My First Million (Part Three)

You can read part one here and part two here!


“Hey there.”
Startled, I lost my footing on the uneven ground and crashed backwards to the ground, frantically trying to aim my piss away from myself. I heard female laughter coming from a few feet away and looked to see a random girl peeing next to a bush. I quickly averted my eyes in the other direction, and she laughed some more. “Holy shit, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know you were there,” I exclaimed quickly, trying my best to avoid looking like some sort of sexual deviant.


“Are you OK over there?”
“Uh, yeah, I’m fine. I think I kinda pissed on my shoes, but I’m unharmed if that’s what you’re asking,” I replied as I tried to push myself up off the ground without getting more urine on myself. I eventually made it back on my feet and faced my back to nature girl.
“You can turn around now, I’m done.”
I turned around as she was pulling up her jeans. She was wearing a pink thong, which I could see clearly as she buttoned her fly up. The cigarette in her mouth lit up her face as she took a drag from it. Her lips pursed tightly around the white cylinder as her cheeks pulled in, and she didn’t break her stare for even a second. She had brown hair that was even shorter than mine, and big doe eyes. She exhaled as she extended her hand to me. “Hi, I’m Jo.”
“Marcus,” I said, as I shook it.
“Nice to meet you, Marcus. Hey, does this look like poison ivy to you,” she asked, motioning to the plants she had just relieved herself in.
“Uh…”
“I’m just kidding. It’s probably not. I have been drinking though, so I guess it’s possible that my powers of observation are suffering. I didn’t mean to scare you there, I just thought I’d let you know that you weren’t alone. That bathroom line is a bitch, isn’t it?”
“Yeah, it is.” I was staring.
“Interesting. So, uh, are you just going to stand here for the rest of the night, or were you planning on going back inside, because it’s kind of December, and it’s kind of not warm,” she said as she started leaning back towards the house. She was completely captivating; an ingénue, mysterious, and wholly striking. Entranced, I followed her into the house, where we took a lean against a kitchen counter. “So what’s your deal?”
“What do you mean by that,” I asked.
“Anything, really. What brings you here? Do you go to school here? If so, what’s your year and major? If not, what do you do for a living? Prospects, stock options, income, the like. Did you come with anyone, or are you here by yourself?”
“Are you asking if I’m single,” I asked, trying to be as charming as I could while swilling whiskey from the bottle.
She laughed sincerely, “You wish, buddy.”
Defeating. “Alright, fine. I’m here with a friend, I graduated from UGA two years ago, I live in an apartment a few blocks from the 40 Watt, I work for UPS doing manual labor, and I have absolutely no grasp on finance, nor do I have stocks, bonds, or any sort of investments, and I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing with my life. Anything else?”
She crinkled her face at me a little bit, staring me down. I laughed as I broke the stare first. “Oh, come on, you’re no good at this game! You gotta at least try. Come on, round two, and…go!”
We locked eyes again. Her eyes were blue. Hazy blue; not too deep, not too bright. Larger than average irises, long eyelashes. Gorgeous. Hypnotizing. During the staredown, I could feel her searching for what was behind the red strains obscuring the whites of my eyes, feeling out my intentions, trying to imagine the flesh color under the circles surrounding my eyes. She began moving her head closer to mine and bit down on her bottom lip. I closed my eyes and moved in for the kiss.
“You suck at this game,” she said, moving her head back away from mine.
I hung my head, defeated once more, and took another swig of the Blue Label. I was sufficiently not sober. I could stand to be more sufficient, though.
“So, who are you here with,” she asked.
“I’m here with Kevin. Red hair, trying to score the holy trinity with Katie and Cathy over there by the beer pong table. Hold on, what’s your deal? Answer me all those questions you asked me before.”
“Hah, and I was beginning to think you weren’t interested. Well, I am a junior at UGA, fine arts major, I live on campus, and I’m here with my roommate, who is upstairs fucking some guy in the bathroom. Your nose is bleeding, by the way.”
“Fuck, I’ll be right back,” I said, working my way over to the bathroom, where I was able to bypass the line by brandishing my bloody hands at the people in line. Inside the lavatory, I used toilet paper to soak up the blood, and cursed myself for being so ill-fortuned. Once the bleeding stopped, I washed my face off in the sink, and examined the damage in the mirror. My eyes were blood-red the whole way around, and my cheeks had sunken. Under my hat, my hair was greasy, and there was a small but noticeable blood stain on my t-shirt. I was a wreck. Everything was fried and out of focus, so I tried to compose myself as I left the bathroom. I walked back to the kitchen, where I had left Jo. When I returned, she had moved from standing at the counter to sitting on the floor.
“Your whiskey disappeared,” she said with a bit of a slur.
“Disappeared where, pray tell?”
“Very possibly, it went into my stomach.”
“Good work.”
“Why, thank you,” Jo said, smiling, as I sat down next to her. “Tell me, Marcus Aurelius, would you like to leave?”
“To be perfectly honest, I’ve been wanting to leave since I got here.”
“I feel as though you may not understand. Would you like to leave here now, and take me with you,” she asked, sitting up and leaning toward me.
“Yes. Yes I would.”
“Excellent, let’s go.”
“Hold on, shouldn’t you tell your roommate?”
“She’ll be fine. Come on,” she insisted as she took me by the hand and led me through the kitchen into the foyer. As we passed the dining room, I yelled at Kevin that I was leaving, and he shouted back that he’d be getting a “ride” from the K(C)atherines. Jo swung open the door, and I shouted “Thanks for the hospitality, Duke,” and as we hurried out the exit, I heard the faint echo of someone yelling, “Townie asshole!”
We made it back to my apartment building after a hilarious parking debacle, and didn’t even make it through the door before we were both halfway undressed. It was nice, being that close to someone again. Sparing the details, she was perfect in bed. She was new, different, exciting. I completely forgot that I hadn’t blown a line of coke in hours, and I came down with ease and without completely crashing. After it was over, we lied in my bed, and she asked me if this is where I saw myself two years ago.
“Realistically? Yes, mostly. Idealistically? No, hardly.”
“So, what are you going to do about it?”
“Excuse me?”
“Well, you can either keep chucking boxes at UPS, finishing your night shift with an 8-ball, and sleeping until nighttime just to do it all over again, or you can leave this comfort zone you’re in, and do something with your life. It’s the million dollar question.”
“Well, I guess I don’t really know. It’s not easy to leave it.”
“Leave what? Living alone? The unfulfilling job? The coke binges? The borderline alcoholism?”
“Now hold on. What makes you think I’m unfulfilled in my job, or that I’m a coke head, or that I’m bordering on alcoholism?”
She laughed and pulled her naked body closer to mine. “Well, the empty wine bottles in the trash can next to your bed, and the way you didn’t think twice about driving scream ‘drinking problem.’ There’s a slate of mirror and a razorblade in the drawer in your nightstand where you keep your condoms, which is totally unsafe, by the way. You reach in there in a moment of passion one night and you’re going to end up with an accidental suicide.”
“You know, you’re really much chattier than my other one night stands.”
“Aw, would you look at yourself and your sense of humor? You’re cute when you’re avoiding questions. Besides, the number of condoms in your drawer and the expiration dates on them imply that they’ve been sitting idly for a good while now.”
“You’re the one who’s avoiding questions. How would you know that I’m unfulfilled at my job?”
“Because you just said you were. Plus, come on, a film major doing manual labor? Clearly, your interests are not being fulfilled. And working the graveyard shift? When was the last time you even saw a movie that wasn’t on cable?”
Checkmate.
“I am…speechless. I’ve got nothing,” I admitted.
“See, that’s what I’m talking about. You’ve only got nothing because you’re not aspiring to anything. So, once more, the million dollar question: What are you going to do about it?”
It was almost like she was daring me. Her big blue eyes stared up and met mine. “Well, what should I do about it?”
“You should stop asking me, and make the decision for yourself. If you want to stay in this rut, in your clean apartment, at your dead-end job, then by all means, go right on ahead, but if you want that million dollars, you’re not going to get it by spending your UPS paycheck on booze and coke.”
“You’re right. You’re absolutely right.”
“So come on, then. Million dollar question: yes or no,” she asked one last time as she sat up, covering herself with the bedsheet. It was morning now, and the sunlight was seeping in through the blinds, illuminating the dust particles I had fought so hard to be rid of floating through the air. They swirled and danced through the beams of light like tiny little living organisms, framing Jo’s silhouette as her shadow fell all around me, eclipsing my body as the sun passed from one side of the room to the other, bouncing off the white comforter on to the weathered headboard, and the shadow lifted as the whole room became bright in the full light of day.