Tequila

For a brief moment he remembered the sun the color of orange as it fell outside the window.  He remembered thinking "this feels like Mexico", and he remember turning towards her in bed, her hair cascading across the pillow as she lay naked...somewhere music was playing low but rhythmic...and then he remembered glancing at the empty shot glasses on the bedside table and they were sideways, leaning...

until he realized it was him, leaning slightly, falling back upon the pillow and he squinted briefly before passing out, the sun the color of a pumpkin still collapsing outside.  It was 6:59 at night.



He woke up with a bit of jerk, the room completely pitch black.  His head felt like he had a concussion and it felt like he had a cactus in his throat.  He heard her breathing in her sleep, an almost-rustle due to the depth of her comfort and she had moved slightly but he still saw her hair on the pillow, covering her face that he could barely discern in the dark.  He pulled up the covers that had been pushed to the edge and covered the both of them...she didn't move.  His head split into pieces of glass that kept grinding against each other as he moved the blankets and he hurriedly laid down, the shards settling into an annoying clatter that he gritted his teeth to and forced his eyes shut to sleep.  It was 2:13 in the morning.


It was 11:12 in the morning...

He didn't open his eyes but rather fluttered them to briefly see if his brain would allow light.  He actually felt better...thirsty.  But the concussion was gone, so was the cactus.  She had turned in the night, away from him and her back was to him.  He could see the knobs of her spine as it approached her neck, fine hairs along it...the light in the room allowing such details to be revealed.  He dared raise his head and there was still a bit of stir, like water sloshing in a bucket so he slowed his getting up...but there was no headache anymore...just this weight.  Like he was wearing heavy clothes.  Slow to move...he was the shot glasses again, they were perfectly straight and vertical.  One still had salt on the rim and he unconsciously licked his lips, surprised he didn't find a stray grain.  He tried to stand and had a wobbly start, but amazingly his head felt okay.

It was almost noon when the door knocked...room service with a Bloody Mary and a Mimosa.  Two of them apiece.

He thanked the hotel attendant and brought them back into the room...he had pulled the curtain closer together so the light was more peaceful.    He sipped at the Bloody while holding the tray of drinks...the alcohol scrubbing bits of last night's adventure away with fresh new energy...and he felt instantly better when he drank half of it.  He set the tray down quietly, crept into his side of the bed and slid over.  She stirred...then groaned.

Slightly turning to him she opened one eye, blinking..."did you happen to order any breakfast?"

He nodded..."Mimosas and bacon"

She allowed her head to fall back to the pillow, her eyes closing..."Thank God."