🅈🄴🄻🄻🄾🅆 🄲🄰🄽🄰🅁🅈 🄱🄸🅁🄳 •Stanley Barber•

Drugs, Hugs, and Pugs

"Thanks," I said. "The same goes back to you. I love the green."

Stan pulled the clutch from park to drive, and we were off. The weed smell was especially strong today, so I cranked the window down, and leaned onto its sill. Rock music softly played from the radio, mixing well with the noises of the night.

As we crossed a bridge, a strange thought occured to me: This was the latest I've ever been out for something besides work. The world looked entirely different at night, like a new type of animal was out and thriving. It was a funny thing to say, but it almost made me feel alive.

The party was already in full swing when we got there. I rolled up the window as Stan found somewhere to park. He managed to snuggle into a tight spot before turning off the car. He grabbed a tin box of mints, placed them in his pocket, and began to exit the car.

Brad's house was huge. It fit in nicely with the rest of the suburban neighborhood, a neat lawn and clean windows greeting us with grace. Strobe lights flashed from the inside, sweeping in and out of the house. There was so much going on already, and we haven't even been outside.

"You okay?" Stan asked.

"I've never been to a party before," I said. "Like, ever, and I..."

"At least you don't have to do this alone, right? I'll always be here for you."

"You better be."

I swallowed down my nervousness, and got out of the car. Chirping crickets greeted me outside. Stan met me on the sidewalk, and offered out his arm. I took it, and we took a leisurely stroll to the front of the home.

"So what are you actually supposed to do at a party?" I said. "Asking for a friend."

"There's a lot you can do. You can meet new people, eat the shitty food provided, drink, smoke, whatever." He opened the door for me.

"Thanks." 

"Of course." He took my arm again, and led me through the house. It was almost like he'd been here before. "But if you're going to a party with another person, you should also expect them to get you a drink before you do anything else."

The kitchen was easy to find, since it was the busiest place in the house. He grabbed a clean red cup, and offered up the many bottled selections. I wasn't even sure where I should start. I just shrugged, so he grabbed a bottle with a fancy Russian name, and poured some into the cup. Stan handed it to me, and got himself the same thing.

"To new beginnings," he said, raising up his cup.

"To new beginnings."

We both took a sip while standing at the table. It was bitter, and it's "vanilla flavoring" did nothing to help it go down. I swallowed hard, and noticed Stan make the same face. It made me laugh a bit. He was just as much a loser as I was.

"I knew alcohol was supposed to taste bad, but damn," I said. "What next?"

"Next, I pretend to be really nervous." Stan rubbed the back of his neck, and rocked on his heels. I giggled. "Then I take a drink and ask if you wanna dance?"

"That sounds extremely cheesy." 

I took his hand, and pulled him out of the kitchen towards the sound of incomprehensible music. The living room was a big, open space filled with dancing kids and booming speakers. I took another sip of my drink, ready for whatever after-effects it would take on me, and found Stan and I a spot in the crowd. 

"So," I said, "dancing."

"Dancing."

The situation was just so ridiculous that another giggle came out of me. What even was dancing? You just moved your body because it seemed... fun? Because it made you feel happy? What a silly thing to think, and yet everyone around here did it. I took another sip, forcing it down, then another.