Mel's Story Incerpt (First few chapters)

The city pushes its way reprehensibly through the billowing night fog. It's just me and a homeless man who smells like piss and a bit of cigarettes, but the cigarette smell might be me. When I'm too drunk in the middle of the night I always end up on this same bus, with the same disheveled-looking old lady driver. Either that or there's fifty bus drivers in this city who all look nearly the same. She always smacks her gums at me disapprovingly as I stumble onto the bus, trying to convince some Neanderthal that I'll definitely give him a call in the morning, absolutely.
Everything about this city is trivial, it's almost nauseating. Old stores, old gas stations, old shut-down gas stations, mom-and-pop diners; like swallow's nest, it's a mixture of feathers from dead animals, mud, and sticks and spit.
This city has no heartbeat.

Mel's Story (openin' words)

Every story has a beginning, a middle, and an end. I refuse to tell my story in exactly that order, but I guess this one only makes sense if I start at least somewhere near the beginning.
It starts with a puddle of my own vomit. I'm 15 and I'm pig-headed and determined to become a psychologist and believe that the answer to every question I've ever asked or will ever ask in the future lies at the bottom of this bottle of Jose Cuervo I've stolen from my mother's cabinet.
Except that's a lie because my mother doesn't drink.
There's a cute boy in a flannel jacket and all I'm worried about is making an ass out of myself in front of him, so I'm trying to play it cool and say something off-handedly funny, but I'm too inebriated to completely form a syntactically correct sentence. The shirt I'd worn has come partially unbuttoned, my stomach is burning so my mouth has turned white, and he has this look of disgust-slash-amusement across his face and oh God, do I really have to tell this part of the story? Let's just skip it.


"C'mon, Mel, you used to love to throw down!"
He hands me a luke-warm beer and a smile.
I don't know his name, and after searching my memory I realize that I never did. He was a thick build, a rough dresser; but his face was kind. Inviting.
Well whoever he is, he doesn't know me too well either; I hate beer.
I hand the beer back to Thick and give him a quick kiss on the cheek as I walk through the entrance and into a sea of partially wasted twenty-ish year-olds.
Grabbing something cold, clear, and bottled from an oversized ice bucket I head towards the music.
I start small talking a girl from my psych class - Kim, or Katie or something like that. Honestly, I was just glad to see a familiar face, because so far I'd only recognized a few one night stands and a cat-fighting frienemy or two.
I wasn't feeling comfortable enough yet, so I headed back for a second bottle. As I struggled with the cap for a moment I felt a gentle hand on the small of my back and a husky but sober voice at my ear.
"What's your name, babe?" He half-yelled into my eardrum (the music level had been steadily increasing).
"Stacy," I lied to him,"you?"
"Evan. I think we had a health class together, yeah?"
Wrong. Evan looked a lot like that one guy off of Greek - the one that started off really geeky who was that one girl's brother? Evan smiled confidently and used a little too much eye contact. There was an innocence to him though, possibly fake, but it was a little difficult to judge character in such a crowded apartment.
"Right, I remember! You sat near the front." I smiled a reassuring smile that had him confused.
Apparently he's a back-row sorta guy.
I held out my drink for him to get me another; I figured that way he'd have a little extra time to plan out his next move.
My stomach was feeling a little cramped & upset, but I knew if I just drank a little faster it'd eventually wash away. Alcohol never did settle with me well.
"So what's your major?" Evan asked as he fought his way back through the crowd with a red plastic cup in his hand.
Original question, Ev. "Biochemical Engineering." I lied again.
"Ouchhhh. I'm pre-law myself, so one day I'll be able to arrest you for being so damn beautiful."
I rolled my eyes and shook my head out of embarrassment for him. He knew it was cheesy from the giant grin he was sporting, but he'd gone for the kill anyways.
"Let's go dance, Evan." I grabbed him by the hand and gulped down the last of whatever he'd put together. I'd promised myself that I wouldn't drink drinks that someone else made after a friend of mine got roofied, but Ev didn't seem like the kind of guy who even knew where to get roofs, let alone slip me one.
I danced so close to Evan that I could tell he wasn't comfortable. He'd given me a funny look after I'd swallowed down that last drink so quickly. I pressed my hips to his and he smiled a surprised but knowing smile.
"Let's find someplace quieter...to talk." I yelled in his ear halfheartedly. I've played this through so many times that I pretty much had it scripted. I grabbed a few jello shots from a passing tray as I led Evan away.

There's so much poetry in the persistent way the ocean always returns to the shore. Each day it kisses its sugary cheek just to be turned away, yet continues back for more.
There's a taste of God in the endless salty barrage of walls of waves from the sea.
There's a self-righteous glow about the sun as she triumphs ablaze pretentiously.