Night one. I could not believe it, yet here I was standing in all black, with one of my best friends at my side, and a guy who I called Marshal ready to murder me. Well, I shouldn't say murder, but abuse might work better,
"It seems like just yesterday I was giving out bids to your boners," he let out a sigh, "well, those days are over. It's time to get serious and get down to business," said Marshal as he began pacing back and forth again. Then he stopped and turned his back to us and faced the wall.
An awkward silence filled the room. I stood still but let my eyes drift to Crew's face. He was already looking at me, and we exchanged a look that said the same thing:
What the hell is going on...
"ALRIGHT!" said Marshal turning to us. Charlie let out a yelp, and Marshal gave him a dirty look. I couldn't tell if Charlie was shaking because he was next to Wilson, but I bet he is.
"Tonight is not going to be like anything you kids have ever faced before. Oh, no, no, no. This is night one of six. A Kappa Alpha Tau tradition, and each night comes with a lesson." An image of an army sergeant filled my head watching Marshal bark all his words. "No one will tell you the lessons that come with each night, but it is expected that you all know what each lesson is by the last day. Not night but day. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes sir" we all muttered together.
"What the hell was that?" Marshal screamed while stomping his right foot, "I fucking said, 'do I make myself clear?'"
"YES SIR!" we all shouted.
"Jesus. You guys suck. Pathetic. Probably the worst pledge class in the history of Kappa Alpha Tau," said Marshal.
What I have learned in the pledging process, in the two months I've been doing it, is that if you're right, you're wrong; and if you're wrong, you're fucked. Right now, we were in a middle ground. Which meant we were fucked.
"Take off your shirts and blindfold yourselves. Now. And I swear if I catch you peaking you will be dropped right here on the spot. We don't need any more Milks over here," said Marshal.
I wanted to know what happened with Milk, but I had more important worries right now. I took off my black shirt, began twisting it like a long spiral pretzel, and tied a knot behind my head. Everything was black. I felt Crew's soft skin brush up against mine. It felt on purpose, but I'm glad he did. It relieved me to know someone familiar was still with me. I felt Marshal's presence near me, but I didn't know where he was exactly.
"Alright. Looks like you're all blindfolded," he said to my left. "Now everyone turn to the right."
I followed the command.
"Put your arms on the person's shoulders in front of you."
Again, I followed the command and put my hands-on Crew's muscular, broad, soft shoulders. He was surprisingly warm. Unlike Wilson. Damn, his hands brought an icy chill that crawled over my body.
"Walk," said Marshal's voice now in front of me.
Crew's body began to move forward, and I followed him. Although I was blindfolded, I knew the layout of the house pretty well. Since we are in the basement now, there is only one door in front of us. That door leads to a long hallway with two doors on the right. The closest one is the laundry room and the furthest one is the "smash" room, where people just break things. Since we are still moving forward, and the smell changed from old beer to laundry detergent, I know we are in the long hallway.
"Stop walking," said Marshal from behind me. "Turn to your right again and drop your hands." Again, I obeyed. This was not the time to mess up. Not even once. Anything could be used against you.
I knew Crew was to my left and Wilson was to my right, but footsteps muffled my mind and I didn't know if either of them were still next to me. I moved my left arm to my back, acting like I had an itch, and stuck out my elbow. There was no one there. I did the same with my right. Empty. I was alone. There might be other people in my pledge class by me, but I was separated from Crew and Wilson.
A rough, cold hand gripped my wrist and began dragging me to my left. Laundry room. It must be. The hinges of a door creaked open and a swarm of detergent and fabric softeners attacked my nose. The laundry room was strangely warm, and an electric current that led to the washing machines created a buzz in the room. The hinges creaked again indicating that Marshal left the room.
I couldn't take the sweet flowery detergent smell anymore and let out a loud, snotty sneeze.
"Bless you," someone whispered. The voice whispered in my left ear, but I couldn't make out who it was.
"Thank you," I whispered back.
Then a warm soft hand interlocked with mine. It was Crew.
"What are you doing?" I said.
"Figuring out everyone in the room. Keep your voice down. We cannot let him hear us," said Crew. He was still holding my hand and his explanation didn't make sense to me.
"Stop talking," whispered a raspy voice.
"Everyone just stop," said a high-pitched voice.
Crew's fingers squeezed mine twice, "that's Graham and Josh," he said.
So, there were only four of us. For now, at least. What is Marshal trying to do by splitting us up? Maybe pin us against each other? Some team building lesson? No way. When is there anything positive with a team building emphasis during the pledging process?
The door creaked open. Marshal was back. His boots dragged across the smooth floor with the sound of metal scraping against the ground behind him. What the hell is going on?
He let out a grunt and then a static crackle busted out. Marshal cleared his phlegmy throat, "enjoy," and he slammed the door behind him so hard I think it broke.
A crackling electric sound went off and a voice started to speak:
Number nine, number nine, number nine, number nine, number nine, said this hypnotizing slow voice. I don't know how many times the man said number nine until what sounded like an alien spaceship abducting something came on. And there it was again, number nine. Number nine. Number nine.
Torture. Pure torture. Being blindfolded, in a chemical detergent smelling, warm, room, with three other guys, and a metal speaker that just kept saying number nine fifteen times—yeah I counted. That's what insanity does to you—followed by the alien spaceship abduction noise, only to lead to more sets of the words number nine. Torture. I thought about ramming my head into the laundry machine. I thought about turning off the speaker because that would still result in me dying at the hands of Marshal. I thought about quitting, but I wasn't going to.
I've heard the myth that counting sheep helps you fall asleep; however, now I know that just cannot be true. I was now at 1,257 number nines, I think, and more thoughts about death crossed my mind than sleep did.
Number nine. 1,258
Number nine. 1,259
Number nine. 1,260
Number nine. 1,261
Number ni—the speaker went off. The sound of someone's breathing rang in my ears. The dragging of leather boots now got closer to me. Then the same rough hand that brought me in here, was dragging me again. Crew's hand let go of mine, and I wondered if Marshal saw us holding hands.
Now we were outside the laundry room. We turned to the left, then walked a few feet straight, then we made another left. I knew this was where the bathrooms were in the basement. Okay, so this means that we are in the long hallway that leads to them. At the end, we'll make a quick left. From there, the women's bathroom is on the left and the men's is on the right.
Alright, long hallway. We stopped. Quick left. Yes. Another left. What? Why the women's bathroom? I know there are no women in the house, but why this bathroom?
"Take off your blindfold," said Marshal in a normal voice. Maybe he was tired of yelling and pretending to be this scary dude, but I took it off.
The bright white light from the bathroom burned my eyes, and I rubbed them with my fists until they adjusted. Marshal was a little blurry, but he still looked the same. The bathroom had two stalls, one large and one small, and we were both in the small one together. I have to admit, this was a little weird to be this close to a guy in a tiny stall.
"Look at me pledge," said Marshal spitting on me a tiny bit.
I wiped off the spit that landed on my forehead and looked at him. His forehead was scrunching, kind of like a pug's, and he showed the bottom of his teeth making him look like a bulldog. I guess Marshal just looks like a dog to me with his hair and face.
"Who am I?" he asked.
"Marshal," I said.
"Good. Now you have a choice. Would you like to smoke or drink?"
Neither. I never smoked weed before, and I wouldn't know how to use a bong. As for the alcohol, I was not much of a drinker either. For some odd reason my skin always turned redder than a tomato, so everyone knew I was drunk, and I didn't find the burning taste pleasant in my throat.
"Give me an answer!" said Marshal.
"Umm...drink."
At first, he raised his eyebrows at me, but then he shrugged his shoulders and left me alone in the stall. I didn't move because he went to the big stall next to me, and came back with a plastic bottle with blue liquid.
"Now, this is on you. Your fellow pledges are not allowed to leave the room until you finish this fifth of alcohol. Feel free to use the toilet behind you if you need to, but I swear to God. If I catch you pouring out any of that alcohol, and trust me I will know, you're fucking dead," he said to me and then he walked out of the stall and the bathroom.
I turned the bottle to see the label:
Bruisers Blue Berry Black Out
What kind of cheap alcohol is this? And damn, that is a lot of B's in one name. Blue Berry Black Out, great. I unscrewed the cap and a sweet aroma of blue raspberry flavoring filled the air around me. Honestly, the smell was so sweet it made me completely forget that I was still in a stall where girls pee, and who knows what else they do.
I brought the bottle to my lips and took a sip. Nasty! So gross! And it burns! What the hell is this stuff? One of my biggest secrets is that I'm not much of an alcohol drinker. The whole stereotype of fraternity guys drinking and doing drugs, yeah, that's totally true. At parties I grab a beer or pour myself a drink with complete soda and end up throwing both away; however, there was no escaping this situation right now.
This time I took a large gulp and just swallowed right away. There was a bigger dent in my throat than the bottle from that gulp. I needed to drink all of this and fast. Damn, I should've asked Marshal when I needed it done by. He said it was up to me for how long everyone was going to stay in that torture room, and we were still missing four other guys. This night already made no sense to me.
A took another swig. And another. And a final one. There was only about half left, and it was weird, but I was panting out of breath. I didn't drink it fast, but it was just so bad it felt like it took everything out of me. Legit poising Bruisers Blue Berry Black Out is. It felt like someone lit a flame in my stomach, and honestly, someone probably could. I swear this stuff is equivalent to gasoline. But, I need to keep drinking and fight the pain. I found my self wanting to do this for Crew, but I didn't know why.
A brought the, now, crusty bottle throat to my lips, but didn't take a sip. 1...2...3...and the bottle went back. My throat began chugging and chugging. The blue water slowly depleted and my throat felt like acid was burning it from the inside. Keep chugging! Do. Not. Stop! The half left, turned to a third, then a quarter, and then it was gone.
I threw the bottle on the ground and it bounced and spun on the floor. I heaved over the toilet and opened my mouth, taking deep breaths. A burp came out, but nothing else, yet.
"Damn, Brindge. I didn't know you had it in you," said Marshal leaned up against the women's bathroom door. I was focused on throwing up and my body that I didn't even hear him come in.
"Yeah," I said with struggle.
"I'm impressed, but it's just night one, and you still have not learned your lesson yet. Come with me."
I hobbled to the door. Everything was spinning. I looked in the mirror and my face was more purple than red. My head felt like someone was drilling a hole in it. I got to the outside of the door, walked down the long hallway, and was back in the main room of the basement.
Except, the basement was completely changed. A line of yellow tape was on the floor by the door that led to the other long hallway. An unraveled hose was twisted and thrown on the floor in front of it. Two milk crates supported the wooden board from earlier in front of the hose. Thumbtacks scattered the floor a few feet after the board. And a levitating hoop by a string from the ceiling hung a few feet above the ground by the bar, which now had only one bottle left. What the fuck was about to happen?
"Hey luckass" said Charlie slurring his words. He clearly chose the drinking option also. Next to him was Davis. His attention was so focused on the yellow tape for some reason and his eyes were bloodshot red.
"Shhhh," said Scott spitting everywhere. He clearly drank also, but they seemed way worse off than I was.
"There's no reason to be quiet anymore. I'm right here," said Marshal, "and don't act like you were talking when I wasn't pulling you guys out of the room." His body became a mix of blurry waves and swirls in my vision.
I watched him walk through the door that led to the laundry room and smash room. Then he came back in a minute with Crew, Graham, Josh, and Wilson behind him. They were still blindfolded. He lined them up in a line and took a few steps back.
"Alright pledges. Take off those blindfolds."
They all followed his orders and their heads ran around the room looking at the mess. Crew's eyes met mine, and he mouthed the words:
Are you okay?
I nodded my head, a little too violently, up and down.
His face was puzzled. Maybe he asked, are you olay? Damn. My head kills.
"Alright you pathetic fucking pledges listen up," said Marshal getting back up on the stage, "tonight is night one. Most kids drop after tonight due to injuries, alcohol poisoning, other drug side effects, and sometimes trauma. So, let me be the first to welcome you all to Kappa Alpha Tau's night one tradition—also known as Dropstacle course."