Cure for Pain

“Ugh, I’m so BORED!” yelled Pinkie from the corner of the music room in our apartment. My band, consisting of Coleton, my friend Jake, My friend Mark and I had been loading up equipment in our van for the past 30 minutes, and Pinkie was too small to do anything. It was a bit awkward having to explain everything to the other two members of the band, and I wasn’t sure they quite believed us, but we were on our way to the bar without much problems.

We finally got to the bar around six o’clock, two hours before our gig. By the time we got set up on stage, we had an hour and a half left, and we decided to sit down and have some drinks. I got a couple of beers and sat back to talk. Pinkie joined us, and at the sight of the glass bottles of beer, asked what they were. I told her about what beer was, and she asked for some. I knew it would be a bad idea and that it would probably make Pinkie Pie even more hyper and crazy than she already was, so I didn’t give her one. I acted on my better judgment and got her two.

At around seven, Coleton, Pinkie and I left to pick up Twilight. I realized the mistake I had made giving Pinkie alcohol when we got out of the bar and she couldn’t walk straight. Or walk at all. Or stand up without some type of support. Coleton looked at me with a look of pure contempt. It was the maddest I’d seen him. Of course, giving a pink party pony two beers probably wasn’t my most honorable move, but I had been drinking and thought it was a good idea.

We finally picked up Twilight at around 7:15. She was nagging me about my decision to give Pinkie alcohol, but I blocked her out. When we got back to the bar, we had some time before we had to start playing, so I sat Pinkie down and told her to not order a single drink. She just laughed, not even forming coherent sentences anymore. My actions got to me in an awkward laugh of remorse and anxiety. Twilight wanted to stay with Pinkie to keep her from drinking, but we told her to have fun and that we would keep an eye on her from the stage.

“Alright.” Mark said into the microphone as the clock hit eight. “We are the Monorails, and we will be playing some songs for you tonight. We’ll start off heavy.” We played Walk by Avenged Sevenfold, which in itself was a cover of Pantera, but we didn’t care. It went pretty well. The night went on and on, and the band started having fun.

At  around nine, I looked around the room to look for Pinkie. She was where she was supposed to be, but she had a waitress with her. I could hear what Pinkie was saying from behind the drums, but I saw her mouth, and I could read lips. She was saying Vodka.

No. No. Nononononononononononono! This wasn’t happening! She couldn’t be shooting shots of vodka! If she was tipsy from two beers then vodka would be the end of her! IT WAS ALL MY FAULT! IT WAS ME WHO GAVE HER BEER IN THE FIRST PLACE! I looked over to Coleton, and he saw it too, because all of the blood was drained from his face.

We were playing Black Math by the White Stripes, which features a long complicated solo in the middle. What Coleton did….. was the most genius thing I’ve ever seen him do. He grabbed his slide, played with a slide for the remainder of the solo until he saw the bartender walking over with Pinkie’s order. He took the slide, and through it into the crowd under the guise that it was a “gift” to the crowd, but “overthrew” it on purpose, hitting the waitress and spilling the vodka.

After Black Math, we had a 30 minute break, and another band came up. It was no question what was going to happen. We grabbed Pinkie and dragged her back to the apartment. She resisted, but she was so drunk it wasn’t hard to keep her subdued. We locked her in the apartment, took the key, and left. I felt bad; it wasn’t her fault that she got drunk. I was the one who order her beer, and I was ashamed of myself. I told Twilight when we got back to the bar, and while she was mad at me for giving her beer in the first place, she agreed that what we did was the right thing.

We got back on stage and played the best gig we had ever played. It hurt that Pinkie wasn’t there to see it, as I did promise here that she would see us play the best gig of all time, but it was better than having to watch over her. After the set, we got paid and left as fast as we could. We agreed to leave the instruments there and get them back to the apartment during the daylight so no one could steal them.

We got back to the apartment, and the smell of vomit was potent. I told Twilight to sleep in my bed again, and that I would arrange for her to sleep in the living room tomorrow. As soon as she shut the door, Coleton and I went back to the bedroom to inspect the damage.

The bedroom was spotless, and the only thing that needed to be done was to spray some Lysol and it was fine. The bathroom next to the bedroom, however, was a different story. It… was…. destroyed. The sink, the toilet, EVERYTHING was covered it sickly sweet pink vomit (sorry for the imagery, just have to make my point). The second the door was open, Coleton yelled “not it!” and ran in the living room to sleep on the couch. I wanted to yell at Coleton, but the sight of a sleeping Pinkie Pie took my thoughts away from anger. Even after such a rough night, she still looked cute sleeping. It was her sleeping grin that got me through all of the cleaning, and it was the grin that made it all worth it. The fact that I would have to deal with a hung over Pinkie in the morning didn’t help, but that was Future Me’s problem. I slept on the floor for the second time that week, but it was worth it.