(Author's Note: I'm sorry this took so long. I have a lot going on right now so I won't be able to update as frequently.)
MAYA
I can hear something pounding, but I can't tell if it's external or just my own head. I had been in a deep sleep until this pounding disturbed me. Reluctantly, I open my eyes. I can't tell what time of day it is because I keep the window shades closed these days. I don't watch the light move during the day anymore. I can't. If I do, then eventually I'll notice that it's 5:30. And I'll remember that at 5:30 she turns gold. Except I'm not the one who gets to watch her turn gold everyday anymore. And that's a hard reality to face every single day at 5:30. I'd rather just not notice what time of day it is and hope that 5:30 comes and goes quietly.
There's that pounding again. I realize now that it's not just my head. It's someone knocking on the door. I sit up. Whoa. I did that a little too fast. Now the pounding in my head is competing with the knocking on the door. Ugh. So many sounds. Why? I take a deep breath to steady my spinning, pounding head.
"Maya, are you in there?" a familiar voice calls out. Wait. Am I hearing right? Is that Farkle?
He keeps knocking.
"Yeah, I'm coming," I call out. I slowly stand up and stumble over clothes and empty bottles to get to the door.
"Farkle?" I say as I open the door in disbelief. He looked so mature, wearing a stylish business suit, a little more casual than formal though.
"Hey," he said. He seemed a bit disturbed as he looked at me and entered my apartment. He looked at the empty bottles lying around and my disheveled appearance.
"Have you been drinking Maya? It's only 11:00 A.M." he asked.
"Actually, no, not yet, because I was sleeping, but this is New York, where the bars open at 8, so I'm actually 3 drinks behind," I said jokingly, but Farkle didn't seem to get that it was a joke.
"Relax, I'm kidding," I explained.
"Maya, do you even go to class anymore?" he asked, concerned.
"It's Saturday," I answered.
"It's Tuesday!" he exclaimed.
"It's TUESDAY?! Wait, then why are you here? Shouldn't you be at Princeton?" I asked, confused.
"Maya, I graduated a semester early remember? Because of all the AP classes I took in high school," he tried to remind me. I honestly can't even remember that. The last few months have been kind of a blur.
"Oh. Um. Belated Congratulations!" I said, giving him a hug.
"You already congratulated me in January," he said. What the hell? Why can't I remember? How long ago was that?
"It's still April right?" I asked. This is embarrassing.
"It's May. It's almost June," he answered.
I frantically opened the calendar app in my phone and - phew- my class meets next week. "Ok, my class doesn't meet until next week. We only meet 3 times over the semester, and my other class has an online option, so I usually watch the lectures at home," I answered his question.
"Yeah, I know. That class that meets three times a semester is your internship class. You know the internship at the Minkus Family Foundation that you mysteriously stopped showing up to? Why do you think I'm here, Maya?" he asked.
"I know, Farkle. I'm sorry, I'll do better." I replied.
"My mother wanted to fire you, but I begged her to give you another chance," he said. "I told her that someone like you needs to feel supported, not discarded."
Someone like me? Really Farkle? Why don't you just say it?
Alcoholic.
That's who I am now. But if he can't even say it, how am I supposed to say it? How am I supposed to show up at an AA meeting and say to everyone "Hi, I'm Maya, and I'm an alcoholic…"
"Well, thanks for talking to her for me," I said graciously.
"The foundation is sponsoring an art exhibit at the Met - Breuer. It's going to showcase contemporary local artists and young emerging artists. She wants you to help organize it and show some pieces of your work," Farkle explained.
"She wants me to show my work? At the Met?" I asked incredulously.
"Well, it's the Met - Breuer." Farkle said. I know exactly what he means. It's the building that used to be the Whitney Museum before the Whitney moved downtown. The Met bought it and now it's the Met - Breuer, where they showcase modern and contemporary exhibits.
"Wow". I didn't know what else to say. I never thought I'd get to show my art in a real museum.
"It's a great opportunity, and I want to see you succeed, so what can I do to help?" he asked as he started to gather the empty bottles off the floor and put them in the recycling bin.
"You already have. You saved my internship grade. Just tell your mom I'll see her tomorrow," I promised.
He walked back over to me and took me by the hand. "Maya, if you want to, there's a meeting tonight." He pulled up the community health center's Facebook page on his phone and showed me a post about an Alcoholic's Anonymous type meeting tonight. "I'll go with you," he offered.
"I don't think you're allowed to, Farkle."
"Well, maybe not inside but I can take you and pick you up. Maybe we can get smoothies after."
He's sweet. He's all I have left these days. And I owe him for helping me keep my internship. I don't want to let him down but…
"I'm not ready for this." I tell him, honestly. I mean, isn't this a meeting for people who are getting sober? I'm not ready to be sober. I hate that I'm sober right now. I'll probably make a drink as soon as Farkle leaves.
"Well, when you're ready, I'll go with you." He's not persisting at least. "I have to get back to the office, but I'll see you there tomorrow."
"At the Foundation office? Since when do you work there?" I mean I guess I wouldn't know since I pretty much just stopped going to work.
"Since working at Minkus International was draining my soul," he said. I nodded.
He hugged me goodbye.
"I'll see you tomorrow," I said as I shut the door behind him.
Farkle gave up his lunch break to save my sorry ass. I wonder if sponsoring the art exhibit was his idea. I have to admit, it's pretty genius. What better way to get an artist to regain interest in getting out of bed then by giving her an art show to organize. He wanted to make me feel like I had a purpose, and that my work had an audience waiting for it.
It had to be his pitch. His mom just would've fired me, and she had every right to. I basically abandoned my position. I never meant to let her down. It's just, these past few months have been really hard. Sometimes the urge to call Riley is unbearable, but I never give in. I haven't seen or spoken to Shawn in awhile either. Seeing me like this probably wouldn't be good for him right now.
I'm just trying to get through my last semester at Cooper Union, and then after that, I have no idea what I'll be doing. I stopped seeing the point in making plans. They never work out they way you want them to. I twist open the bottle of Jameson on the counter and pour a double. I can never drink the first one straight so I cut it with sparkling water.
This isn't the life I was expecting. I wonder how the hell I got here like 50 times a day. It's a long story, and when I don't have a drink in my hand, it's easy for me to get caught up in remembering it. So I drink to quiet the noise in my head, to numb the harsh memories, but I let myself linger on the good ones.
Like on Riley and I, freshman year of high school…
