Secret Squirrel Business

(This is a really short story I wrote back in 2014. I totally forgot about it and then stumbled upon it in an email. I thought about going back and editing it but decided not to touch it and keep it true to who I was in 2014.)


Secret Squirrel Business

I need to find a way to get out of here.   

“Sure. I’ll have one more drink.” I exclaimed.  

I need to get the hell out of here.

Things started off pretty good actually.  We had a great dinner at Florio’s with a great conversation about music and books. You know there’s this whole awkwardness about meeting and spending an evening with someone that you’ve only really known online.  It’s all text messages.  But when you meet them “IRL”, each breath, each pause is an eighty-ton weight pressing upon your shoulders.  There was none of that.  It was like we were old friends that reconnected years later with so much to talk about and not enough time.  It wasn’t until the waiter asked about dessert that I noticed a change in the flow.

Now I’m here in her apartment trying not to get loaded on these atrocious screwdrivers.  I mean, what the hell is this?  This is definitely not orange juice.  It’s not even Sunny D.  It’s like generic “orange drink” or something.  

“So tell me a little more about your time at UT.” she said as she sank down in her bean bag chair.

“Well, there’s not much more to tell.  I really wanted to study music but my parents wouldn’t have supported that. It was ‘not useful’, they'd say.  Science seemed to interest me so I studied microbiology.  One day I woke up with a masters in Biotechnology and asked myself ‘Now what the hell do I do?’”  

Jesus Christ.  This is awkward.  I just want to leave.  

“But UT is a notorious party school.  Was it tough to concentrate on your studies with all those distractions?” she asked.

I’m already two drinks in.  The excuse I come up with has to be really believable.   She knows I don’t have to work tomorrow.   Hmm.  

“Honestly I was drunk almost every night.  I don’t know how I got out of there really.  You know when you go out, get unbelievably hammered, then wake up in your bed the next day asking yourself ‘How the hell did I get home?’  It’s like a 5-year version of that.”

Ok, so you’re probably thinking to yourself “Oh, things sound like they’re going fine.  She seems polite and harmless.”  Of course, you’re gonna say that.

“Oh wow! That’s hilarious!  I didn’t have experiences like that in college.  I worked a lot just to make it through.  It seems like I didn’t even have much of a social life between studying, work, and family.  Luckily I went to UTSA.  Luckily there wasn’t much of a social scene when I went there so I got through without any major distractions.”

Okay well, I know a lot of people take Xanax.  It’s not an uncommon thing. But a copy of Secret Squirrel Business, just sitting right there on the bookshelf.  Oh, come on.  

“Yeah.  I also got addicted to Adderall.  It was pretty tough.”

Look, the next time she leaves the room I want you to go follow her and see how she acts when I’m not around.  Wait, better idea.  I’ll leave the room.

“Can I use your bathroom for a sec?” I said.

“Sure it’s down that hall.  First door on your left.”

“Hey thanks for the drinks.  I had a great time.  I need to get going.  I promised my mother that I’d drive her to her doctor's appointment in the morning.  Can we do this again?  Maybe this weekend?”

“Sure I’d love that!  Thanks so much for walking me home.” she said.  “Here let me show you to the door.”

“Well.  See ya.”

“Bye.”

Well.   What the fuck happened when I was gone?!