Visiting your parents
Going home to your parents’ house is nothing short of awesome. Your best bud shows up with a golden egg full of pills, the family dog is on his funniest behavior, and there’s a gigantic bucket of ready-made margaritas in the freezer. You’re in bed by midnight but can’t sleep, so you decide to leave the suburbs and drive the hour back to the city for last call with some friends. And then at 4 AM your friend who is driving hits a crackhead in the McDonald’s parking lot.
At least this is how it went when I went back to Atlanta for my dad’s 60th birthday, which was a surprise party. In doing this I knew it would instantly solidify my status as Number One Favorite Kid and give me free reign for at least the next five years to fuck up real bad and my parents could not be disappointed in me. But I showed up late and ruined the surprise and my mom cried. And then there was this minor hit-and-run...
He was about to walk in front of the car and I repeatedly tried to warn my friend with a phrase I thought was easily understandable and straight to the point: “Watch out... Watch out... Hey, watch out.” Then, bam. He spun off the hood, landed on his feet, and asked if we’re OK. But we were in a hybrid, a car that can’t go fast because it runs on rainbows and happiness, so he was totally fine and walked away of his own accord.
But this whole occurrence made the rest of us wonder if she did it on purpose and now we question our friendship with her. And looking back, it’s all a little hazy, so I don’t even know how she knew it was a crackhead. But if you’re awake on Moreland Avenue at 4 AM, chances are that is EXACTLY what you are unless you’re just drunk and hungry. Afterward we headed to a bar our friend owns and spent the rest of the night up really late dancing and come out to the shaming 8 AM sunlight. I wake up with bruised and bloody knees and can’t remember whether I made out the night before or if the injuries were from something else.
Spending all the next day with the family on no sleep left me exhausted. I came back to New York feeling really dirty and soulless, wishing I had a vacation from my vacation.