Two very different kinds of comfort

The first time I got drunk, it was on Southern Comfort in my ex-boyfriends kitchen. Me and Amanda drank straight from the bottle, perched on the counter. The party was tame compared to some others we'd been to, and go to later. It was the obligatory "My parents are out of town and I'm just having a few people over", kind of thing.

So we cracked open a bottle of the sweet liquor and drank deep. As the night went all warm, and fuzzy on me, I went to the bathroom and looked in the mirror. It floated in front of me on the wall, drifting left and then right. I re-applied my cherry chapstick and thought, so this is what drunk is, huh.

And then nothing.

I woke up hours later in a dark room.

"Tiff? Tiff wake up," my ex's voice through the dark.
"Your Mom's on the way."

Sobering up, I felt the first hot pull of fear. She's gonna kill me. But my arms and legs are lead. Dead. Weighted. And so I wait. And my incredibly sweet, good-hearted first ex-boyfriend sits on the edge of the bed and tells me that I drank too much and wanted to sleep. So he brought me upstairs and put me to bed. He went back downstairs, coming up occasionally from the party to check on me. (the other party-goers corroborated his kindness to me later)

But when I wouldn't wake up. When he nudged me, and shook me and I didn't budge, he panicked. And he called my Mom. Because she's the kind of Mom my friends feel comfortable calling.

I eventually got out of bed and walked outside. I remember it was chilly. Headlights washed over the front lawn, came up the hill. Climbing into the car I buckled my seat belt, silent. And though the details of most of the night are hazy at best I remember she didn't yell.

She never yelled.

And I was ashamed. Considered a convent ashamed.

We drove home, and at some point I went back to sleep. Morning brought my very first hangover. Death had to be near. Old sweatpants, a warm blanket, something on t.v.

And then there was Mom, with plain toast and a cup of hot tea. Salvation.

Somehow we made it through that. I learned that she really would come and get me, no matter what. That she would take care of me when I was in need. That she would let me grow up, and make all those little and all those big mistakes. And when I got in too deep, she'd make sure I knew, and learned my lesson.

But always, she'd be just around the corner with a hot cup of tea, head cocked slightly to the side saying, "You want to talk about it?"