Eighteen
Drinking Again
In my dream, I’m still walking. Walking and walking away along a hospital corridor without end.
But then I’m jolted awake by low-pitched voices shouting in Arabic, and much higher voices screaming back in harried Spanish.
That’s all the warning I get before the door crashes open and a bunch of dudes in black jumpsuits flood into the room. The bed I’m lying in suddenly comes alive with the squirm of soft bodies jumping out of bed. Even more high-pitched Spanish screaming comes next.
It’s a lot to process, first thing in the…whatever time it was.
Daylight’s shining through the small room’s dingy windows, but it’s so loud and bright, I get the feeling morning time might have already gone and passed.
My head’s pounding on top of a bone-dry throat, and it feels li
