We All Fall Down

Middle of July. 90 degrees at midnight. The backs of my knees are sweaty. My parents are going to kill me when they notice the bottles missing. But I’ll care about that in the morning. Michelle is spinning and spinning, arms flailing around her head. “The trees are blurry,” she yells. I tell her she’s going to puke, but she just laughs. Rebekah stands up, stomps one leg, then the other. “SUMO” she screams and charges Michelle. I pile on and together we topple, laughter and sweat and my parents’ vodka and the last summer I’d spend with my friends.

***
Title by: Mary Clara
Story by: Jenny

1 person likes this story.

Undo

Related posts:

1. A bleak afterthought (Jenny Version)
2. Monkeys are the Foundations of Comedy
3. Rocket Ship Baby, On the Tree Top
4. Will the realitor from Chicago please stop sending me mail?
5. This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things