AND THEN IT ALL WENT HORRIBLY WRONG...

Thom Asewicz

After Dylan and I get to work, we tell Zola everything that had happened.

From there it's all a blur.

The rest of the winter passed.

Christmas and New Year's was kind of lonely.

And one point, she switched a song that I really wanted to listen to.

And then it all went horribly wrong.

Then I went back to school.

I stopped wanting to leave my room.

I stopped wanting her to be in my room.

I wanted to be in my room by myself.

When I was in my room, by myself, I felt free.

I didn't really do anything with my time.

I was a time waster.

Sometimes, I waste time.

At that point, I was okay with the wasting of time.

The semester ended and for her, I tried to learn how to drive.

I hated driving with her; it stressed me out.

She stressed me out.

While driving to Wendy's, I made a wrong turn and she flipped out.

By wrong turn, I mean that I wasn't exactly going the right way (as in the car was supposed to be going

'down' the road, and somehow, I managed to make it go 'up').

That really pissed her off.

I felt sheepish.

I felt like laughing.

I think I did laugh.

And if I did laugh, which I probably did, I'm pretty sure that the laughing pissed her off too.

And then it all went horribly wrong.

We bought tickets to Bonnaroo.

I felt like it was a waste of money.

But I really wanted to see Bruce Springsteen on my own.

We went to the VFW.

I stopped going.

Everybody else kept going.

They came home drunk and argued.

They came home talking shit about each other.

They came home and broke up.

I stayed in my room, because at this point, I really didn't feel like I was myself. I wasn't anybody. I was a

time waster.

She pissed the bed twice.

The first time, I was just shocked.

The second, I lied to her.

At night she would come home drunk and want to have sex and it was downright terrifying.

Maybe “terrifying” is not the right word.

It was nothing.

It was nothing.

It was something.

And then it all went horribly wrong.

We went to Bonnaroo.

She slept in the car.

I thought about this when I crawled into the rain soaked tent and wrapped myself with a ruined, wet

blanket.

We came back home and I took a new job.

I wore a suit to the interview and said things like: “Yes ma’am,” and “No problem!”

During the summer, I took my class to see a movie.

Cecilia and I hadn’t spoken in days.

When I went to the bathroom there was a voicemail waiting for me.

It was over.

And.

Then.

It.

All.

Went.

Horribly.

Wrong.

When I got home, her stuff was gone and a note card was waiting on my pillow.

I can’t remember what it said.

Right now, I don’t care.

I was lousy for about a week.

I didn’t know how to deal with her not being there.

Then, while eating a sandwich, I felt amazing.

And I smiled.

One day she asked me, “Do you think we made a mistake?”

I never replied.

I just smiled and ate my sandwich.

The summer ended along with the job and my bike was stolen.

I missed the bicycle more than I missed her.

I really miss that bicycle.

A lost weekend was spent in Fayetteville, where I threw up in the bathroom of the Smoke & Barrel.

I only had one beer and I didn’t drink for the rest of the night, but just sat there smoking cigarettes.

It felt fantastic.

And then I was back in classes.

And just passing through.

And I was still wasting time.

But I wrote some songs, and sang them too.

A week later we went to South Carolina.

I walked on the beach and listened to music and tried not to think about everything.

I tried not to think about wasting time.

I drank, Patrick drank, and Jonathan drank and then the details came flooding back.

The wind blew through the apartment and it was bitter cold.

Jonathan tossed a sea urchin into the hot tub from our balcony and I couldn’t take my eyes off of a

fishing boat that was anchored off shore.

I wanted to be on that boat.

I didn’t tell the guys this.

Somehow, we ended up challenging each other to run into the ocean.

It was December.

In the end, it became this “all for one, one for all” cause. I know we talked during this moment, but I

didn’t hear a word.

My clothes came off.

My feet hit the sand.

And then I woke up, every fucking part me just “woke up”.

And then it all went horribly wrong.

I think.

Fuck.

Turn around.

Get up.

I fell.

My feet hit the sand and I ran for the hot tub that was nearby where we sat for a moment.

“Dibs on the shower.”

Goddammit.

I came back to Arkansas.

I went to a dinner party.

I ate my dinner and I told a story.

I laughed at my own story (I know) and felt self-conscious.

After dinner we decided to go to another party.

So I drank.

My face got red and I smoked cigarettes.

I twisted and shouted with Michael.

I laughed.

I listened to an amazing story about a man’s mustache and some infamous words the owner of that

mustache said to Abraham Lincoln (“Get down you fool.”).

I listened to Hobbes and Michael arguing over what a painting of a can of beer could represent (or

metaphorically represent).

And, in the bathroom, I looked at myself and thought, “Fuck. I’m kind of drunk”.

I am okay with that.