Party animal

He thought he’d left his hard-partying days behind him. No more shots and no more dancing and certainly no more hooking-up with his exes. But something always sucks him back in (hint: letting loose after finals leads to bad things).

It’s been months–well, at least one month—since I last attended any sort of large social gathering. The events of the last few weeks have reduced me to a “stay in my room and talk with my cat while steadily growing angrier about my writing” kind of person. But alas, my oldest friend found me in my seclusion.

He was dressed impeccably but already somewhat tipsy at the hour of 4 PM, still carrying the musty tomes he had been using to write some terribly boring term paper but ready to party. He yanked open my drapes, but to no real effect as the sun had already set and so only the dim light of dusk crept in through my windows. He turned to me and stretched out a hand holding an invitation. He said to me, “You will be my plus one?” I blinked blearily and wondered whether this was meant to be a question. I knew that if I didn’t agree to join him at this thrice-damned party that I would be forced to entertain him on my own. I nodded agreement.

We wandered far, to gladder lands. Beneath the river East whispering through garbage-strewn banks; the subway walls trembled like the trepidation of the spheres.

We enter some dull den of brick, with throbbing bass oozing out of speakers. I am not drawn into the dance, but into the kitchen. There I am handed some far-too strong drink that tastes worse than mandrake root. I turn to the beautiful hostess I have just been introduced to and try to come up with a pick-up line that doesn’t involve a blood-sucking insect (too creepy, too morbid). Unfortunately, she is called over by a friend in the middle of one of my more inspired metaphors

Now two, now three drinks more! I am a passionate soul, yes, but also a thrice-cursed lightweight! My head turns and spins.

I am a metaphorical man! One minute I am standing on a table, declaiming to the world that Christianity isn’t for suckers; the next moment I am sharing the bathtub with a brand-new acquaintance. We speak of things I have said to no one else before.

I grabbed his arm, whispered in his ear, “My love, thine eyes have blinded mine.”

He looked me in the eyes and said, “Dude, I am so stoned right now.”

I nod in agreement. My heart sinks and my stomach churns. After this moment, the night passes in blurs and visions. I beg for sleep, but am dragged from one den of iniquity to another. I awoke the next morning feeling my mortality most violently, but grateful that it would be months before I was foolish enough to go out again.