The Surprise

It was 9am. I don’t know why were up. I don’t know why my head hurt so much. I felt like my brain had been hard boiled and cracked, ready to peel. The room was hot. The fan wasn’t working because the unit’s butt stuck out of the window and was covered in snow. It had snowed, now I remembered.

I had a planned a surprise for him. I wasn’t in the mood.

I had a faint memory of puking. Did I puke? I asked him. I dreamt I puked.

He wrapped his arms around me and inched his nose into my neck. It was just a dream.

We picked ourselves up slowly, gathering at the diner for eggs and a bialy. I picked at my sausage. I gave him half my omelet and most of my potatoes. I barely touched my coffee. Isn’t this weird? I’m just not hungry.

Not weird, he said, his mouth full of my omelet. I’m a foot taller than you. I’ll eat it.

We took a cab to the Javits Center where I revealed his surprise: tickets to the Wine Expo and passes to the Travel Show. He was delighted. I was scared. I was exhausted and I felt sick. We drank wine for an hour until we were warm and our tongues felt thick. We went to the Travel Show and entered fifty or so contests for free vacations. We took complimentary photos and ate complimentary chocolates.

It was beautiful out. We walked down to the Highline and held hands down 10th avenue. We stopped in a little restaurant in the Meatpacking Distract for soup and sandwiches.

I was beginning to feel faint. It was a long day. I was tired and cold. I had started shaking.

When we arrived home I curled up in bed next to him and napped. We watched SNL, though I was asleep before 1am.

We stayed in bed the next day, sleeping on and off, watching movies and working on our computers. By the evening I had developed cabin fever. Let’s get something sweet, I suggested. I finally feel all better! Let’s go to Led Zeppole!

He agreed. Put your jeans on, it’s cold out. And then I’m getting you canollis.

I reached into the top of my hamper for my jeans. I pulled them out and gagged. They were covered in dry vomit. I had thrown up the other night after all—right into my hamper. I must have fallen out of bed and thrown up into my hands.

I stared, wide-eyed, at the jeans. He laughed. Oh my god, you poor thing. He hugged me. Some people sleep walk. My girlfriend sleep-pukes.

I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, so I laughed, too. And then I washed my floor. And then I burned my hamper.



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