Ouch! The sun’s in my eyes. Where am I?

Sleeping bag, trees, the musty smell of a fire in a drum mingled with
pot smoke…. Oh yeah, I remember now… and so does my stomach.

I glare at the empty Jim Beam bottle as I get up and thank god that
unlike half my mates, I haven’t woken up with a stranger. My boyfriend
stirs in his sleep and I remember him holding me all night as we got
drunk together, steering well clear of the bucket bongs that had my
mates paranoid of drop bear attacks. I know I’m lucky.

I stagger through the trees to the truck stop on the main road and
push my way through the faded streamers at the door. The woman at the
counter gives me a wary look, she thinks I’m trouble. I order the
ultimate hangover recovery – a bacon and egg roll with BBQ sauce and a
bottle of Coke.

It isn’t till I leave that I notice my friend Katie sitting in the
phone booth outside, ciggie in her mouth, Chicko roll in her hand,
tears pouring down her cheeks. I walk over, squeeze into the booth and
put my arm around her.

She’s learnt what I learnt last time. What they’ll all hopefully
learn in the end. You can’t drink away, or smoke away the pain, it
just digs deeper. And the morning after, no matter how strong the
churning in your gut is, the ache in your heart is even stronger.

It’s gotta be better than this.

He’s holding my hand as we walk home, stroking my thumb with his. He
saw Katie too. I’m thinking about last night, about every night and I
know it’s all we’ve got out here. It’ll never change.

But we can.

Danielle Jones