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8:03 a.m. / March 23, 2005 - - i hate teenagers "i know dad, i promise," he says, looking at me, pleading, "no parties". i allow it. just one more. this is it. you're going to clean tomorrow and pay for whatever damage is done. this means you'll either have to start a pool or get a job or sell yourself on the street. choose wisely. twenty-nine people including us. three were my friends. the rest were his friends or friends of his friends or friends of his friends of his friends. people came out of trees and bushes with wide-eyes and thirsty lips. things broke. that lamp? broken; i even electrocuted myself. that hole in the drywall came from matt when he thought the police were here. the plate, the mexican kid broke that. all of the pizza on the floor. the random wet spots. shoes and arms and legs and blankets, the floor is a sea of people and cloth. it used to be hardwood. me? i didn't drink anything. don't drink anyhow, but more to the point i had to stay sober to keep my wits about me. moving cars off of the street and into the drive in strategic formations to allow those who needed to leave do so. it came to the point where my brother started telling people to leave, we thinned out. five here, five there, six upstairs, small. then it was down to ten, one being the passed out girl with green hair sleeping in my bed, shivering, the other being the passed out-covered-in-her-own-vomit girl sleeping in the guest bed. sixteen year-olds kept hitting on me, "kiss me, you know you want me" was the most-used phrase last night. but drunken anyone is not someone who i want. talk to me when you're not throwing up into a toilet. and you see, it was at this point when i was thinking, "everything is mellow and nice now. i can go to sleep" that one of the passed out girls father showed up, yelling in what i can only assume was english. where the fuck is ashley? he screams in my face, "calm down. i just got home. this is a nightmare, i've been driving for seven hours to come home early, and the house is filled with drunk teenagers" i was so good, you should have seen me. he collected his daughter and said, "i'm coming back for her shoes later, and i won't be coming alone, you fucked with the wrong person". ashley is the covered in vomit girl. the yelling made the green-haired girl cry, her father was abusive, she walked upstairs in tears and at some point found her way into my arms. why did that feel so good? i was protecting her. brought her back to the bed. covered her up. told her that ashley would be okay, ashley who kept asking me who i was (adam. "who?" adam. "who?" adam. "who?" david's brother. "ooooh"), not really knowing whether or not she would be deciding that it would be okay to tell this girl otherwise for her comfort. how did he find our house? and more to the point what did he mean by he wasn't coming back alone? i wasn't sticking around to find out. a friend and i drove his sister and one of the drunk sixteen year olds who were hitting on me home, in case the police did show up. i just wanted to get out of there for awhile. he drove them in their car, i met him at their house in mine, and drove him back here. he left. good luck. went back inside and, well, i lock my door from the inside when people are here, so the only way in is the crawlspace. went through and and hey! my wallet is missing. and my lighter. go through my room, looking for it. cannot find it. grab a blanket and pillow, digital camera, cd player, hide most things of value, exit the room, locking the door behind me again. no wallet. forty-three dollars; my life savings. my license. bank card. and most importantly, my little slips of paper with writing on them. found a scratch off that would cash in for two dollars on the floor in the hallway. it used to be in my wallet. took my blanket, my camera, my cd player, the two dollars in my pocket, the scratch off and my pillow and got the hell out of here. drove a few towns over pulled into a culdesac circle with docks at the end of it, center lake, and went to sleep for three hours. drove home. the girls shoes are still here. nobody has come back yet. picked up all of the empty alcohol containers. checked around. one, two, three, four, five, six, seven people and my brother; one of them is conscious. find my lighter on the floor, under the rug. out of butane. locking the door to my room and man i am never waking up.

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