Every now and then, for no reason, a drunken girl will start crying. It’s just something that can happen after midnight.
A nerve snaps, and the girl who was only moments earlier dancing and laughing is suddenly crying, wailing away about her problems: her father’s emotional distance, her inability to be a good role model for her little sister, a guy who hasn’t texted her back — it’s usually something like that.
I was at a friend’s house a few months back, and I walked into the bathroom to find a girl sitting on the toilet, sobbing like crazy. (She was fully clothed, by the way.)
So I asked what was wrong.
She looked at me, all red in the face, and said: “You don’t even know. … I’ve got problems! You don’t know anything about me!”
Which was true. I didn’t know her. Still, though, I needed to piss, and she had posted up in the bathroom, so it’s not as if I didn’t have the right to ask.
“Hey …” I said, trying to be nice. “Aw … hey, come on … don’t cry. … Maybe you wanna go lie down on the couch, huh? Yeah? Get out of the bathroom and onto a nice couch? Or the kitchen? Nice glass of water?”
“Wahhh!” she said. “I’m not a slut! I’m a good … I’m a good person!”
“Aw … hey now … yeah … I think you’re great. But what about that whole you-moving-into-the-kitchen idea? Leaving the bathroom and into the kitchen, huh? That sound good?”
“My dad’s a horrible person! He took away my health insurance! You don’t know what it’s like! I don’t have health insurance!” And she buried her face in her hands.
About this point, another kid walked in and looked at the girl. “What’s wrong with her?” he said.
“She doesn’t have health insurance.”
“Oh. That sucks.” Then he walked out.
The girl kept crying. I almost felt bad. This poor gal had lost her health insurance. Times are tough.
Thank God she still had her iPhone, though. Otherwise she wouldn’t have been able to call her girlfriend and start up a long conversation while still sitting on the toilet and blubbering away.
It was about 2 in the morning. At this time, emotions and actions revert back to childish ways, except way more intense. Late at night, it seems as if anything can bring a person to tears: a harmless comment, too much alcohol, a lack of health insurance — whatever it might be.
Sometimes, a messy room is all it takes.
See, it’s tough to admit, but I’ve been there before, that situation where you break down for no reason. And so have you, probably — or maybe not. I don’t know.
In my case, it wasn’t even that long ago. I wasn’t drunk, either. I was just sitting at my desk on a weeknight, still awake at 4 a.m., looking at all the trash on my floor, the dirty clothes, the papers, the books … and it was all just too much.
It’s funny and it’s emasculating and it’s embarrassing. But it happens. I don’t know why it happens and I don’t really care either.
Sometimes you’ve just been awake for too long. You can’t do anything about it. Sometimes, it’s been long overdue, and you might as well just let it happen.
Which is exactly what I did. I sat back in my chair, and for a good five minutes, I was a little kid again, and it felt good.
I wasn’t even in my room anymore. While it lasted, I was the center of the world.
I don’t care, I thought. I don’t care. I don’t care. I don’t. Try and breathe.
Evan Smith is a freshman studying journalism and columnist for The Post. Do strong men cry, Mr. Lebowski? Email him at es394910@ohiou.edu.
