I awoke mid-afternoon to my phone buzzing and blaring on the nightstand beside my bed. Annoyed and delirious in a half-awake state, I rubbed my eyes in an attempt to wipe away the last remnants of sleep and opened my phone to read the text message that so rudely grabbed me from the gentle caress of sleep.

From: Trevor

Party at my house tonight. 7:30. Park in the back.

Received: Sat, June 13 3:31 PM

As suddenly as a bucket of cold water doused on the head, I was awake. The exhilaration and anticipation of the first real party of summer was enough to motivate me to finally get of bed. The host of the blow-out, Trevor Audley, has always been a golden child of infinite potential, enormous talent, and good looks to boot. His tendency to throw down every now and then while his extremely wealthy parents travelled the globe was only the topper of an extremely well-rounded individual. Looking at his school record and GPA, one would never think that he drank himself to oblivion every weekend: ranked in the top ten of our class, a contributing member of student council, president of Latin club, and star actor of the theatre department. Trevor knew all and was known to all. His majestic, brick house stood nobly atop a grand expanse of green land, an ample yard that provided a playground of sorts for his intoxicated friends, who loved to jump, dance, smoke, and puke among the acres of healthy turf. A party at the Audley residence was a party to be remembered.

The summer sun burned long that day; it was barely descending as I drove to Trevor’s house that night. Armed with certain weapons (water bottle filled halfway with nicked vodka and a pack of cigarettes), I let myself into Trevor’s luxurious home. People were already raging. Kate Eberly was dancing maniacally on the pool table, waving her hands in the air and shaking her hips to Lady Gaga’s electropop hook that was screaming out of the surround-sound stereo system. Chase Dixon and Nick Bourne were trying to coerce her down, grasping billiard cue sticks and looking slightly irritated that their game of pool was interrupted by a silly, dancing drunk girl. With a celebratory yelp, she jumped off the pool table, stumbled on her feet and crashed into the wall. Unfazed, she quickly recovered and skipped into the kitchen to find more alcohol. Kate’s personality, already energetic and carefree by nature, intensified tenfold with the addition of alcohol. A notorious featherweight, it took her one mixed drink to get her dancing on tables. The boys watched her prance away with relief, coolly sipping their beers, and continued their game. Leaving the dispersed few in the game room, I followed Kate into the kitchen.

A crowd of both familiar and unfamiliar faces were milling around the kitchen, mixing different juices with different vodkas in those telling and obvious red cups. Kate nearly knocked me down while trying to give me a hug, loudly proclaiming how much she missed me and how glad she was that I had arrived. I’ve said it once before and I’m sure I’ll say it again: people are much, much nicer when they are drunk. Trevor greeted me with a smile and a hug, always the polite and hospitable host. His neptunian blue eyes glinted a hint of bloodshot red, drink and possibly pot consumption evident. This was made even more evident as he wavered on the spot and ran a large hand through his raven hair, which was just long enough to be considered rebellious but short enough still to not be considered a dirty hippie. Suddenly, the cogent smell of pot intensified as Casey Carrigan, a tall girl that always seemed to be glued to Trevor’s side, appeared behind him. She smiled goofily in my direction and nodded her acknowledgment of my presence.

Casey held her lithe body, lofty at just a few inches short of six feet, with a cosmopolitan coolness and jaded gait. Her almond-shaped eyes, blue and dark as the ocean’s depths, were clouded with a certain disconnected blasé attitude; it was the type of look that purred of great and shocking things, things known only to Casey. Her aloofness disconcerted few; her sophistication intrigued some. Mostly, she was seen as just another girl in Trevor’s close circle of comrades, one of the lucky few who knew the man behind the mansion.

Casey took hold of Trevor’s elbow, who was willingly led behind the counter to make more drinks. She poured a red cup almost to the top with vodka and added a small portion of fruit punch before handing it to me with an encouraging smile. I took a sip and gagged slightly from the potency of the alcohol. She let out a breathy laugh at my reaction before making two identically disproportionate drinks for herself and Trevor. I continued to sip.

“So, Trevor, is Sandra coming?” I asked.

Peculiarly, or perhaps not so peculiarly, I noticed Casey drop Trevor’s elbow almost instantaneously as I asked that question. Whether it was conscious or not, she distanced herself from Trevor. After a moment of awkward hesitation, she floated into the next room, taking long and powerful strides, her grey slip dress swishing dangerously high on her thighs and the rope of pearls around her neck noisily clanging together. Trevor took no notice of her sudden flight.

“She doesn’t drink or anything,” he answered after taking a gulp of his drink, disappointment subtly penetrating his casual tone.

I nodded, suddenly feeling awkward. Sandra was the ever-elusive girlfriend of our golden boy. A student of a different school, she had been seen by few of us. I excused myself from his company and walked into the living room, where most people were drinking and dancing. Kate made quite the commotion as she carelessly knocked over a half-filled red cup, spilling the contents on the pool table. She merely smiled and stumbled away to avoid responsibility, leaving two very angry drunk boys in her wake who were still clutching the pool sticks.

The night wore on as such, most action taking place in the living room. Glass bottles sat unattended and empty, its contents having already slid down underage throats. Murmurs of couples hooking up in various rooms had begun; some girls were still trying to work their feminine charms on boys who were too drunk to register their flirtation. Hours passed without any notice; on nights like these, time ceased to exist until dawn’s sun peaked, when the last stragglers of the party would finally succumb to sleep. It was an all-night intermission from reality, a fishbowl world where responsibilities vanished with every red cup that poured itself into the teenagers’ bloodstream. Growing wary and sick of the rap music that was filtering its dirty lyrics throughout the house, I stepped outside to the dark porch. A few kids were sitting around a table, smoking cigarettes. I heard a shriek of laughter from somewhere in the backyard. I descended the steps to enter the yard; I spotted two figures in the distance. Hazy smoke rose from between them, ascending to the velvety black midnight sky. As I approached, I realized the two figures were Casey and Trevor, sitting like gypsies in the middle of the green expanse; they passed a small glass pipe between them. A breeze whispered about, stroking and twisting Casey’s great cascade of golden brown curls that fell down her back. Trevor murmured something indiscernible; Casey replied with another shriek of mirth. They had not yet noticed my presence. Trevor passed the pipe to Casey and she took a great inhale, letting out an appreciative giggle as the smoke left her mouth and sailed towards the bewitching moon. I continued walking towards the pair of friends; I could now hear their murmurs.

“It looks so pretty when it does that,” Casey said softly, still staring at the wisps of smoke that were dissipating into the transcendent night, “When it twists around the wind like a ribbon.”

She sighed affectionately and passed the pipe to Trevor. The moon and stars shone piously upon their faces, casting a glow upon their pale skin and shadowing certain features. Watching this scene, I understood Casey’s behavior when I mentioned Sandra. I could nearly feel the adoration pouring out of her every pore. Suddenly feeling like I was intruding on an intimate gathering, I turned to leave. Casey’s shrill shout stopped me.

“Wait! Wanna smoke with us?” she hollered.

I politely declined.

“That’s okay, we were about to go in anyways. Let’s go, Trevor.”

Suddenly, they were up and running, sprinting gleefully across the sweep of lawn. Casey’s long rope of pearls tangled itself around her hair carelessly. They shot by like pure quicksilver, protected by the invincibility of youth, Casey screaming blithely as she attempted to untangle her pearl-knotted hair. I watched them run up the porch, breathlessly slowing their pace and walking inside the great mansion. Even after they had gone, I felt the vibrant energy remain in the yard, where I sat in the grass to stare at the heavens. Under the great compass of darkness, I felt profoundly sad: Sad that the morning was soon to arrive, sad that the sand in the summer’s hourglass would begin to fall faster and more furiously, and so sad that Casey’s look of pure reverence and infatuation was never returned by Trevor. Not once.