One of Those Parties

There was loud music playing and a lot of people in crazy getups. Everything was pretty much terrible by my account. The worse the music the louder it must play, the louder the clothing the more it must be worn. There is a strange correlation between these things, I've found, and that night was no different.

There was one of those pools and all of those people jumping in it like in the movies. Only no Los Angeles in the background, no city lights to look out onto. Trees and brisk breeze and a neighbor's fence. A small trampoline and kickboards, there were platters of pizza bagels and pizza rolls and half-eaten bags of chips and popcorn and it was a right mess everywhere. Cups of beer and cans of beer and bottles of beer to boot, liquor flowed and flew and so did thoughts and cares and worries.

There was light, too much light, most of the lights were on and it left quite little to the imagination. There was a dog everyone could hear but no one could find. And the more I circulated, the more people that ran into me, the more I realized no one knew whose house this was. The owner, if he or she was there, was keeping him or herself silent, if he or she existed at all. And all at once I was in sophomore year, worried that the cops would give us all minors.

I retreated to a bedroom up the stairs and down the hall. Aside from one mattress on the floor with one tousled off-white sheet, there was no evidence that anyone used it for a room of any sort. No dressers, pictures, hangers, clothes, no anything that said a person was here or might come here again, save this lonely sheet. I stretched down on the mattress against my better judgment, and I will admit it was quite soft. The sheet, too, seemed soft but yet not worn. And as I kicked off my shoes and drew it over me I thought to myself, Why not just go home?