I padded my stomach with Mom’s lemon and garlic roast chicken, then went cosmic bowling with friends from work and we stole a pair of bowling shoes for Mari’s friend, Clare (size nine), who we found at Union, the bar where everyone smokes inside and no one says shit, so the whole place was fuming. I remembered going there as a sixth grader for math class when it was empty, daylight in ribbons through the painted out windows. Our charter school teacher taught us pool, because triangles, but the only thing that stuck were the words learned out of turn to the Thong Song. Clare hopped down from a stool and squealed at the bowling shoes. She hung on my shoulder, her Old Spice deodorant punctured the Marlboro scented carpet, and she thanked me for the shoes while she took her last shot at pool; she lost. I said no it wasn’t me, it was Mari who stole the shoes and she said Mari who? And I looked over at Mari, who winked. Then we kidnapped Clare to the club down the street and we danced and got bros to buy us drinks, but Clare grinded on me instead of them, so they moved on. After Mari broke the seal, Clare bought me a screwdriver and I laughed because my tenth grade English teacher said orange juice and vodka wasn’t a real drink and the class was sure that it was, but now that I think about it maybe she meant it was just a dumb fucking drink that shouldn’t exist. We stumbled out of the bar. Clare tried bringing her drink with her, but the bouncer yoinked it from her hand as she passed, spilling most of it on her head. Mari said she got a call from Alice, who had just downed a scorpion bowl at Fantasy Island and was heading out to meet us. I wasn’t sure if I could keep drinking, but my ride home was Mari or the bus. So I drank. When Alice had her fourth blue Hawaiian, we got kicked out of the chill corner Irish pub we were desperately trying to keep our cool in. A mini van pulled up with two older women and they were yelling at us, DO YOU NEED HELP? And we shouted no, our friend is just wasted, we’re walking her off. Then they got out the van and tried to put her in the backseat screaming that they’d take her home, but we didn’t know them, so we pulled on Alice one way and they got one foot up on the car floor and started rolling Alice inside and then Clare took out the bowling shoes and hit the women over their knuckles. They let her go. Then Alice spewed blue Hawaiian and scorpion bowl all over the sidewalk.
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Favorite drink: Blood and Sand shake up equal parts: Scotch, orange juice, Cherry Heering, Sweet Vermouth + Orange peel
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Alison L Fraser is a writer existing in Massachusetts. Find their recent work in Gone Lawn, Dead Fern Press, and Dogzplot. Find them on twitter: @catholicked
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image: Ashley Beresch. Check out more of her work on Instagram @ashleyberesch
Rejection Letters 