy from sleeping. It's raining, not hard just lightly sprinkling. My vision begins to clear as the light slowly forms into a streetlight. It’s hard to tell with the complete blanket of clouds but it looks to be early morning. What? Did… did I sleep walk? I roll over, the couch has been replaced with a black top street with me smack dab in the middle of the right lane. What in the hell? Struggling to get to my feet feeling as if they are in quick sand. Slowly standing up, I look around. I know this street; I'm two blocks from my old church. Wait a second, I turn. I