Chapter 1

Sure I said I was instantly sober. Life and alcohol don’t work like that.

Google and Wikipedia say:

Alcohol intoxication is the result of alcohol entering the bloodstream faster than it can be metabolized by the liver, which breaks down the ethanol into non-intoxicating byproducts. Some effects of alcohol intoxication (such as euphoria and lowered social inhibitions) are central to alcohol’s desirability as a beverage and its history as one of the world’s most widespread recreational drugs. Despite this widespread use and alcohol’s legality in most countries, many medical sources tend to describe any level of alcohol intoxication as a form of poisoning due to ethanol’s damaging effects on the body in large doses; some religions consider alcohol intoxication to be a sin.

Regardless, the liver needs time to process the alcohol and falling off a cliff doesn’t speed up the process. I was still pretty drunk when I passed through a suspended and invisible portal. Not that I knew it. I whacked my head and didn’t know anything.

Howsoever, I was sure I was dead. By the company attending me, I knew I was in biblical heaven ... surely Hell’s Angels didn’t wear white, and I was also sure they wouldn’t look so innocent or inexperienced. I was pretty sure any way.

“Who are you and how did you get here?” my particular angel asked. She seemed perturbed.

Ah ... wrong place, I thought. “Don’t you keep a list?” I said.

“A list of what?” she replied.

“Daily arrivals,” I said.

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen,” I confessed.

“Shit!” she exclaimed.

“And fall back in it,” I said.

“Right.” She gave me the MOM look. “You, sir, are out of your time.”

Just about then ... and right on time, I might add ... I added multiple colors ... mostly bile green ... but including partly digested pepperoni red, bell pepper yellow and purple onion ... to liven up her spotless white floor.

“EEW! Get out! Get out!”

“If I knew where I am and how to get out,” I moaned and spewed again, “I’d leave!”

At least that’s what my mind thought I’d said. I’m sure that what she heard was not what I meant. Just like a woman ... if there is the slightest possibility to interpret what a man says, she’ll choose the most derogatory.

And then I face planted the mess ... I think. I remember wet and smelly.

“Wow ... you’re messed up,” somebody said.

“Thank you,” I mumbled. “If I promised to never do it again, can I go home?”

I have lost count of the times I have promised to never do whatever again. I shall be doomed to pay no attention to history ... although I was pretty sure tomorrow was going to be a bitch ... it usually is. Fortunately, fifteen isn’t old enough to remember.

Never again is always a New Years Resolution ... annually repeated, seldom remembered and broken on the sound of a Falstaf’s opening. In This particular situation, Never again is a regularly repeated promise I make every time I get close to alcohol ... and like all my resolutions made in times of severe mental impairment ... it lasts until the next time.

Hands ... I think they were hands ... slid me out of the wetness and rolled me onto my back. A secondary voice demanded leaving me face down ... explaining I could drown in my own vomit. A third voice suggested putting me in The Chamber. Strenuous actions made on the part of others succeeded in moving me. I giggled ... that was my sole help.

There came a familiar time of void and blackness.

Now ... how do I get out of this box? Every time I rolled onto my back ... the box flipped me over. The motion ... oh god.

An electronically mechanical voice said, “That’s going to mess up my chemicals ... why do I always get the drunks.” Although a case could be made for an interrogative ... it was a statement devoid of the necessary rising inflection. Not a question.

A very different voice suggested, “Just lucky I guess.” It sounded a lot like me.