The Perfect Party

I never went out in high school.

I tried once. I sat around as a group of people talked badly about people I cared about so I left.

The next time I almost burned my clothes next to an open fire and decided these things were just not for me.

It wasn’t until college, my junior year, that I finally experienced a “real” party.

A friend of mine convinced me to go. She was dating a member of a finals club and so we went.

I trusted her. I trusted we’d have fun, we went on outings from time to time and other times we met for tea. We decided we’d give the party a try, after all, we were in college.

We got dressed up in our makeshift Hawaiian gear and entered through the back gate of an alley right outside of campus housing.

It looked normal, nothing out of the ordinary…

But then the gates opened and…

It. was. a. zoo.

People were hanging from the fire escapes, about four stories high. Long tubes of beer were draped from the roof of the home straight down to the floor.

Oh no, what did I get myself in to? I thought.

I knew myself, I wouldn’t do anything to jeopardize my wellbeing. “You’ll be okay, just stick with your friends, dance and you’ll be done.” I pep-talked myself. I knew nothing bad would happen but I still jerked a little inside. Did I really want to be here?

To my right there was a HUGE ice sculpture, probably twice my height, and people were taking shots off it. There were about 20 kegs of beer, people pinned upside down drinking and more. Before we could make it in the house, we got to dancing. Two guys approached us, I still remember their names but for the sake of this story I’ll call them Peter and Bob.

Peter, an outgoing young lad and his friend, Bob, made their way over to my friend and I and said, “Hey.” No introduction. He then pointed to his friend and said, “His dad owns two of the largest banks and sits at JP Morgan. He’s going to take his place one day. You should meet him.” I stood and wondering whether that was a real conversation.

It became awkward. I walked away, then pretended to dance away to my favorite song.

They tried to approach us again, several times throughout the night and we finally decided to hide away inside the house.

About 10 minutes in, we realized we were the only ones in the house. We had the entire house to ourselves. The billiards room, the library, the soda machine, the DJ table, everything.

We took to the tables and moved all the furniture.

No more than 20 minutes later we hear a knock at the door and a loud holler, “Open up! It’s the police.” Then a flashlight and another knock. “Oh no, it’s the cops!” someone said. Of course, the only one underage, me, was in plain sight. I was 19 at the time. My friends were all of age.

Oh no. Do I open the door? Everything I have always known is not to open the door. Don’t open the door, I thought, but my body wanted to do otherwise. What if they knock it down and I get in trouble anyway? I hadn’t been drinking but was still worried. I’d heard stories like this before. I looked through the pillar of the staircase I was hiding behind and prayed that I was invisible.

“Please, god, please.” I knew you could see the outline of my body but I prayed that you couldn’t.

I could feel the officers turning the door handle. I hoped it was locked.

I knew there was a broken knob, but I didn’t know where.

I panicked, everyone scattered. I could see one of my friends hiding behind the rear of the living room signaling for me not to open. I knew the amount of alcohol in the house, I knew we could get in trouble. Just the week prior, I had heard about someone who had lost all their financial aid because they were caught with alcohol, even though they didn’t drink. I sat there no more than 10 feet between me, the door, and the police officers. I wanted to leave.

What should I do?!?! What do I do??

In that moment, I wish I would’ve stayed home, my computer would’ve loved me just fine. Coffee and a book could’ve made for a fine party.

Why didn’t I just stay home? Why didn’t I just stay home?

Coffee and some tea was a party fit enough for me.

By Cynthia H., 23, Boston