3. Dolly

3

DOLLY

T he wine bottle clinked softly against the counter as I set it down. The rich, red wine would pair perfectly with my pasta and meat sauce I picked up at a little bistro down the street.

After sightseeing all day, I decided I'd end it with a nice, peaceful evening of takeout and a movie. Perfect for my last night in France.

After uncorking the bottle and pouring a generous glass, I turned the TV on, cranked up the volume so I could hear it in the kitchen, and started sipping on my wine. I went into the kitchen to plate my food. I couldn't help but feel excitement as visions of my next adventure rushed through my mind.

But as much as I loved traveling, my bank account didn't share my adventurous enthusiasm. Though I'd drained my account before leaving the States so I could pay cash for everything, I didn't have any incoming finances, and I was running low on the US dollars I exchanged at each stop for the local currency. Once I got to Romania, I'd need to figure out if I was going to stay or force myself to go back to America.

I shook my head at myself. I won't be doing the latter. No matter what.

If I wanted this to be my life, I needed to make it happen. I needed a job, something that would allow me to keep moving, to keep exploring, or maybe find a new home so far away that no one could ever hurt me again.

I was taking a train tomorrow, and I'd make a few stops over the next couple of days before settling in Romania. Once I got there, I'd start searching for something that would ensure I could be self-sufficient on a whole different continent than the one I'd grown up on, and maybe then, I'd feel like there was enough distance between me and my past.

After I got my food plated, I went back into the living room and sat on the little sofa. I let my mind wander as I imagined what kind of work I could do. My two semesters of community college didn't earn me a degree. And my only work experience was at the supermarket when I was a teenager and the odd jobs I was paid for as a self-taught seamstress.

My options were limited.

As I ate, I finished my first glass of wine and poured another. I savored the warmth the alcohol spread down my throat and through my chest, and when I finished my second glass along with my dinner, I poured a third before I got up and grabbed the plastic container for a second helping.

I was halfway through my second plate of food when the wine finally kicked in. It took a while seeing as my belly was also being filled with sinfully delicious carbs. A strange, tingly feeling settled over me. At first, it was just a lightheadedness, but then it grew stronger, heavier.

My limbs felt sluggish, and my vision blurred around the edges as I tried to focus on the TV screen.

God, was I turning into a lightweight?

I hadn't been drinking as much as I had before my trip, both because I needed to save money and because I hadn't felt the need to dull the world around me. But this one had been left with a thank you note by the renters, and I wasn't about to let a free bottle of wine go to waste.

I set the glass down, blinking hard to clear my vision. The room seemed to tilt slightly, and I laughed incredulously, admitting to myself that I clearly drank too much and alone at that.

So I wouldn't fall and hurt myself, I laid on the couch and stared at the television, listening to the romantic lilt of the French language as it carried over to me.

Just as I was about to let the darkness of my drunken stupor claim me, I swore I heard the faint creak of the front door opening. Then the soft thuds of heavy footsteps coming closer.

But by this point, I felt too far gone, too inebriated to even shift on the couch. And so I closed my eyes and fell into pleasure-filled sleep.