Below is an excerpt from a story that has been in progress since 2013. (Note: always drink responsibly.)
One of these things is not like the other. I’ll give you a hint—it’s me. I'm surrounded by a bunch of people all drinking and having fun while I’m stuck in a cloud of their smoke. (There is something severely wrong with this picture.)
I made my way through the sea of sweaty, buzzed bodies in search of Scott. He would know what to do. You could spot him over the crowd of people--that’s how tall he was. His blond hair was like a lighthouse guiding me to safety.
“Scott, I need to talk to you,” I said in my concerned outsider voice.
“What’s up, Rose?” He smiled that reassuring smile of his.
“I don’t belong here. I think I’m going to leave soon. I don’t know anybody here and I’m driving, so I can’t drink. This is not my idea of fun, and I don't want to hold you back.”
“C'mon, you have to stay. It’ll be fine. If worse comes to worse, you can drink and always sleep over. Dave’s parents are chill.”
“Well, Dave’s parents might be chill, but mine are not,” I sighed.
“Do what you need to,” Scott replied. Just then some skanky blonde in tight jeans came over and grabbed his arm. “Scott, come be on my team for volleyball.” Without another word Scott followed. It’s then that I realized how alone I really am.
Why is it so difficult for me to be a teenager? Why must I be the good kid my parents will be proud of? Damn moral compass. I’m a good kid all the time. Aren’t I allowed to mess up once in a while? Besides, all I would have is one drink…
Okay, it’s settled. I whipped out my Blackberry wannabe phone. Hey Mom, I’m going to need a ride. I just had one drink. Please don’t be disappointed. Ugh, I am responsible even when I’m irresponsible.
As soon as I sent the text, I went and found Dave. “Hey buddy, point me in the nearest direction of alcohol, stat,” finally having some pep in my step.
“Rose, you drove here. No way!” He always played the role of my babysitter even when he was plastered.
“Relax. I texted Madre, and she’s going to get me.” Without another word, Dave went over to the bright red cooler, grabbed a bottle of Mike’s, twisted the cap and handed me the icy, wet bottle.
“Cheers,” we clinked bottles and drank to our freedom. It tasted just like lemonade but with a tiny taste of what I can only assume is alcohol. Dave was on his ninth bottle. I had a lot of catching up to do.
The rule of thumb is to never mix drinks and stay hydrated; I broke both of those rules. The experiment of me plus alcohol had interesting results. I wasn’t 'white girl wasted,' but I had enough in me to be more relaxed around everyone.
After my second Mike’s (and some whiskey), I made my way outside to the volleyball game. “Hey Scott, can I play?” I giggled like the lightweight I am as I headed towards the net.
“Rose, did you drink?” he asked as he led me away from the game. (Always looking out for me, and a good thing too because the ball almost whacked me in the head.)
“Maybe,” I smiled and started to laugh uncontrollably.
“But you’re driving?” he asked accusingly.
“Oh, relax Dad. The rents always said if I ever found myself in this type of situation to call and I could get a ride no questions asked.”
“Just be careful. You don’t want to be that girl at the party,” he replied in a parental tone that could match my actual father.
“I hear she’s the one that has the most fun.” I winked and made the pilgrimage back inside. Not easy to do in high-heeled boots--my father calls these my "love me for my mind" shoes.
Once inside, I became out of place again. Yes, I was drinking, but I didn't know anyone besides Dave and Scott. I made my way to the basement, needing a break from being social, to no avail.
Sitting on the couch was Paul--talk about a blast from the past. I hadn’t seen him since I graduated, but he looked the same with his big brown eyes and trademark beard. He must have felt me staring because he looked up and smiled. Same old Paul. His smile was inviting enough, so I clumsily joined him.
“Rose Greenway, long time no see. How have you been?” He asked as I plopped down beside him.
“I’m good. I just finished my first year of college, so I’m back for the summer. You must be excited to finally be out of high school,” I observed as I fiddled with my empty wine cooler.
“Eh, yes and no,” he shrugged.
“Trust me, college is so much better." Since my inhibitions were lower than normal, I blurted out, "I have a question for you. What is a guy like you doing at a party like this?" I asked eyeing his Bud, "I didn’t think you would be the kind of guy to hang with Dave. You seem so clean and goody two shoes.” (This is the ultimate joke because I was as good as shoes get, and I was friends with Dave.) I could feel the wine coolers start to work their magic. Note to self: do not drink and then talk to attractive guys.
“I could ask you the same thing,” he chuckled, “Honestly, I keep my activities on the down low. That way people never suspect me.”
“I’m impressed,” a smile crossed my flushed face.
Paul glanced at my empty bottle and then up at me, “Hey, do you want another one?”
Suddenly this party didn’t seem so bad after all.
