What Does Blue Feel Like? by Jessica Davidson Page A

drink in each hand,
    and says, ‘Here’s your drink, babe.’
    As he kisses me quickly on the lips,
    I give Bronwyn a look.
    The don’t-say-anything-and-play-along look.
    I’m glad he’s come over.
    He puts his arm around me and gives me a squeeze.
    And the guy with the cap goes off in search of another girl.

Just another drunk girl at a party
    Bronwyn is drinking like her usual self.
    A few drinks here, a few there.
    I don’t think I’ve ever seen her have more than
    ten drinks in a session.
    But she drinks everything New Guy hands to her.
    Suddenly
    she clutches at New Guy’s hand
    and whimpers,
    â€˜I don’t feel so good.’
    She leans forward,
    retches,
    and vomits, continuously, for the next five minutes.

No friend of mine
    New Guy says he’s going to take her home,
    put her to bed,
    but I childishly insist that she’s my friend
    and wherever she goes, so do I.
    Bronwyn isn’t looking so good.
    She’s pale and miserable.
    New Guy is insistent on taking her with him.
    I tell him to fuck off,
    he got her drunk in the first place.
    I would let him take her,
    but there’s a funny look in Bronwyn’s eyes.
    I don’t even know this guy,
    and there’s a funny look in his.
    He tries to pick her up and take her
    but Jim and I stand in front of her.
    Eventually, he leaves.
    I’ve seen Bronwyn drunk a lot of times
    and right now she’s acting like just another drunk girl.
    She grabs at Jim and says, ‘Jim, I feel really sick.’
    He laughs,
    pats her hand,
    takes another swig of rum,
    and says, ‘Well, you’re drunk, so no wonder.’
    No one pays her much attention.
    Just another drunk girl spewing at a party.
    Even when she passes out
    we don’t worry too much.
    We make sure she can breathe OK
    and leave her be.
    Hell, who hasn’t passed out from drinking before?
    We’ve all done it.
    She’ll be fine, we know,
    so we keep on drinking.
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    Eventually, we’re ready for bed.
    I go to get Bronwyn up.
    She can’t sleep on the grass all night.
    She stands up,
    passes out,
    and won’t wake up.
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    Jim calls the ambulance.
    It seems to take forever but it’s probably only a
    few minutes.
    The ambos tell us they’re sick and tired of helping
    drunk kids.
    They ask us if she took any drugs.
    I shake my head.
    They tell me that it’s better to tell them now so they
    can save her, rather than finding out later when she’s
    past saving.
    But I insist that I’m telling the truth
    Bronwyn wouldn’t touch drugs — ever.
    They ask if she poured her own drinks,
    and I say, ‘No, we never do.’
    I tell them about New Guy,
    how he was insistent on taking her home,
    how I wouldn’t let him.
    Jim tells me to shut up.
    They don’t need to hear my drunken shit.
    But the ambos ask if he’s still around.
    They want to talk to him, but he’s long gone.
    I go to the hospital in the ambulance with them.
    Bronwyn is sometimes awake,
    sometimes not.
    There’s people in emergency with what I’m sure are
    stab wounds,
    and I remember being in emergency years ago,
    when Tim was sick.
    And Tim telling me that the early hours of the morning is
    when they move the dead bodies around.
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    So I’m watching for them too.

Doctor’s orders
    Bronwyn wakes up, cries,
    says she thinks something got put in her drink.
    The doctor asks her if she’s just saying that because she’ll
    get in trouble with her mum and dad for being drunk,
    and she cries some more.
    He says he’ll do a blood test,
    even though we all know what it’s going to say,
    that she’s just drunk,
    and that’s all.
    He brushes me aside
    when I tell him that she probably only had ten drinks
    over five hours
    and jabs the needle into her arm,
    telling me to get a coffee and sober myself up.
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    I hold her hair
    as she spews
    and tell her it’s going to be all right.
    Hours