Tuesday, February 3, 2009

That Time I Got Puked On

I was attending a sleepover with some of my neighbors, kids my age. We couldn't have been more than eight years old.

Thad was hosting. He was a skinny redhead who usually wore wide-striped long-sleeve shirts. He was funny and a good soccer player. Nathan and I were the guests. Nathan was a little on the dorky side. A little socially awkward. Chubby. I remember once he and my younger brother got into an argument in our garage. Shawn, who was at least a foot shorter, literally jumped upwards and punched Nathan square in the nose. Blood poured out in a torrent, Nathan cried and ran home. Served him right, I thought. We were trying to build a robot.

As I recall, Thad's parents weren't around, and we ate M+M cookies and watched a copy of Friday the 13th on video disc. When his folks eventually came home, it was time for lights out. We were to sleep in the backyard in a tent that Thad had received from his Grandma for his birthday. We crawled into our sleeping bags, me in the middle, Thad and Nathan on the either side, and after some cursory chit chat, fell asleep.

Later that night I awoke wet and confused. What the hell happened? I tried to make sense of what was going on. Had I pissed myself in the night? How embarrassing! What was I going to do? I'll never live this down!

And then I noticed the smell. We all know the acrid stench of vomit. It's horrifying. I sat up. There was puke all over my sleeping bag, my head. I looked to my right, and saw Nathan asleep, a smattering of vomit around his mouth.

That little bastard! He had woken up, puked on my head and gone back to sleep!

I turned to my left and started shaking Thad:

"Thad! Wake up! Nathan puked on me!"

Thad came around and nearly lost it from the concentrated stench. We didn't know what the hell to do. We were just kids, after all. In the hubbub, Nathan awoke and immediately started crying:

"I'm sorry! I didn't mean to!"

"You jerkwad! You puked on me!"

Somehow Thad's parents were roused, Nathan's parents were called and they took him home, crying and hysterical. I spent the wee hours of the morning in the bathtub trying to wash puke off myself. I swear, for weeks I was picking bits of vomit out of my hair.

I'm glad my brother punched that son of a bitch.

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