oh god, where am I?

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“Oh my God, my head.” My eyes blearily open to reveal a textured, spiky, sparkly ceiling. “Where am I?” I stretch my arms and arch my back as I try to place this place. I finally stretch my legs and reach my arms down to feel that they are bare, “where are my pants?” I wake and roll slightly to the side, I gasp a quick shocked breath, as I see a mess of straight blonde hair in bed next to me. “Oh god, who is that?!” I roll over to get away and feel a dampness all around me? “Why is my back wet?!”

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My fear and horror subsides slightly as I realize it’s Joe, an old friend from church who I rebelled with and enjoyed the company of, however this doesn’t answer many of my questions. I lay there petrified. I tried to arrange the night in a way that makes sense, but there are substantial gaps. Monte Python and beer and hukah was how it began, but where it ended was a mystery.

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Joe and I knew each other well and our families were courteous and friendly. He was my age, or just older and he and another friend had gotten their first place together in our hometown. I started college at a University, a little over an hour from where we grew up, and was home for a weekend at mom’s.

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As I lay there paralyzed by shame and guilt, I tried to understand why my back would be wet. I moved as quietly and motionlessly as I could, to the edge of the bed and rolled out to the floor, as to not disturb the slumber of my friend. Once there, I join my pants, balled up, also wet on the floor.

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Then like a dam was cracking, the realization of what had happened flooded me as I realized I had peed Joe’s bed, kicked off my own pants and must have gone back to sleep.

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I was horrified. I pulled the wet pants on and ran away, as quickly and as quietly as I could. I was mortified by my actions, but honestly pretty relieved that it hadn’t been Joe that took off my pants. He was still the sweet, crush worthy blue eyed friend that he had always been, but now with more dirt on me than I really wanted him to have.

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I got home to my mom’s house in the early hours, she knew we weren’t saints anymore, although she still identifies as Mormon. My horror couldn’t be hidden, and I told her what had happened. She laughed and helped me do some laundry, then graciously allowed the phone to ring off the hook all day without any of us picking it up, for the caller id let us know that “Joe Metcalf 307-789-6279” had some questions of his own.