I awoke to the sound of banging at the door. I didn’t know what anyone would be doing at eight in the morning, banging away.
“What the hell,” I mumbled under my breath.
I wrapped the pillow my friend got me for Christmas around my ears as best as I could. But the banging didn’t stop. Whoever was standing outside must be a persistent jerk, keen on making people miserable Or at least making me miserable.
On a different day I wouldn’t have minded so much. But today my head was already pounding. The banging didn’t help matters. It made the pounding more intolerable. I couldn’t remember much of last night. When I went to sleep today in morning, I didn’t expect to wake up this early either. I expected to sleep the hangover away, long into the afternoon of today.
I tossed the blankets off my legs. I prefer sleeping with two blankets and two pillows. Then with very good coordination for my sorry state, I managed to get my feet into fuzzy slippers.
Walking turned out to be a greater feat than I imagined. I half stumbled, half hobbled to the front door. Between my bedroom and the door loomed a staircase. Thirteen steps in total. I counted once. I gripped the railing with both hands.
Halfway down I debated not opening the door. I wish I thought about this earlier, so I wouldn’t have had to suffer through this ordeal. No point turning around now. I made it to the door in one piece.
I turned the knob slowly. The girl standing on the other side looked like she was about to fall apart. A second passed before she fell into my arms.