Allow me to paint a picture for you. The sky is dark; the moon is out; the night insects are performing improvised symphonies, seemingly made for your ears alone. Walking next to you, briskly yet calmly, are two of your greatest friends. You're on your way to the chillest campus party west of the Nile and your mind is racing. Anything can happen tonight: you might high-five a stranger for having nice shoes, you might meet the love of your life, you might just tell a joke that gets you noticed by the head cheerleader. The possibilities are endless, but you're at the door and there's no time for your deep fantasies.
As you walk through the door, you cursorily survey the room to find one person you know. You see Conrad from your statistics class and make a scene about pretending to be tight with him. Saying nothing about his odd name, you give him a pat on the shoulder. You don't know what everyone else is thinking but you know it's something along the lines of Who's this newcomer who exudes popularity from his clean pores? Conrad asks if youve been working out, you say yes. You mumble something about a darty to him and say "see you around". It looks like this might just be your night!
After that explosive entrance, you decide to walk around the party, pretending that you're searching for your friends. A girl asks you who you're looking for and you tell her a name. She says "good luck finding them". You say "thanks, I'll see you around." And with a few exchanged pleasantries, the night just got a whole lot better!
In your mind, you fantasize about the wedding you could have one day. Elijah Wood is the ring bearer and Pete Wentz from Fall Out boy strums a few chords as the girl from the party walks down the aisle. You two lovebirds have chosen this party house as the wedding venue. Everything has come full circle. Suddenly, a shout draws you out from your fantasy.
The cumulus clouds are elongating, a storm is rapidly brewing. This is a metaphor for a fight. Lightning strikes the lone tree in the field. This is a metaphor for your forlorn sense of self. Forlorn was a good word choice. The rain starts pattering on the rooftops of a tiny mountain village. This is an excerpt from my short story.
The argument moves outside and the first punches are thrown. You start to get very excited and for the third time in an hour, your smile lights up the night. Giddily telling your friends about the evening entertainment, you forget about your ephemeral love and start living in the moment. Nobody else is excited about the fight and they tell you that you shouldn't be either. You want to respond with a few lines from the preface of Baudelaire's Fleurs Du Mal but then you remember that it's too obscure of a reference for anyone to understand and it probably wasn't mentioned on The Big Bang Theory, so you walk away from the fight and enter the house once more.
You're still pretty happy but people keep saying that you look sad and asking what's up. They are very caring people and good friends to have. You start clapping your hands and your family enters the party. Your dad is wearing a snapback with bright colors; your mom is wearing a snapback with pastels. Gender roles? Your sister is wearing the hat you bullied her for wearing when you were kids. It turns out the hat was actually cool and you were just too close-minded…maybe you're being too close-minded at this party. That freshman who gave you an awkward handshake and head nod might turn out to be a cool person.
Then you wake up from the dream. It's Friday morning. You have another shot at experiencing the greatest party of your life. The worst part about this is, I'm not sure if it's satire or not.
