Becoming Sarah by Miranda Simon

drink. Liza and Aurélie left to dance with the other two guys. Chad was telling me about his last kayaking trip in Malaysia. My eyes kept glazing over. The music was too loud; it hurt my ears.
    Aurélie and Liza appeared next to me. “Come on,” Aurélie said. She grabbed my hand and dragged me away from Chad. “This place is boring . Let’s get out of here.”
    Chad and his friends trailed after us. They thrust business cards into our hands. “Bo-oring,” Liza complained, when they were out of earshot. “I hear there’s a new club in SOMA that’s got a much better crowd.”
    We stumbled outside, where Aurélie hailed a cab. A few gulps of fresh air helped clear my head. We piled into the taxi, then out again a few minutes later. Aurélie and Liza waited while I paid the driver. This club had a long line, but Aurélie knew the bouncer and he let us right in.
    This club was darker, with even louder music. Everyone wore black, plus heaps of black eyeliner – men and women both. I bought us all another round of drinks.
    Halfway through a glass of white wine, I started to relax and have fun. Guys came up to us here, too, except these guys had goatees, tattoos, and tongue rings. The one who ended up next to me shouted in my ear about some performance art piece he was working on, where he cut himself with a razor onstage and then bled on a piece of white canvas. He got very excited explaining what it all meant. “It’s about our fear s and desires ,” he yelled. “It’s about death and rebirth!”
    “Sounds great,” I said, and noticed with interest that my tongue tripped over the words. My stomach didn’t feel quite right, either. I eyed my drink. Was it my third, or my fourth? Maybe I should slow down.
    I looked around for Aurélie and Liza, but couldn’t find them. The room kept spinning. “Excuse me,” I said to Razor Boy. I staggered off in search of a restroom, where I promptly threw up in a toilet.
    I felt a little better after that, but I badly wanted to go home. I located Liza in one of the darker corners, where she was making out with a man who’d shaved his head and had a dragon tattooed on his scalp. “I need to leave,” I told her.
    She looked annoyed. “It’s not even late.”
    “I’m sick. I threw up.”
    She rolled her eyes. “Like I needed to know that. Can’t you hang out here another hour or so?”
    “I want to go.” I felt green around the gills again. I clutched my stomach. “Where’s Aurélie?”
    “I have no idea. Why don’t you get a cab home?”
    “You won’t come with me?”
    She had the grace to look faintly guilty. “Come on, Sarah. Don’t spoil the night for me, too.”
    I had no choice but to wobble out to the street. I got into a yellow cab, gave the driver Sarah’s address, and leaned back in the seat. If I kept my eyes closed, it wasn’t so bad. If I took deep, careful breaths, maybe I wouldn’t vomit again.
    I felt sick as a dog, and angry to boot. Some friends Sarah had. They expected her to pay for everything and didn’t even care when she – I – got sick. I could die in a gutter, for all they cared. Maria would never treat me this way.
    A wave of loneliness swept over me. Maria. I would give anything to have her with me right now. She’d stroke my hair and tell me I'd be fine. She’d help me up the stairs and put me to bed.
    Instead I negotiated the stairs alone, pausing at each landing. The last flight I took at a run. I fumbled open the door and made it to the bathroom just in time. When my stomach was completely empty I brushed my teeth, kicked off my sandals, and practically crawled to the bed.
    As I fell asleep, I vowed that alcohol would never, ever touch my lips again.

I woke up feeling, if possible, even worse.
    I lay in bed, my head splitting, my stomach clenching. Suddenly I understood my mother’s plaintive moans on the mornings after she’d had too much to drink. I used to drag her out of bed by force, shove her in the shower, and