“I won’t have too much of you tonight. Just a glass or two.”
That was the last thing I remember before the voice of a shrieking woman startled me awake, face down in my pillow. I look to my left. The time on my alarm clock reads 7:30 am. Fuck, why didn’t I remember to turn that off last night? Isn’t it Saturday? What the hell happened last night?
I reach over to silence the annoying hag and am suddenly absorbed in the steady red blinking light. What could anyone want at this hour? I scoop up my Blackberry in my left hand, nervously press the back button and am bombarded with an infestation of notifications at the top of my screen. My eyes widen in disbelief as I make out 10 missed calls, 5 text messages and 8 BBMs. I couldn’t have been up to too much last night, right?
I try to recall the events of the night but all I seem to remember is being at the Rainbow with Kirsten about to watch Troy’s band. Did she message me? I press the talk button and realize that Kirsten’s name is nowhere to be found. Wasn’t she supposed to sleep here last night? I thought that was the plan? Why the hell would she just ditch me?
I open the BBMs and see her name at the top of the list. “I made it home okay babe. I hope you two have a good time tonight.” Wait, you two? Who the hell is she talking about? A wave of uncertainty rushes over me. The only person she could have been referring to is Matthew and he wasn’t there last night, I don’t think. Would it be too early to call her and get her to clarify what she meant? No, I need to know what happened. On second thought, yes, it is definitely far too early to do that.
I scroll down the list further and notice Matthew’s name. “I can’t believe you would invite me over and then not even answer your door! What is wrong with you!?” SHIT.
We had been down this road before. Another time we got together we agreed on three glasses.
That was the last thing I remember before the voice of Lady Gaga’s Born This Way startled me awake, curled up in the fetal position with only one sock on. Fuck, why didn’t I remember to turn that off last night? Isn’t it Saturday? What the hell happened last night?
I reach over to turn down the volume—I kind of like this song—and am suddenly absorbed in the steady red blinking light. What could anyone want at this hour? I scoop up my Blackberry which has been sitting in a puddle of water on my night side table. Where the hell did this water come from? I wipe the phone on my duvet and nervously press the back button uncertain it would turn on. To my amazement and horror, a plague of notifications are prominently displayed on the top of my dripping screen. My eyes widen in disbelief as I make out 2 missed calls, 3 text messages and 4 BBMs. I could not have been up to too much last night, right?
My mind tries to recall the events of last night but all I seem to muster is nursing my last drink at the beer pong table with Alison. Did she message me? I press the talk button and realize she had called me—twice. SHIT. I check my text messages and there she is, top of the list. “I’m so sorry I made you chug with me. You know how I like to do that. I didn’t realize you weren’t kidding when you said you hadn’t eaten much today.” Well I guess that explains it.
Every time we get together I promise myself I will not drink too much of you, that I will limit your presence in my night. And every morning I wake up to the sound of my damn alarm clock I forgot to turn off the night before, with a phone full of messages to help me put the pieces back together.
I know I really should have remembered all of this before I decided you would be my friend tonight but it’s ok… “I won’t have too much of you tonight. Just a glass or two.”
Modality – The narrator has very little recollection of the night’s events and so it is left up to her phone and friends to help her piece back together what happened the night before. Since the narrator doesn’t seem to be reliable in her account of the night, the audience is left to assume that the information provided to the narrator by her phone and friends is accurate. The narrator wants to know what happened to her the night before and so she has a commitment to finding out the truth but cannot contribute to knowing what the truth is.