party monster

Everything around me smells like vomit. There’s a girl in the corner regurgitating her lunch right now. The air is thick with cigarette and marijuana smoke, and I’m getting dizzy. I’m holding a cup of jack and coke, but I have yet to take a sip. I can hear the legs of beds screeching back and forth above my head. There’s people dancing rather intimately in the living room, and some of them are making out. The wood of the back deck is creaking from the weight of the roughly 35 people socializing; they discuss banal things like pop music and the latest sandra bullock movie. I only came because a friend asked me too, but she’s too busy practicing fellatio on a guy she just met in the bathroom. I look like a lonesome loser standing in the kitchen. I’m too afraid to talk to anyone. I’m staring daggers into the cheese plate; I don’t even like cheese that much. The air is beginning to sting my eyes, and the smell is making me sick. I don’t know why I’m still here staring at cubes of curdled milk. I should just go. I know I said I’d take my friend home, but I can’t stand it here. I don’t know anyone, I’m almost two hours from home, and everyone thinks I’m catatonic. What a Friday night this is.

A girl came up to me and said hello. I just give her a meek smile and say hello back. Thank god somebody is going to talk to me. She says excuse me and goes to the fridge. I go back to the monterey jack. It seems that everyone wanted a drink then, so I decided to go to the bathroom. I walked out as a crowd poured into the kitchen. I knock on the door.

“It’s occupied!”

“Sorry” I respond.

Then I head a muffled cough coming from the bathroom and then a woman’s voice.

“Wait!” My friend came to the door.

“Hey,” I mumble.

“Hey,” she smiles “I’m not going to need a ride home.”

“Oh,” I smile “That’s good to know, I’m about ready to leave.”

“You should stay a bit longer,” my friend slurs as she leans against the door “You haven’t talked to ANYone have you?”

“Ye-…No.” I bite my lip.

“I know you’re not wild,” she places her hand on my shoulder “but you really need to live a little.”

“I’m sure I can do that in a more sedate place,” I joke. I’m not that funny.

“I’m sure you’ll change once you start talking to someone,” she moves from her lean to an upright position “anyay, don’t drink and drive.”

“I haven’t drunk anythign yet”

“Grood.” She slurs as she shuts the door to the bathroom.

I decide to take a final walk around the house at her request. It’s all the same. There’s a different girl vommiting in a different corner. The people in the living room are a few layers of cotton away from an orgy. The deck is still creaking, and the scraping of beds still persists. I sigh and begin for the door. Then I see, or at least I think I see, someone I met before. I turn to look, to make sure. We had a class together: college algebra. It was over a year ago, and we haven’t talked since then. I think I’m going to leave now. That is until I realized I have been staring for a bit and our eyes just met. I did that awkward eye aversion that I, and everyone, always do. I take a deep breath and turn toward the door. I can feel my face heating up; I probably look like a tomato. I make sure my keys are still in my pocket and I head for the door. I turn the nob and head outside. The fresh air is nice, I realize I smell like a party: cigarettes, pot, and vomit. I look around for a moment to try to remember where it was I parked. I hear the door open behind me.

“Hey.”

I turn around. At the top of the steps is my aquaintence.

“Oh, hey.” I stammer.

“Are you leaving?”

“Yeah,” I scratch the back of my head nervously “I’m just not that into parties.”

“Me neither,” he shut the front door and stepped onto the front lawn.

“Then why are you here?” I ask him rather rudely.

“I was bored.” He says frankly “It’s something to do on a Friday night. Why are you here?”

“My friend needed a designated driver,” I shrug “but my services are no longer needed.”

“So,” he takes a step closer “it’s been like a year right?”

“Huh?” I’m confused, but I realize what he’s saying “Oh, yeah. I hated that class.”

“Me too,” He smiles “I’ve never been all that good at math.”

I just nod in agreement. Based on his hair, one would assume that he jammed his tongue into a socket. It’s stands straight up, but not in a punky way. He has a light dusting of facial hair. He looks like he may be italian. He’s thick, but it looks like he excersizes.

“I,” I cough “I think I’m going to head out.”

“You should stay,” he looks sincere “I’d like to talk to you more.”

“Me too,” I smile “ I mean, to you.”

He smiles back.

“But,” I say and he looks dissapointed “somewhere else.”

“I didn’t bring my car” he shrugs.

“I did.” I pull out my keys.

“Haven’t you been drinking?”

“I had a drink but I didn’t actually drink it.”

“Are you sure?”

“No,” I look down “But I’ve got to live sometime, don’t I?”

He smiles. I smile.

What a way to spend a Friday night.