If I Die Before I Wake Read Online Free PDF

the tinted windows. What the hell is going on?
    The car door opens. A woman steps out. It takes me a few moments to realize I've seen her before. But where? She smiles, waves, and says, “Got a beer?” I'm standing there with a six-pack dangling from my hand. Of course, I've got beer. I nod. She approaches. A hand over my eyes to cut the glare of the sun, I finally recognize her. A long time ago, I don't recall when exactly, I went into a local bar just off the town square. It was packed, and the woman in my driveway was the only one working. I heard her say the help hadn't shown up, so I offered to help her. She refused curtly, and I left thinking she was a bitch. Why is she here now? She doesn't look mad, so I surely didn't do anything to offend her during one of my blackouts, like sleep with her husband or insult her.
    “Do you remember me?” she says. “I'm Cheryl. We met—”
    “I remember,” I interrupt, remove my shirt, and take a seat on a lounge chair. When it comes to people, I don't like women as a rule. I had a couple of women friends—one cheated me out of money, and the other started rumors about me. I'm not looking for any new girlfriends.
    Laughing, she says, “Sorry about that. It was a bad night. So, are you gonna offer me a beer or what?”
    Curious, I pull two beers out of the plastic rings, hand her one, and pop the top on the other. As if she belongs here, she goes to the side of the house, picks up an old wicker chair, moves it next to my lounge, sits, and takes a sip of the cold beer. “I haven't seen you around for a while.”
    It's too expensive to drink in the bars. If I let men buy me drinks, they expect to be paid one way or another. Lately, I haven't been up to paying that price, except for a couple of times I went to town in a blackout and woke up in a strange bed, with some awful man I wouldn't give the time of day sober. “I don't get out much.”
    “You want to go out tonight?”
    “With you?”
    “Why not? There's a band at the Legion.”
    I consider my options. I can spend another night alone—just me and the dog, reading a book about what happens to people when they die, drinking as much as I can, and passing out. Or I can go dancing. I haven't been dancing in a long time. We don't have to become bosom buddies, but she would be another body to walk in with. If I meet someone interesting, I can dump her.
    “Why not?” I concede.
    “I'll pick you up at eight.”
    Second thoughts assail me as Cheryl's car pulls out of the drive. It's too late. I don't know her last name, have her phone number—or a phone, for that matter. I'll have to go.
    The chair stowed on the porch, I go inside, put the rest of the beer in the refrigerator, telling myself I can't drink anymorebecause I need my senses about me tonight. Besides, I've already got a good buzz going. Cheryl'll be back in a few hours. I'll spend the time soaking in a bath, do something unique with my hair, and put together the best outfit I can find. If I'm going out, I'm going to look good. Cheryl is a striking woman, with her dark hair and green eyes, and I know she's a lot younger than I am … maybe in her twenties. I turned 31 in June. I won't allow her to show me up.
    Standing on a chair, I review my image in the dresser mirror. In a pair of cutoff Levi shorts, a low-cut denim vest that emphasizes my cleavage and tanned skin, a pair of strappy sandals, with my makeup done to perfection, my hair styled in a bubble of soft curls around my pixie face, I don't look my age. As a finishing touch, I stick large silver hoops through the holes in my ears. Maybe one more beer just to get me in the mood.
    Before the Legion, Cheryl and I stop at Jibby's Tavern, where I worked from time to time as a bartender, barmaid, dishwasher, salad girl, and second cook. I see a few people I know from the past, but everyone knows Cheryl. Drinks appear as if by magic, bought by her friends. I like this girl. She drinks like me, can swear with