Day ragers were my favorite kind of party. I was built for stamina and longevity, and therefore I was built for day drinking.
We'd all gotten back from Hartford after 11 last night, but the euphoria of winning had been injected into our veins, and we sang Mr. Brightside at the top of our lungs as we made it back to Fairfield county. Still jittering and refusing to come down from the high, I didn't get to sleep until 2 AM, and we rolled up to Anthony's the next morning at 10 with eight kegs, a crate of champagne, and the swagger of a bunch of guys that just won their state football championship. If this was going to be the last football party of the year, out of control was the only acceptable mode.
As per most of Anthony's parties, it was open invite. People I'd never met before in my life were congratulating me, slinging their arms around my shoulders like we were best fucking friends and begging me to do shots with them. I was hammered by 2 PM, but so was everyone else.
Most of the partygoers had congregated in the den at the back of the house, because it was the biggest open space and had the doors to the deck wide open to suck all the body heat and all the smoke out into the cold. There was a keg on the deck and a keg in the corner before the doorway to the kitchen, and like the champ he was, Chris held the current keg stand record for the day.
"Any more challengers?" he bellowed to the open room, but it was hard to take him seriously with a pair of plastic light up glasses on his face.
"What a fucking animal," Anthony chuckled before taking another hit of a blunt and passing it to me. I needed a break from the liquor before I passed out without pants before 5. I took a long hit and felt the pounding of my heart slow against my ribcage. Meret appeared at Anthony's side, and he took the blunt before being whisked away by her. A slight gust came in through the open doors, and I was thankful for the chill, otherwise the entire house would have been a sticky, disgusting sauna.
Someone had cranked the music on the speaker as the beginning to It's My Life by Bon Jovi filled every corner of the first floor.
"Dallas! Dallas!"
Chris came barreling up to me like a bull in a china shop, nearly knocking me over before throwing his arm over my shoulder. "Dallas, this is our fucking song man."
"We have a lot of songs, Christopher," I chuckled, trying to keep my half-inebriated state steady under Chris's grip.
"If you know it, you gotta sing it. I don't make the rules," he slurred, poking me in the chest with a finger.
I threw my hands up in protest, but when the song kicked in, it was like Bon Jovi himself possessed us, and the words came effortlessly.
This ain't a song for the broken-hearted
No silent prayer for faith-departed
And I ain't gonna be just a face in the crowd
You're gonna hear my voice when I shout it out loud
If there was a song that drunk guys at a party always sang, this was top five easily. But that didn't stop any of us. As the chorus dropped, Chris and I had jumped up onto the black leather couch at the center of the living room, freshly filled cups of beer raised, and just screamed.
It's my life
It's now or never
But I ain't gonna live forever
I just want to live while I'm alive
Cause it's my life
It didn't take long for the entire party to join in, cheering and cups raised and singing along. Anthony jumped onto the couch between us and slung his arms around our shoulders, swaying off beat to the music.
My heart is like an open highway
Like Frankie said, "I did it my way"
I just want to live while I'm alive
It's my life
Anthony hopped back off the couch and ran into the kitchen, quickly returning with what was left of the champagne bottles from that morning's mimosa stint when it was still too early for beer. He handed Chris and I one each before joining us back on the couch as the chorus kicked in again. We shook the bottles and sprayed them at each other like the Formula 1 drivers did on the podiums.
The music went on as the entire party erupted into beer throwing, off-key singing life. It was like something out of a movie, and even though the champagne stung my eyes and soaked my shirt, I never wanted this moment to end.
Jordyn appeared beside the couch, a wide dimpled smile spread across her rosy cheeks. Something swelled in me, and maybe it was just fizzy elation from the champagne, but her smile made me smile. I jumped off the couch and swooped her into a long, heavy kiss as more beer and champagne rained down on us.
The song ended, and the party seemed to return to a faint, drunken lull. Some people - like me - had been partying for upwards of 5 hours straight, and it was starting to show. I found space on a different couch in the corner that wasn't soaked in beer and champagne. I was hot and sticky and needed to stick my head out of the open door into the winter air, but I settled for sitting beside it.
Jordyn flopped down next to me, nearly spilling the contents of whatever fruity drink was in her cup all over the both of us. She threw her long legs over my lap and reached over, squeezing my cheeks with her hand.
"You're so handsome, you know that?" she squealed, that same dimpled smile spread wide across the heated redness of her cheeks.
"And you're so drunk," I chuckled. She climbed over me so that she was fully situated on my lap, straddling my waist.
"So are you," she giggled, running a hand through my hair. She pressed her forehead to mine, reaching down and unbuttoning the top few buttons of my shirt. "Let's go upstairs."
I gave her hands a gentle squeeze. "Not as drunk as you though, which is why we're not gonna do that, okay?"
Jordyn pouted like a child who had just been denied a trip to the candy store. She let out a sigh as she nuzzled her head into the crook of my neck, keeping her hands on my chest. I let my fingers graze down her back, and even though it seemed she was teetering on the edge of being totally blacked out, she still reacted to my touch with another wistful sigh.
"Wow, she's down for the count, huh?" Rochelle lowered herself beside us and nodded her head towards Jordyn.
"She's fucking wasted," I tried to whisper, but Jordyn giggled. "I can't remember the last time I've seen her so drunk."
"Well, she's celebrating, after all her bae is a champ." The disdain in Rochelle's voice was apparent enough as she glanced at the way my hand grazed her lower back. There was a pause. "You want me to take her home?"
I arched an eyebrow. "You're leaving?"
Rochelle gave me a curt nod and one word. "Yep."
"Why?"
Rochelle placed a hand on my forearm, glancing over my shoulder as if she was expecting someone to be watching us. "We'll talk about it some other time. But if Kennedy asks if you've seen me, you haven't."
I could read between the lines. "Understood."
I lifted Jordyn's featherlight body up and carried her to Rochelle's Volvo at the curb, trying to duck in between bodies coming and going without attracting too much attention. A gust of wind dried all of the alcohol still soaking my clothes, and it made me shiver.
"Dallas," Jordyn mumbled as I lowered her into the passenger seat.
I leaned down into the open window. "What's up, J?"
"I love you, you know." With her eyes fluttering closed, she wearily reached for my hands. "I love you so much."
I let out a tired sigh. "Yeah, I know."
I also knew I didn't love her, and in that moment, I finally knew that no matter what facade I put up, what lies I could spin, and what games I could play, I would never be able to trick myself into thinking I did. I'd fallen on my own sword, and now I needed to pull the blade from the wound without bleeding out in the process.
I watched Rochelle drive away before retreating back into the house, where I was finally relieved to feel the heaviness of the heat in the air. Before I could get my bearings, someone grabbed hold of me and ushered me towards the basement door by the kitchen. The room around me began to spin in a blur of light and colors, but I managed to make out the figure of Anthony's cousin Danny. Danny lived in the next town over but frequented Anthony's parties and our shared family events. Anthony only had older sisters, making Danny the closest thing to a brother for him. It was honestly the only reason he even hovered outside the orbit of our social stratosphere, because his lack of any remotely redeeming skills or qualities would have made him a nobody anywhere else. He knew that.
"Dude, what the hell?" I shimmied out of his grip.
"I haven't had a chance to congratulate you yet." I was at least five inches taller than him, but he looked up at me, grinning like a god damn devil. "Instant classic."
"Well, thanks. Team effort, really," I shrugged and gave him the same kind of generic response I'd give to a local newspaper interview.
"But you're the MVP."
There was always something mildly unnerving about Danny. Like he wanted so desperately to fit in with us, and you knew he'd do anything for it.
"Anyway," he cleared his throat. "Me and a bunch of guys are downstairs..." he tapped the side of his nose - the silent marker for blow. "...if you wanna join. The MVP should celebrate, right?"
He beckoned me down the stairs, and I felt myself hesitate. Part of me knew the line I'd be crossing, but my conscience seemed to come and go with a capriciousness that transcended my control. Dallas was cool. Dallas was game. Dallas was the fucking MVP.
"You coming?" he called over his shoulder.
I glanced over my shoulder, almost as if I had to make sure nobody saw me before going down.
For as many times as I'd been to Anthony's over the last few years, we'd rarely been down to the basement. It wasn't like any other room in the house, stashed with exotic pieces of furniture that didn't fit anywhere else and dim, overhead lights that threw ominous shadows to the walls. A large TV with the Giants game on played faintly behind a pool table in the corner, occupied by kids I didn't recognize, their faces a blue-ish tinge from the glow of the television.
A few non-athlete seniors I vaguely knew sat huddled around a glass coffee table, dusted with remnants of white powder like freshly fallen snow. Danny had already made room for me beside him on the couch and beckoned me over. We weren't friends, but he acted like we were.
"So my friend is home for winter break from Michigan, and his fraternity brother has the hookup." Danny produced another small dime bag and shook it. "Apparently this is the best blow you can get north of like...West Virginia or something."
"Does Ant know we're down here?" I asked, even though I already knew the answer.
"We don't keep tabs on each other like that." Danny shrugged, but he picked up on the subtlety of my comment, giving me a sideways glance.
I could tell from the way Danny's hands jittered as he spilled some of it out on the back of his phone that he'd already done a few lines. He cut it up and shaped it with a credit card until it was a perfect streak of white, like a comet's trail against the night sky.
"All you." He slid it over to me, and it took me a moment to process what I actually had to do. Seeing other people do it with ease was nothing. Rolling that $20 from my wallet myself felt supernatural, like I'd exited my body and watched from above as I put my head down and snorted it in one go. An instant euphoric sensation pulled me right back in, and the taste of vinegar burned the back of my throat.
"Hell yeah! MVP line for the MVP." Danny threw his arm around my shoulder and jostled me in a way you did not jostle people after they snorted cocaine like it was pixie sticks. My entire body revved like an engine, and all I wanted to do was get up and stick my head under a running faucet, but I fell back into the couch cushions instead.
Everything fell away, like I was alone on an island with nothing but the ghosts of my decisions.
and he comes, and he goes, so capricious
antichrist / the 1975
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not me splitting a huge chapter into two because it's so important that i refuse to cut anything out. stay tuned ???
also if you aren't singing along to it's my life, we gotta have a conversation
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