1
I remember parties that started so slowly you felt the urge to hold your breath. People were milling trying to find out what to do.
It’s even harder to have fun when your definition of fun is completely different from half the group.
You can lose friends.
Because of a party.
2
13th birthday party.
I’d invited the youth group of my church, trying to reach out to people I barely knew, knowing connection might fail. They didn’t like me very much. I accepted that.
5 people came.
Worst. Party. EVER.
3
16th birthday party.
LOTS of presents.
The family got together, went out. We had a blast. And I, little birthday girl, was the life of the party.
This was new, intriguing.
Fun.
Parties were now on my “To Do” list.
4
The pool “hang out.”
The summer sun would beat down on our developing bodies, telling us not to fear—breasts weren’t all that great.
The talk of boys or girls, friends and family, in our lives gave us amusement. I never had the “more than friend.” But I was witty enough to please.
They didn’t laugh—too much.
5
We’d call random weekend sleepovers.
Junk-food galore!
Movies set on low to talk in hushed voices, our own buzz of laughter during a beheading on screen.
Priceless laughter.
Warmed cheeks from scandalous suggestions accompanied daring feats of woman/man-hood. What goes on in the group stays in the group. I doubt they remember half of what we did—I can’t.
Never a “spin-the-bottle” moment—it was much worse.
Those outrageous girls…
6
The camping escapade of a lifetime.
Topless girls, one on top of the other, our sticky bodies pressed onto plastic sleeping bags and flannel sheets, talking quietly into the hot, summer night.
Our friend from up north had come, just to see us.
We barely pulled on clammy shirts to go back inside the air-conditioned house. It didn’t matter where we were. No one complained.
We were happy.
7
After school, we might run to Taco Bell or Starbucks, clinging to the escape of home where responsibility weighed us down and parents discarded our woes.
Tense muscles kept us close, afraid of life outside our party. We were losing our playfulness. Shared moments of loss and gain. Life was happening.
Those were the most frightening parties.
8
No one ever knows when it happens.
The life of the party now the butt of every joke.
She waits for the attack to end, the tenseness of approaching change forcing all to have razor edges of humor.
Hear her silence.
It’s too much to keep up with, remarks of wit and cynicism flying darts across the ceiling. Slaps of air flow from lips just as lusty hands taunt your body with visions. Who can keep up?
Already the memories of sword lashes and liquor-coated lips reminisce on teenage frustration.
9
The grabs of hands on friends cries its need.
No one wants to leave.
But fear lashes fear. The party is slower.
No more wrestling matches.
No more flinging thongs or imaginary kisses.
Just—emptiness.
10
Coffee shop moments. We share the parties of our past in new places.
“We were so silly…”
“It was so lame…”
“I miss that…”
“It couldn’t have been crazier!”
“I lost my ________ there!”
“Never thought they’d use…”
“What was YOUR scheme?”
“I was the clown.”
“Can you believe it?”
“They said it would never happen again.”
11
Get out on the dance floor!
Punch and cookies, leather and feathers, pricks and wallflowers.
Bumping music that warms the blood and pushes you to keep pace. Shy meet sly glances across the room. Finger tips brush denim and feet echo the rhythm of pounding hearts.
Don't think. Just move.
12
“Let’s have a drink.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“Need anything to drink?”
“May I offer you something to drink?”
Alcohol—the beginning, end all, know all to a party. You can’t have a good time without it. Then when you’re puking up your guts the next morning, you forget all the good times you had the night before. What fun.
You have it made in foreign states. It’s easier to drink around people that you’ll never see again.
Have a sip before you go dance with an anonymous partner, smelling the liquor, dirt, and sex in the air
13
A comfortable night.
Glasses clink on tables while voices talk in soft murmurs around the room. Everyone has an interest that they love discussing.
The need for company is overpowering. Yet, this party is not fast.
14
The end of parties is on your mind.
So you wait. Wait. Wait.... Wait.
Will you ever party again?
That is up to you.
I remember parties that started so slowly, you felt the urge to hold your breath. People were milling, trying to find out what to do.
It’s even harder to have fun when your definition of fun is completely different from half the group.
You can lose friends.
Because of a party.
2
13th birthday party.
I’d invited the youth group of my church, trying to reach out to people I barely knew, knowing connection might fail. They didn’t like me very much. I accepted that.
5 people came.
Worst. Party. EVER.
3
16th birthday party.
LOTS of presents.
The family got together, went out. We had a blast. And I, little birthday girl, was the life of the party.
This was new, intriguing.
Fun.
Parties were now on my “To Do” list.
4
The pool “hang out.”
The summer sun would beat down on our developing bodies, telling us not to fear—breasts weren’t all that great.
The talk of boys or girls, friends and family, in our lives gave us amusement. I never had the “more than friend.” But I was witty enough to please.
They didn’t laugh—too much.
5
We’d call random weekend sleepovers.
Junk-food galore!
Movies set on low to talk in hushed voices, our own buzz of laughter during a beheading on screen.
Priceless laughter.
Warmed cheeks from scandalous suggestions accompanied daring feats of woman/man-hood. What goes on in the group stays in the group. I doubt they remember half of what we did—I can’t.
Never a “spin-the-bottle” moment—it was much worse.
Those outrageous girls…
6
The camping escapade of a lifetime.
Topless girls, one on top of the other, our sticky bodies pressed onto plastic sleeping bags and flannel sheets, talking quietly into the hot, summer night.
Our friend from up north had come, just to see us.
We barely pulled on clammy shirts to go back inside the air-conditioned house. It didn’t matter where we were. No one complained.
We were happy.
7
After school, we might run to Taco Bell or Starbucks, clinging to the escape of home where responsibility weighed us down and parents discarded our woes.
Tense muscles kept us close, afraid of life outside our party. We were losing our playfulness. Shared moments of loss and gain. Life was happening.
Those were the most frightening parties.
8
No one ever knows when it happens.
The life of the party now the butt of every joke.
She waits for the attack to end, the tenseness of approaching change forcing all to have razor edges of humor.
Hear her silence.
It’s too much to keep up with, remarks of wit and cynicism flying darts across the ceiling. Slaps of air flow from lips just as lusty hands taunt your body with visions. Who can keep up?
Already the memories of sword lashes and liquor-coated lips reminisce on teenage frustration.
9
The grabs of hands on friends cries its need.
No one wants to leave.
But fear lashes fear. The party is slower.
No more wrestling matches.
No more flinging thongs or imaginary kisses.
Just—emptiness.
10
Coffee shop moments. We share the parties of our past in new places.
“We were so silly…”
“It was so lame…”
“I miss that…”
“It couldn’t have been crazier!”
“I lost my ________ there!”
“Never thought they’d use…”
“What was YOUR scheme?”
“I was the clown.”
“Can you believe it?”
“They said it would never happen again.”
11
Get out on the dance floor!
Punch and cookies, leather and feathers, pricks and wallflowers.
Bumping music that warms the blood and pushes you to keep pace. Shy meet sly glances across the room. Finger tips brush denim and feet echo the rhythm of pounding hearts.
Don't think. Just move.
12
“Let’s have a drink.”
“Can I buy you a drink?”
“Need anything to drink?”
“May I offer you something to drink?”
Alcohol—the beginning, end all, know all to a party. You can’t have a good time without it. Then when you’re puking up your guts the next morning, you forget all the good times you had the night before. What fun.
You have it made in foreign states. It’s easier to drink around people that you’ll never see again.
Have a sip before you go dance with an anonymous partner, smelling the liquor, dirt, and sex in the air
13
A comfortable night.
Glasses clink on tables while voices talk in soft murmurs around the room. Everyone has an interest that they love discussing.
The need for company is overpowering. Yet, this party is not fast.
14
The end of parties is on your mind.
So you wait. Wait. Wait.... Wait.
Will you ever party again?
That is up to you.
