The house is kept at a constant, cool temperature, but that does not stop your cheeks from turning into a splotchy ruby of mottled acne and burning flush. The freckles on–and around–your nose are far less noticeable–the brown and red fight for attention on the once pale space you call your face. They are leaning over your body, wrapping their arms around your limbs and digging their fingertips in for a good, immodest grip. You hope they are your friends, but you can not remember. 

A white collapsible table provides a space to place your hands. Your fingers knock a few red cups over, and a pastel orange ping pong ball dances across the carpet. Pointing to it is useless, for your friends have other ideas. 

Canyouwalkdoyouhavearidehomeareyouokaytodrivewheredoyoulivewhatisyournamedidyoucomewithanyonedoyouhaveacaryouneedtogetoutofhere.

It is not long before you realize your friends are really, really annoying. Their hands are placed all over your warm body, and your shoulders ache because two of them are trying to hold you up as you walk. Thankfully, it only takes three curse words, one arm flail, and two long strides to rid you of their presence. 

The cool temperature of a fall night hits you on your third long stride through the threshold of the front door. 

Canyouwalkdoyouhavearidehomeareyouokaytodrivewheredoyoulivewhatisyournamedidyoucomewithanyonedoyouhaveacaryouneedtogetoutofhere.

Forget them; they are really, really annoying. Do you know who they are? You wave an arm once more–an open palm’s last grab at the midnight air. 

Goodbye. 

On the fifth try, you reach the keys in your front right pocket. No, not the front right pocket. On the sixth and final try, the keys are in your back left pouch. With one press of a button, a car alarm wails. Your muscles know to hit the same button one more time. 

Your face hits the glass of your passenger side window. The cool temperature of the glass does nothing to calm the ruby of your cheeks and blood behind your dimples. But you miss the feeling once you are inside the car, draped over the passenger seat like a restless sleeper in an uncomfortable bed. Bed. You are tired, and it is obvious that home is not too far away. 

Arms are helpful, you think. They continue to prove their worth by pushing against the door to send you sliding over the leather. It is cold against your butt, and somehow that calms your sensitive stomach and the burning in your chest and throat. It even takes the mind off flushed cheeks and freckles. 

On the fifth try, your car keys turn without resistance. The car lights up with cool colors of ocean blues, but the mileage of the car is a positive green on a black dash. The colors sound like loud popular music and a car engine’s hum. 

At first, your foot presses too hard on the petal, but that is okay. The car gear is still in park, so the upset engine just growls out a weak protest of incomprehensible curses. On the second try, you shift the gear correctly and depart from the curb. 

It is only five blocks until you hit another car. 

The cool temperature of a fall night hits you through cracked windows, but that does not stop your cheeks from turning into a splotchy ruby of mottled acne, burning flush, and blood. The freckles on–and around–your nose are far less noticeable–the brown and red fight for attention on the once pale space you call your face.