I check the time on my phone,
counting down the minutes to when she crashes.
Then I hear her?—
Stage four: The Drunk Song Breakdown
2:21 AM
“This was our song,” she’s yelling-crying,
grinding slow to a remix ofPonythat's shaking the speakers,
mascara dripping into her cleavage,
full Stage Four.
“I gave him everything, Allie. Ilovedhim.”
I’m dragging her back toward the door.
Then to the sidewalk.
She’s sobbing into my shoulder.
Her hair’s stuck to her lip gloss.
She’s humming,
whisper-singing the chorus between hiccups.
“Ride… my… p-pony…”
I reach for my cigs again.
Stage five: The Shaky Empowerment Speech
2:29 AM
We’re halfway to 2nd Ave,
wind sneaking up my dress.
“I’m gonna be okay,” she says,
voice cracking knuckles. “I swear.”
She wipes her nose with the sleeve of her $400 coat.
“I’m gonna start junk journalin’.
“For real this time.
“And try pilates. Travel more.
“Unfollow his granny.”
“Yeah, that’s good, Celie.”
