My Dearest Backcountry,

Ever since school let out and summer began, your hallowed halls have been emptied in preference for another Thursday night gathering spot. But I have not forgotten you.

I miss your extremely obnoxious long line that we would patiently wait in so that we may enter. I miss all of the booing when some sleaze tries to jump the line, only for them to be escorted to the back of the line by security to the satisfaction of the other eager club-goers. I remember the eagerness we get when we reach the front of the line to present our last $3 in our bank accounts for a stamp of entry in return. All for you, my love.

I can still taste your $6 watered down vodka cranberries as I plow through the crowded space in order to find my friends twerking on the dance floor. The spilled beer and debris from wedges, Sperrys, and sandals make for a sticky glaze on the floor but we don't mind. We're just happily drinking and (attempting) to dance.

I've never known more of a struggle than to leave you for the summer. I miss fighting for the attention of a bartender, the boujee feel of the pool tables in the back and especially the hype when "Mr. Brightside" blares from the DJ stand. I have not yet forgotten that darn bull in the corner, ready to put up another more-than-slightly-intoxicated rider and the cheers as another person falls off and onto the ballooned cushioning.

But perhaps, the thing that I miss the most is being able to go out and have fun with my friends on a Thursday. While we still go out on Thursdays during the summer, it's not the same. Backcountry brought everyone (over the legal age of drinking, that is) together. During the summer, friends are all over the place and not necessarily in Harrisonburg. Being at Backcountry means that we're all together again and that's what I miss the most; my friends.

I miss talking in group chats with everyone about who's going and at what time. I miss the camaraderie we all feel when we all drag ourselves to class the next morning, cursing ourselves for going too hard. Surprisingly, I miss figuring out how to get home and playing find your Uber at the end of the night.

My dearest Backcountry, I look forward to the day we all come crawling back to JMU and the first Thursday rolls around and we're back in your line, ready for another year of tall boys, crowds of sweaty college kids trying to navigate the bar, dance floor, and pool tables. I can't wait to try to scrub your stamp off the next day to hide the real reason why I'm exhausted from my professors. Until that day comes, I will reminisce what I can remember from those Thursday nights.

All my love.