In front of one wall decorated with Jigglypuff from Pokémon, Lewis heads left. I follow him into what I gather is the fraternity’s taproom. It’s chaotically decorated, with white Christmas lights strung haphazardly from the ceiling and trash or people’s drinks covering every inch of the wooden countertop. I don’t know how people tell which is which.
The room is hopelessly crowded. Girls dance in the center to excruciatingly loud music. The guys hang out in the wooden booths built into the walls, drinks in hand, watching everything and nothing. Lewis heads for the counter of endless cups while I remain near the door.
I feel profoundly out of place.
Lewis returns holding his drink. We head back into the hallway, which is good because with the music and the lights and the jostling bodies and the pungent smell of beer, I’d started to feel a bit dizzy. I breathe deeply in the hall, reminding myself I just have to do this for one night. Then I get to go home, get to put this trip behind me and focus on what’s important.
“I’m going to play a round.” Lewis nudges me, nodding in the direction of the Ping-Pong table we passed on the way in. It occupies a ridiculous amount of the hallway, and teams of two play beer pong. There’s yelling and drinking every time one of the Ping-Pong balls drops into a plastic cup.
I nod wordlessly.
“I could teach you if you want,” Lewis offers.
“I’m good,” I reply. “I think I’ll walk around.” I turn in the opposite direction with utterly no idea where I’m going.
“Call me if you go anywhere, okay?” Lewis half asks, half orders.
I nod once and plunge into the crowd, regretting the decision instantly. I’m doubly aimless and overwhelmed without Lewis. I push out of the hall into the front stairwell and head up, passing the door where we entered. Nearby in a narrow foyer, a chandelier draped with toilet paper hangs from the ceiling. I wander in and follow the room to the doorway on the other end, which opens into a larger common area. This room’s equally crowded, if fortunately less claustrophobic. Windows line the walls, and the entire room is effectively a dark dance floor.
It feels intensely anonymous. Not in a comfortable way either. In an unpredictable, vaguely frightening way. I acknowledge pulling out my dictionary would render me the weirdest person in the vicinity of this entire college campus, so I focus on putting words to the experience instead.
Discomfiture (n.): the unease, close to embarrassment, I feel walking amid partygoers enjoying the kind of party I’d never go to on my own, on a college campus I’ll never call my own.
I force myself farther into the crowd. Suddenly really thirsty, I decide to find the bar—only for a cup of water. I’ve never had the curiosity for underage drinking I know almost every one of my classmates does. I have a hard enough time holding on to control of my circumstances without the liquid catalyst for risks and abandon. When I’ve nearly reached the counter, someone barrels into me and I feel something wet slosh onto my sleeve.
Bacchanalian (adj.): characterized by drunkenness and excessive revelry, even on Sunday nights, probably with fall semester finals coming up.
Ataraxia (n.): the peaceful calm I’ll feel when I get the hell out of here.
The bar consists only of open bottles from which people mix their own drinks. The girl next to me pours together Sprite and whatever’s in the clear plastic bottle she’s holding while I reach for the soda water. I dump what’s left into one of the plastic cups. It’s flat but not terrible.
Turning back to the crowd, I wonder what exactly Lewis imagined I’d do here. Dance with a random girl in this poorly converted common room? Play drinking games with bros I’ve never met before in my life? Experience a real taste of college? The truth is, I don’t understand how people do this. What combination of effortless ease and bravado, confidence and poise permits them to walk up to people in dark rooms, play anonymous games, and try things they’ve never tried before.
I’m not that person.
Theoretically, I could be. Nobody on this campus knows me—it’s possible I could be whoever I want. Everyone certainly says college provides the opportunity to “reinvent yourself.” But I don’t know if a dimly lit fraternity and a different zip code can summon from me something that’s not already there.
I don’t have to find out, not tonight. I promised Lewis I’d come to this party, but that’s all. I only have to be here, not present.
Pertinacious (adj.): persevering in one’s course of action to return home to New Hampshire in the morning, even when what’s required is hanging out within the confines of a college party.
I head for the stairs. If I’m going to remain in this building the rest of the night, it’s essential I find some peace and quiet. Everyone’s streaming down into the basement, but I go up. While I doubt I’ll find the upper floors entirely peaceful, they have to be better than down here.
The stairs open onto an empty hallway. Tight doorways run the length with little whiteboards hung on each one of them. I walk idly and read what’s written on them. Janine needs to study. If you hear music (or sex) behind this door, KNOCK AND YELL AT HER. I find crudely drawn hand turkeys and end-of-year countdowns. On one I read an extensive conversation of song requests for the person who presumably plays guitar in the room.
I figure I’ll read my dictionary until Lewis texts me he’s ready to leave. Finding nowhere to sit, I settle for the floor near the windows on one end of the hallway, opposite the door to the outside fire escape. While uncomfortable, the patch of hardwood is out of the way and wide enough for me to stretch my legs.
Leaning on the wall to lower myself to the floor, I glance out the window. In the frigid night, packs of partygoers stumble down the front steps. Laughter and shouts echo up from the quad over the vibrating rhythm of the music. My eyes sweep the view of old houses and fresh-faced students until I’m caught up short.
Under a streetlight, I see her.
Juniper hugs her arms over her chest, her hair unleashed from the ponytail I’ve come to expect and falling onto her shoulders. Her breath makes clouds in the cold. Matt’s nowhere in sight.
I hit the stairs without hesitating.
Juniper
I DON’T DISLIKE parties on principle. I enjoy them, even. I love hanging out with friends, the way the normal routines and rhythms of the day ebb away into the endless expanse of night. It’s like entering this universal in-between, a place where pressures relieve and rules change and nobody needs to be exactly who they are.
It’s just this party I’m not down with.
I wasn’t opposed when Matt suggested we come here with Carter. I was even looking forward to checking out my first college party. But when we got downstairs, it took two drinks and one round of beer pong for me to realize this was no different from every high school party I’d ever been to. Except for the obvious differences—the more extensive alcoholic offerings, the absence of anything resembling a curfew, the venue not being someone’s parents’ house—this party is identical to the ones I’ll go to next week and the next week and the next. I don’t know what else I expected. I just didn’t think this would be exactly what I expected.