He was cold.
So cold he was shivering.
His face felt a light drizzle.
And he wondered why his face was getting rained on.
He was on the damp ground in a fetal position trying in vain to stay warm.
His head hurt and as did his body. Had he drunken gin again he questioned himself.
He opened his eyes, batting them against the light of the early dawn.
Still keeping his arms about him for warmth, he lay prone on the ground and swiveled his head looking around.
He was in the woods. There were no other bodies laying on the forest floor like he was.
He was alone.
He didn’t know how he got here.
“Where is here?”
He tried to remember last night, but couldn’t.
He had had blackout. Another blackout.
He squeezed his sphincter muscle.
No pain. Good, he had not been raped.
He ran his tongue over his teeth.
All teeth present.
Good, he had not gotten his teeth kicked in.
He squished his face around.
No pain or bruising.
Good, he had not gotten his ass kicked. He looked at his clothes, which he thankfully still had on. But they were dirty. Dirty from laying on the ground.
They were his casual clothes: blue jeans and a polo shirt.
Looking around again, the setting came into better focus and he recognized the woods as he sited the top of his school roof through the branches.
These were the woods adjacent to the school parking lot. He breathed a sigh of relief.
He didn’t remember anything about last night other than getting in from the soccer match with his team mates and they had started drinking in the school’ secluded parking lot. He had drunken fast and heavy and couldn’t remember much past the point of haven started drinking. He sat bolt upright looking around, untangling himself from his unwarm cocoon, concerned about his car.
Had he tried going somewhere in has state and crashed it?
He strained his neck turning to the direction of the school and saw his car through the trees where he had parked it there yesterday morning. He breathed another sigh of relief.
He slowly stood, not bothering to stretch and just started for the car, patting his pocket for the keys, hoping they were on him and not lost or worse: a concerned friend haven taken his keys so he couldn’t drive.
He felt them in his back pocket an pulled his keys out, grateful, that he had escaped some of the fates he had concerned himself with in the last minute.
He hurried to the car, anxious to look in a mirror and wondered if his friends had drawn a penis on his forehead with a sharpie pen.
Or written the word “Fag”?
Or given him a mustache?
Or worse: a full beard and a penis on his forehead.