There was apparently some sort of yellow-jacket infestation at one of the wineries, because they were everywhere. The guy who poured the booze joked that the color of that particular wine came from all of the ground-up yellow jackets that fell into the casks. I peered into my glass suspiciously, and he laughed and explained that he was just kidding, but that yellow jackets really do like the wine, so there might be some in there. I still drank it. “No biggie,” I said casually, “but I’m deathly allergic to yellow jackets, so I’m probably going to die here.” The rest of the table was all, “Really?” and I was like, “No, not really. But wouldn’t that be a great way to die?” Everyone at the table was silent, probably because they were busy thinking that yeah, that totally would be a great way to die.
Eight p.m. I was supposed to be downstairs eating barbecue, but I was on the verge of an anxiety attack, so I bowed out, and everyone was very sweet and understanding. That’s the great thing about hanging out with bloggers. They already know that you’re broken, and most of them are, too, so they just nod and make you go take Xanax and go to bed. They’re very supportive. Also they probably wanted me to leave so they could talk about me.
Laura dropped off a plate of barbecue and some water, and patted my head reassuringly when I told her how bad I felt that I wasn’t down there. “It’s fine, I promise. Everyone totally understands.” She walked out the door but then turned back quickly to say drily, “But you are getting kicked off cheer squad.”
I love my friends.
Four a.m. I woke up and found that Laura was missing. I looked outside for her but I couldn’t see her. I vaguely wondered whether I might have accidentally murdered her in my drug-induced state. “Probably not, though,” I thought to myself. “Not enough blood around. Unless the blood is in the bathroom.” I decided to look later.
Eight a.m. LAURA WAS NOT DEAD! She had fallen asleep somewhere else, and came back because she was worried that I’d think she’d gotten kidnapped.
ME: No, I thought I’d murdered you and then blocked it out.
LAURA: You thought you’d murdered me?
ME: Just for a second, but there wasn’t enough blood. But the showerhead was askew, so I thought maybe I’d just washed off all the blood in the shower. But it didn’t seem like me. I’m terrible at cleaning up after myself.
LAURA: Well, it’s nice to know that I’d be the first person you’d want to kill.
ME: No way. I adore you. You’re the last person I’d want to kill. That’s why I figured I’d blocked it out. I figured I’d recover all those memories later with therapy, and then also I’d suddenly remember being abducted and probed by aliens. Which would suck. I’m glad you’re not dead, though, because I’m already fucked up enough without remembering an involuntary probing.
LAURA: And I guess that whole “murdering your best friend” thing would be a downer too, I suppose.
ME: That too. Mostly the probing, though.
Ten a.m.: Yoga in the rain.
We were all doing the downward-dog position and all I could think was, “For the love of Christ, just don’t let me fart.” I’d begun to pray to the baby Jesus to deliver me from accidentally passing gas, and then someone else farted. It wasn’t me, but all I could think was that I felt total empathy for her, and also that I really wanted to say, “That was totally not me,” but it probably wouldn’t be appropriate, since we were all supposed to be meditating.
I worked up enough courage to talk to Maggie and thanked her for inviting me, and then found myself telling her that I’d decided that if anyone there was a mass murderer it was she. She was silent, and I pointed out that I meant that in a good way, because she was the most organized. Then she asked the cook for a cleaver and I got a bit nervous, but turns out it was because she thought it was brilliant and wanted to act out a murder scene. And so we did. . . .
And it was awesome.
The final morning we all sat around by the pool, wrapped in blankets with mussed hair and no makeup, and I listened to the conversations around me the same way I had in high school, but instead of trying to block them out or sneer at them internally, I smiled and nodded. I forced myself to join in and listen to all the conversations going on around me, rather than hide my head in a book to avoid rejection. And I realized just how awesome girl conversations could be. Random snippets of overheard conversations:
“I’ve never said this to anyone before, but sometimes I think my baby is a real asshole. Is that normal?”
“Oh, yeah. My baby is a total dick sometimes.”
“You know when you’re in Nepal and there are all these Japanese people around and it’s two a.m. and you’re in a basement and you’re trying to find breakfast and suddenly a magician shows up?”
“Oh, I know exactly what you’re talking about.”