Inertia

The house is alive,

But its quiet outside.
It shakes to its core.
A home is no more.
~
At least not tonight.
Tonight its a zoo.

Eddie Park

The house is alive. Its heart beats from the basement, a stereo system poised at the bottom
of the steps. A generic party-mix of songs fill the home as the bass hits heavy and constant
through the first floors support beams. From the outside of my friends two-story suburban home
all is quiet, not a hairs out of place. Toms parents went to Florida for the week, early December
is when we found out that they were leaving and early December is when the planning for the
party began. Every one of my friends who went away for school are home on break, its a
reunion for the ages. I started community college last semester and Tom is in his last year of high
school, since its his party the invites were left to him. By the end of the first week the entire
school knew, people he didnt even know would approach him about it. There was a point when
Tom knew the number of people was getting too high but the excitement kept him inviting
people and word continued to spread
Its 7:30 PM and everythings ready, five of us from the inner friend group came early to
drunk proof and prep the house while Tom made the alcohol run. Next week is New Years, but
the party begins now. All the breakables have been hidden, all of the animals have been put up
stairs, and his parents bedroom has been locked. Toms fridge is packed to capacity with 20
cases worth of beer and a plethora of liquor, all the condiments have been hidden in
miscellaneous drawers and cupboards to make room. The island in the middle of the kitchen has
been cleared and covered with red solo cups. Beer, liquor, music, and pong, add people and
youve got a party.
When I met Tom I didnt really have any friends, I was an overly anxious, introverted
sophomore in high school but Tom and his friends took me in and accepted that. Im still anxious
and introverted but at least Ive got friends now. This created a bubble of the select few I could
feel truly comfortable around, his home is a safe haven to be myself, a place to be without worry
- but tonight this safe haven is going to be over run.
Over my friendship with Tom his house became a second home. Almost every day in
high school this is where wed end up when the day let out. Big groups of us would take the late
bus, walk down the hill, and infest Toms house until it was time to return to our own. I
remember once when four of us climbed up on the roof, out the bathroom window onto the first
floors roof then hoisted ourselves up the rest of the way. Spring had just come after a long winter
and one of Toms neighbors saw us and started hollering at us to get down, we were 15 and 16,

trying to get our friend Jack to jump. While she was hollering a delivery man pulled up to drop
something off at the house across the street. The man stepped out of his van to this lady
screaming in the road attempting to get him to side with her so we would get down. He looked at
her, then at us. The only thing he said, and it came out in a Russian accent which made it even
better, was I know it is spring when kids are on the roof. He then promptly delivered his
package and left. She called the police shortly after. Toms dad thought it was hilarious, my mom
less so.
Lets smoke before people start getting here one of the six of us says, Its the only
chance well get without moochers. This is our extracurricular activity, a semi-circle of haze.
For three years Ive been self-medicating a growing social-phobia. The bitter irony is that weed
lowers my anxiety in the short term and raises it in the long term. I smoke to relax. I smoke to
escape. I smoke to cope. Its the only thing that seems to help, the habits grown beyond a phase,
its become a lifestyle, and all six of us are contributors. We normally turn heads with the amount
we smoke.
So we head up to Toms room. Toms room sits above the two car garage and its large.
We walk in and assume our positions throughout the middle of the room in our semi-circle. Tom
sits down at his desk and starts packing his piece with bright green bud. The smell is fresh and
potent and as he lights the bowl the smoke begins to envelop the air. He passes the piece off to
Wilson and starts up.
Tom shakes his head back and forth like a bulldog. Guys! Are you pumped? Cus Im
pumped!
Im excited in the sense that Im uneasy; Im going into a scenario that Im convinced I
cannot thrive in. Tonight will be a test to see if I can blend in with a demographic I clearly dont
fit. I am not the party type by any means, Im a smoker, not a drinker. I prefer the calm over the
crazy, but if I were to miss this soon-to-be insane party I wouldnt be able to forgive myself. Ill
pretend its my scene, Ill act in this great play and do my best to come off nonchalant like Ive
done for years. At least at the end of the night I can say I was here.
Tom stands up and turns on the fan. And to think we almost had to cancel because your
sister bailed on the kegs. This is directed at Erin.

She responds. Well how the hell was I supposed to know she was gonna flake! Who
cares anyway, we got the beer didnt we? Wilson takes his hit and passes it off to her.
Yeah, but a keg wouldve been nuts. Tom shakes his head disapprovingly. Now were
stuck with Milwaukee's Best and Miller Light... Itll have to do.
Wilson chimes in. Yeah! Screw your sister!
Jay speaks up, I would. Have you seen her?
Erin is one of the guys at this point. She's been hanging out with us on a day to day
basis forever, so she knows the deal. Straight up, fuck you guys. She hucks a lighter at Jay,
who catches it and passes it off to Alex. Alex takes a hit from the bong and passes it off to me.
Being the peacekeeper I am I speak up before I take my hit. Hey guys...Cant we all
just Shut the hell up? I take my hit and the smoke lies heavy in my lungs.
The earliest to arrive are kids we all know, mutual friends. One of the sophomores comes
in and starts talking about a curfew, about how he has to get wasted before 10 oclock. The one
kid cracks a beer immediately and all 11 of us gather in the kitchen. We talk in anticipation,
waiting for the masses to arrive. The conversation soon goes stale quickly. After a half hour and
no new arrivals we begin to worry. The group of us walk out front hoping to make people appear.
We stand in silence, searching up and down the road. When Tom invited people he told them
they couldnt park out front, could it be no one wants to walk or park far away? That degree of
laziness wouldnt be unheard of.
Down the road and through the darkness we see something, someone. A kid walking over
the hill down the street towards Toms house. First his head rises above the pavement, then his
whole body, then dozens of others follow. The floodgates have opened. People I dont even know
start meshing into the crowd, from acquaintances to complete strangers. The music emanating
from the basement is soon covered with the roar of teenagers, ages 16 to 19, cracking beers and
tossing ping pong balls. Its 8:30 and the counts already at 50. The rapid influx catches me off
guard, the house has been swarmed it feels like Ive been tossed into a pool instead of eased. My
personal space is so tight it begins to choke me. I step outside for a breather.
The back porch is surprisingly quiet compared to the growing jungle inside. Im not the
party type and the beer tastes like piss so the cool and quiet December air is a nice change of
pace. I light a cigarette to give myself a reason to be outside in case anyone comes and questions

my solidarity, like I even need an excuse but I dont feel at home here and I dont want to come
off weird. Its not that the amount of people is overwhelming, its that I dont feel I can relate to
any of them. Most of them have spent their whole lives being social and driven (at least by their
parents), in sports and school and so on, but I didnt get the same treatment. I was allowed to fail,
I was allowed to back out, I was never held accountable or forced to be social. At a young age a
perpetual fear of being unprepared and embarrassing myself in social settings led to me finding
refuge in solitude. Whole summers spent inside because Ive convinced myself I prefer it. It feels
as though everyone else is on a raised social playing field and Im just late to the game.
The cigarette is gone quick, the nicotine buzz quickens my heart rate but expectedly
calms me down, I crush it into the already half full ashtray and make my way around to the front
of the house.
There are almost no cars out front and this is increasingly surprising as more and more
people walk up the street towards Toms house. Toms out front, staring back at the front door, I
walk up alongside him and ask what hes doing. Tom looks at me then back at the house and says
The musics all the way up, people are shouting, but it is silent out here. Tom was right and it
was weird to say the least, hed counted the number of people to be at about 80 now.
Just as we decide to go back inside a short, black haired girl walks up to us. I dont know
the girl and assume shes going to say hello to Tom but instead she questions us both Is this
where the party is? Tom and I look to each other, then back, she gets her information and goes
in. Turns out Tom has no idea who he just directed into his house but he didnt mind, he was just
ready for this to go down as the 2013 banger of the year.
Inside is crazy, the music is shaking the floor and so are all the tipsy kids whove massed
in the kitchen and living room. Tom and I find the rest of the 6 person host team and take
celebratory shots, its 9 o clock. After the shots the group disperses to mingle, I tag along with
my friend Jay. Jay starts talking to old wrestling buddies and almost instantly Im out of the loop
again. I never did sports in high school, I never joined any clubs or teams; I stuck with my small
friend group and basically shied away from all other social aspects of high school. I never cared
enough to step out of my comfort zone, in fact I feared it intently and still do most times. I find
myself moving through the people catching glimpses of conversations I should be having, all the
do you remembers and have you heards.

I walk aimlessly in circles interacting with friends for seconds before they return to their
own talks. Ive been playing the loner game for the past four years so it comes easy to occupy
myself by looking occupied, I keep a smile on to make it look like I belong when in truth Id
prefer the night end early so I can stop acting. Its not exactly acting, its more like hiding
apathy, awkwardness, and anxiety.
Wilson and Alex, two of the 6, are playing pong and I use the opportunity to stop moving,
I lean against the fridge and watch. The movement never stops around them: young girls who
cant hold their drink are screaming and falling, kids are piled high onto the couch in the living
room, and I can already see the back of one kid crouched over the toilet in the bathroom. By all
other accounts this is a high school party, but to me its a test of willpower for two reasons. #1:I
dont drink beer, I only drink liquor (its a taste thing) but I cant trust myself to drink liquor in
large groups after the time I blacked out in Wildwood, New Jersey on Senior Week and ran
around shirtless shaking peoples hands all night. (Long story short we were going to have a
party, the girls who were coming bailed, I got trashed, then the girls changed their minds and
showed up.) And #2: I would much rather retreat upstairs and smoke more instead of staying
down here any longer. In fact, that doesnt sound half bad right now.
I smoke for a lot of reasons, one of the largest being that when Im high I have an excuse
for almost anything. Whether I come off as anti-social, disinterested, scatter brained, awkward,
or chronically worried I can justify them all by explaining to the accuser that Im high. I tend
to be most of those things regardless. Its a false confidence, a stand in, a way to reject
responsibility for my actions and inactions. The way I see it, between the anxiety and the
depression (Which Im almost positive runs in my blood) I might as well be a ticking time bomb
when Im sober, bound to lose my shit. High is comfortable to me, its a consistency I can trust,
I know what to expect, as opposed to the wild card of drunk where everything has a tendency to
pour out of me.
At the top of the stairs there is a hole in the wall, now this hole isnt new but everyone
who doesnt consider this their second home thinks that it is. At the top of the stairs, next to the
hole, is Toms room and inside Toms room is an overly drunk 10th grader trying to apologize to
Tom for the hole he just put in the wall. Slurring his words he manages to mutter, What can I...I
do to make it up to you man? I walk in the room and Tom looks at me, then over to Jay whos

sitting on the bed, then back to the kid. Tom shrugs, tells him he can pay for it by grabbing him a
beer and the kid leaves.
You know, thats the tenth time someones mentioned the hole, they arent helping,
Tom stops and takes a hit from the bong in his lap then passes it to me.
Before taking a hit I ask what the numbers at, people wise, and get One-hundred and
thirty-ish as an answer from Jay. I light the bowl piece and inhale hard thinking how I only
know about one-tenth of the people here, an outsider in my own domain. Weird. I hold my breath
as long as I can to absorb every ounce of THC, Ill need it. We finish smoking after a few more
bowl packs and head back downstairs.
In high school I smoked less, it was more of a weekend thing, a way to enhance a
situation, but once high school ended that changed. It was summer, I had a job and could afford
to smoke every day, and with nothing better to do thats just what I did. By the time I started
community college in the fall many of my friends had gone off to 4-year schools and I was left to
my own devices. I wasnt ready to leave home yet, the thought itself freaked me out so I opted to
stay home. Something I should say is that my friend group is my extended family. Im
comfortable with them and almost nobody else, even my family I feel disconnected from. Im
comfortable with them and that was something so unheard of for me that I didnt and dont want
to give it up or even try to replace it.
Eventually I deemed it impossible, unwanted, and far too much effort to make new
friend. I didnt want new friends, I wanted the ones I grew up with, the ones who knew all of me.
Starting overs always felt too daunting and I feel too distant from the world as it is. Soon weed
became everything, a mandatory side dish to every day, a way to make it through my weeks with
little human interaction. Its a way to do nothing while technically doing something, its like how
people smoke cigarettes on drives to pass time, but. Im not addicted to weed, Im addicted to
avoidance. Im addicted to never leaving my comfort zone. Im addicted to resisting change and
a failing self-confidence. Im high and I havent been sober in 3 months, I am an alien among the
clear headed - not that I didnt already feel that way.
Downstairs a black kid is leaning against the wall dividing the kitchen and living room,
hes dressed in all black and stands with a half smoked blunt hanging from his lips. The three of

us move over to Wilson and ask if he has any idea who the kid is, His names Dunn, hes from
Chester and he hasnt moved since he came in...or passed that blunt. No one seems to know the
kid and they walk around him accordingly. The acid that the 6 (minus Wilson; the babysitter)
took earlier in the night is starting to kick in and Jay makes sure Im feeling it too, he checks my
pupils - which have grown exponentially. Theres a lull between pong games so I hoist myself
onto the island and watch the world move around me like a kid on a safari. The scene is so
unnatural, the setting feels far from familiar. I think to myself Look at all the foreign animals,
the elusive cheerleader in a chugging match with the pygmy band geek. My eyes dip in and out
of focus catching only shapes and figures.
I notice Im jittery, my hands never cease movement. My insides feel like they're starting
to roller coaster, going up and down making me nauseous. What appears to be two giraffes in a
vicious battle, swinging their necks wildly, turns out to be two seniors making out on a couch. I
feel like Im blissfully beginning to explode, or as Tom puts it a dying sun. Its strange this
serenity I can feel among chaos, internal and external, maybe its the drugs lowering my
standards of normalcy. I question if maybe this is my natural habitat, out of place, even though I
refuse and reject it like a defiant child. Maybe Im the omega in this wolf pack called life, the
outcast, the scapegoat, maybe thats by choice. Trippings always lead to introspection for me,
everything always leads there anyway but right now Im wondering if observing from the
sidelines is what I was meant to do. Im not sure exactly how that makes me feel, hopefully Ill
remember to dissect that another time.
A stumbling drunk 10th grader, the same one from upstairs, comes barreling into the
room and almost instantly Im back in my head like a nature documentary. Now watch as the
rabid sophomore falls into the unprepared predator known as the jock. The kid trips himself
and goes down, spilling a beer almost entirely on the varsity football player. The jock looks
around, then to himself, trying to grasp the situation through a drunken daze. Seeing this, Jay,
Wilson, and I grab the kid, before the jock has a chance to retaliate, and carry him outside with a
friend of his in tow. Jay and Wilson have a couple pounds on me so I let them do the heavy
lifting, Im mainly here to watch. The kids brought right outside, he folds into himself on the
back deck. Hes sitting on the ground asking for more to drink, his words slur. We tell him hes
flagged and cant have anymore. He starts flailing on the ground until his friend steps in and tells
us hell handle it, we head back in. Its 10:25 and the count is at 200.

By this point Im loose and ready to mingle. Backed by the hallucinogen and the safari in
my head I dive into conversation; if you can even call it that. Words fall recklessly from my
mouth towards a kid Ive never met, he nods with confusion on his face as I cant help but tell
him how life is like an endless loop. A loop, mind you, is something that comes full circle. We
wake up and fall asleep, we go to work and then we go back home, we live to grow old to have
kids to start the cycle over. If you really think about it, and I mean really, really, think about it,
youll see the loops in your everyday life. I could go on but the kids already gone so I start
wandering with my head in the clouds.
I walk into the living room and sit down on the edge of the fireplace, my skin is crawling
but Im blissfully comfortable. I stare back through the living room and watch as the movement
never ends. People are walking every which way and once one leaves my field of view another
walks in. Its a clown car of a home and I feel like the audience; appalled by the sheer amount of
people. Tom, Jay, Wilson, Alex, and Erin are nowhere to be found, at least not inside. Theyve all
congregated out back, sitting around the table on the deck smoking cigarettes. I join them to
reunite the 6.
As I walk outside from the kitchen they all turn as a wave of sound flies by me, chants
and screams of the drunk. In a quick second I swear I hear a monkey hollering inside but write it
off and sit. The calm of outside-life is unprecedented in comparison to inside-life, I can hear
myself breathe. There is a cloud of smoke forming above the group and I choose to add to it. It
feels normal out here, just the boys (including Erin). There is a demolition in progress behind the
glass door but out here the work site is closedThat is until people begin pouring out back in
waves, bottle necking, and crashing into each other through the door. We are the breakers,
constantly trying to force people back in but like the ocean it doesnt cease.
People walk in and out as the back door morphs into a turnstile. The sound of a high
school cafeteria comes outside in bursts and it only takes a few minutes for us to realize just how
loud its getting out back. The constant chatter leaves a mass of several conversations, Im left
trying my hardest to pry them apart. My words start to stagger out of my mouth as my attention
becomes divided. Tom stands up, tens and twenties of people have gathered on the back porch.
Everyone! Weve made it this far without the cops showing up! Lets keep it that way! A

single-file line forms and people slowly begin the trek back inside. Its 10:50 and the counts
220.
With most of the animals put back into the cage of a house it is calm again. Were all
sitting at the table, the six of us and the unfortunate boyfriend of Erin who is standing. There are
a few girls huddled off the porch by the covered pool, talking high school drama through slurred
words.
Tom pulls a fresh cig from the box and holds it up to his lips. He pulls a lighter from a
pocket and lights his smoke. Between inhales he speaks. So, this is nuts. Im actually really
surprised the cops havent been called yet. He taps the wooden table.
I talk, following Toms lead with a fresh cigarette. Well, I mean there are only three cars
out front. Mine, Alexs and whoever owns the third one.
Jay speaks up. Oh thats Jennys car. Tom, Alex, and I peed on it a little while ago.
Alex cracks up We had to go, yo.
Me. Wait what? Thats kinda messed up.
Tom speaks up. Nah, I told her specifically not to park there, she did anyway.
Me. Ahhhh, thats makes sense then. I take a draw from my cigarette, the light from the
tip grows as I inhale.
Right now Jays got this twist to his face, hes shifting in his seat. People are starting to
finish their cigs and are getting ready to head inside but right before that can happen I see whats
coming. Jays got this unsettled look about him, like he sat on a thumbtack and got punched in
the gut at the same time, that look only means one thing.
Jay is sitting across from Erin, Erins boyfriend is standing behind her. Jay stands up
abruptly, pushing the table and chair as he goes. Out of his mouth comes something that can only
be described as a projectile. Right over Erins head and right across her boyfriends face. Jay
turns his head while the spray continues, the awful equivalent of someone swinging a biohazard
firehose. It sprays down towards the girls by the pool, eventually petering out - but only after
covering substantial ground. The girls scream realizing whats coming for them. One tries to
escape the firing range and runs straight onto the pool cover thinking its solid. She makes it
halfway before she understands the gravity of her situation. The pool cover drops two feet,
directly into water thats been sitting there since September. The girl buckles at the knees when

the ground vanishes beneath her, she falls onto the cover and into the water thats built up.
Theres a scream. She scrambles for the side of the pool and pulls herself up and out on the other
side; half soaked. Erins boyfriend is letting out a disgusted wail. The girls friends run to her
on the far side of the pool, all in some state of shock.
Most everyone else starts heading back inside trying their hardest to avoid the havoc.
Someone goes to get towels for the girl and Erins boyfriend while I go get water for Jay.
Here man just drink this. That was ridiculous. I hand Jay a fresh cup water. Bet you
feel better though.
What are you saying? That was awful! Erins boyfriend is still trying to cope,
wandering aimlessly in puke stained clothes waiting for a towel.
Jay takes a few sips, gargles, and spits. I feel so[ooo] much better.
Awesome yo, Im heading inside. I pass Jay a few paper towels. Ill check on you in a
bit. I survey the back yard, notice a kid long passed out on a lounge chair at the other end of the
pool, then head inside. Its 11:15.
The drunk and disorderly are ever-abundant, I scan the kitchen. All of the solo-cups
previously set up for pong have all been upended. People are constantly opening and closing the
fridge; blind hands reaching for cheap beers. I watch the people talking and notice theres a part
of me that wants that type of interaction but I write the thought off almost immediately. When I
was young I convinced myself that I preferred being alone, now maybe this was just a defense
mechanism against feeling lonely but it worked all the same; its easier to be alone Id tell
myself, You only have to worry about you. A guy looking for the trashcan within the island
comes up from a drawer holding ketchup in one hand and mustard in the other, he seems
confused. I walk over to examine the living room, there appears to be a mass grave of passed out
sophomores and juniors strewn across the couch and floor. I take an educated guess and find the
rest of the 6 (all but Jay and I) up in Toms room smoking up a bunch of juniors we hang with
regularly.
On entry the room is hazy. I speak. Yo, so you guys know there are like several
incredibly-intoxicated kids downstairs, right? Someone should definitely deal with that. I put
my finger to my nose, an indication that it will not be me. Im pretty sure every bathroom is
occupied too.

Wilson speaks up. Yeah, were on it. Gabes mom is coming.

Gabe is one of the juniors that my friend group hangs with, his mom is entirely cool with
the drinking going on and has, on occasion, allowed it under her own roof.
Whats she gonna do? I ask. Un-drunk them?
Tom talks next. Nah, were gonna round em all up and shes gonna take them home.
There is still somewhere north of 200 kids in the house, occupying every room on every
floor including Toms parents room which was locked but is now inhabited by our friend Jack.
Jacks 16, hes got work at 6 AM and his mom wanted him home an hour ago, hes only still here
for a girl. Ive known Jack as long as Ive known Tom, hes almost always grounded but his
stubbornness to never-change is admirable. We pass around the piece a few more times waiting
for Gabe's mom to arrive basking in the hot boxed bedroom, Jay recovers from outside and joins
us upstairs. A junior in the corner of the room, who passed out over an hour and a half ago, rises
from the dead. With a nap under his belt the junior sits up and questions what time it is, he then
takes off downstairs to continue drinking. Eventually we decide its time to wrangle the drunks
and follow.
Its 11:40 and downstairs looks like a bomb went off. Walking into the kitchen the ground
is sticky with beer, the numbers have started to thin but there are still 130 or so kids left
throughout the residence. Through the course of the night it appears that every chair in the dining
room has broken, be it by mistake or on purpose Im not quite sure. People still gather around the
island in the center of the kitchen and Tom yells as some start pulling more and more condiments
from miscellaneous places, mayo from the microwave, pickles from the bread box. A few others
and I stand surveying the damage.
The junior from upstairs, the one who just woke up, is pounding down beers at the
breakfast table questioning how the night is winding down when hes just warming up. The same
kid boasts how he isnt tired, like hes won an endurance contest, though no one questions it, that
he was knocked out for the last two hours. The kids get up and go mentality earns him the
mock nickname Never-Stop, he roams the house incessantly, attempting to drink the fading
party back to life. The nickname stays with him long past tonight.
With Gabes mom enroute, Jay, Wilson, and I try to manage the shipment of drunks on
the first floor. A part of me wishes we had a bunch of Caution - Handle With Care stickers for

this nauseous cargo. Someone goes upstairs to tell Jack that his only chance at a ride home is
coming, he sloppily gears up and comes downstairs, one eye half open, the other closed. The
biggest issue arises in the living room between the two most mangled kids in the house, one is
the sophomore that showered the Jock with beer earlier and the other is the equivalent of a
cadaver. The sophomore inevitably got into more beer, hes belligerent, upset, and his friend who
said hed watch him is nowhere to be found; someone says they saw him leave. The cadavers
eyes roll up into his skull and his reflexes are as non-existent as his responses. People try to
shake him awake and then resort to yelling.
The doorbell rings at 11:55. The house becomes silent almost immediately; excluding the
ever present music of course. One of the juniors from upstairs lets Gabes mom in and leads her
through the house to the living room. Within second all hell breaks loose, half of the 130something kids start booking it. The house is actually alive, if a Fire Marshall saw the evacuation
it wouldve brought a tear to his eye.
In the world of high school parties, almost entirely thrown without the home owners
knowledge, it is common practice when sighting an adult to disperse as quickly as possible. In
hindsight a warning may have been issued that Gabes mom was not Toms mom, and not a
threat at all, but like they say hindsight's 20/20. Having been on the run first, ask questions
later side in the past I can understand the urgency in all those fleeing, but its quite a sight to see
from the other side, especially while at the peak of a trip. Its like someone turned on the lights
and all the cockroaches made a break for it. People collide going through doorways, they
squeeze until theyre home free.
With much of the population hightailing it, the remainder either notice that no one in the
living room has panicked and follow their lead, or havent even noticed any things happened. We
stand there just as had before; attempting to raise the dead. Unable to get the cadaver to move or
even respond Wilson and Gabes mom pull the kid from the couch, they sling their arms around
him and play puppeteer as they move to get him outside. Unable to get the sophomore to
cooperate at all Jay opts for force and carries him out to the car, the kid lets out bursts of
incoherent disapproval. The rest of the 6 have been searching, finding, and loading the rest of the

overly inebriated into the car. By the time Gabes mom leaves its 12:30 and her car is weighed
down on its suspension with at least nine kids smashed in the back.
The numbers are now dwindling, a count shows only 46 people remain and that number
continues to drop gradually. I would say that Im relieved to have the house back and the chaos
closing but honestly I got used to playing the ghost. It wasnt ideal gliding room to room like a
spectre but after a while it felt natural, like fading into the background was my job. Its kind of a
depressing thought; being designed to move overlooked, but that doesnt concern me much right
now. What does concern me is that Jay and Wilson are trying to sneak away and smoke more
weed, they tell me to meet them in the basement then they make their descent.
Heading for the stairs I catch a glimpse of myself in a mirror. I look drained, like a
helium balloon thats still tied to a mailbox the day after a birthday party, withering and losing
altitude but still pressing on all the same. My eyes are still huge, which isnt surprising but my
face looks cartoony and disproportional. The pores on my face appear overworked and my skin
feels strained as a whole. Of the few times Ive done acid, I always notice among those tripping
and myself that an air of childishness appears, that seems to be the case now as well. On acid
youre quick to smile, easy to entertain, and even quicker to question the marvels of the world
around you, as if you hadnt been living there your whole life. The world is a whole new beast on
acid, the same rules dont apply but maybe thats why I enjoy it.
Acid has the ability to disconnect me from everyday life and its problems, it disconnects
me from the world. On acid I stop worrying about the future or the past, I just focus on now,
which, for me, is damn near unheard of. Usually so caught up in insignificant details and things I
have no control over Ive used acid (nowhere close to as regularly, but) similar to how I use
weed, as an escape route, a way to put life on hold. A phrase I use thats synonymous with
tripping is Intent on losing myself for a night, and sometimes thats all I need; to get lost just
so I can try and find myself again. Its not that I feel any great love towards acid but I do know
how to embrace it.
This house, right now, is an entity of its own. It feels like the world ends at the property
line and that all of my existence has been played out over the last four hours but in some sense
thats true. My insecurities and anxieties have all made an appearance tonight. My excessive
neuroses towards judgement and rejection have coasted me through this night near unscathed;

Ive avoided like my life depended on it, and for all I know it did. Ive held myself back like
there was no other option and sometimes it feels like there isnt. The party maybe losing speed
but it wont truly end for another 3 days, once Toms parents are home, between now and then the
most unproductive clean-up will commence, leaving beer tabs and sticky patches all through the
house.
Within the hour a kid will make a 12 egg omelet, utilizing all of the kitchen, then destroy
said omelet with 7 beers and 6 cig butts. By 2AM a kid will be found passed out on a lounge
chair out back and when helped inside, up to Toms parents room, he will play dead yet wink at
Jay when he questions Yo Blant, you're alive? By 2:30 someones going to find both of Jacks
shoes and another will put on a movie. Come 3AM omelet kid will start a fight with Jenny and
her best friend, he will be sent to bed by the majority. At 4:20 a room will undoubtedly be hot
boxed and omelet kid will be found sleeping in Toms parents bed, passed out next to loungechair kid (laughter will ensue). Around 4:50 Jay will roll around Toms bedroom floor fighting
with a pair of pajama pants that just wont go on, cracking up incessantly as the acid trip starts
coming to an end.
By 5:30 AM another movie will be put on and omelet kid will wake and wander the
house in his underwear, leading to a house-wide fashion trend that I will refuse to take part in.
Come 6:30 Jay and Gabe will start drinking again and by 7:15 AM a pizza will be ordered. At
around 7:50 Jay will answer the door in his underwear and will offer the pizza guy a hit of weed
in place of a tip. The pizza guy will refuse Jays offer, and like clockwork Wilson will appear
behind Jay, also in his underwear, he will offer the guy a beer. Between 8:30 and 10AM someone
will create a makeshift tattoo gun with a pen, a needle, and thread. Several kids, including
myself, will proceed to get small prison tattoos of Xs in miscellaneous places on our bodies;
a souvenir of survival (which will wash out 3 days later). By then only 15 people will remain in
the house, lounge-chair kid will wake up and, he too, will get an X; making him the only one
not in the direct friend group to get one.
Tonight the house was alive, it wasnt the first time and it surely wont be the last. Soon
tonight will fade into tomorrow then tomorrow will fade into the next; the days will blur into one
large smoke session over time. We will fill the days after the party just as we had before, with a
dense haze. We will smoke the winter away, then the spring and summer, then the fall. We shall

go on this way, spending more on drugs then on anything else but gas and cigarettes. We will
mask our painfully boring days and nights with a heavy seasoning of weed, using the high to
justify doing nothing. My anxiety will grow as I do and my resistance will soon consume me. I
shall have anxiety attacks, I will put holes in walls, and eventually I will be arrested while
attempting to medicate. The days will continue even though it will feel like Im becoming part of
my own personal seven car pileup, unable to do anything but watch as I crash headfirst into
myself. A seemingly lifelong existential crisis will continue to drive me closer to rock bottom
than Ive ever been, and Ive begun that trek a handful of times.
I will violently fall over myself for months on end trying to figure out why I feel so
different from all those around me. I will seclude myself and convince myself that there is no
hope of change. Smoking will remain my motivational placeholder for the real drive which I
have not and will not be able to find. Each day will begin to feel pointless, like Im trying to
build a house without first laying a foundation - without a basis or a direction all attempts will
feel hollow. I will return to my ex, a self-destructive relationship, multiple times on the basis of
familiarity and soon I will begin to self-destruct myself. Growing aggressive with selffrustration I will become a burden on my parents and a bad role model to my little brother and
sister. The world will feel like its against me, singling me out from all those whom I can never
seem to relate. With years of nightly introspection and self-dissection I will become the label Ive
always given myself, The Outsider on the Inside of the Joke.
I will fall incessantly, tripping and grasping at straws as I go but eventually, after a
lifetime of negativity and self-doubt, I will discover in a moment of clarity that I am not so
different from everyone else, that the world is against everyone and that the best defense and
greatest enemy youve got is your own brain. In the next year I will voluntarily start seeing a
therapist, I will confirm that depression runs deep in my family and I will learn that I was
diagnosed with ADD in the third grade but was never told about it. Ive always played my cards
close to my chest, petrified by uncertainty, but soon I will grow sick of my ways and see that Ive
only ever missed out because of them.
I will start to question why not instead of why in attempts to be more open rather
than resistant. I will begin trusting myself to figure things out over time as opposed to figuring it
all out at once, which clearly was not working. I will start to grow confidence and discover a
passion between book covers which will lead to a direction, a want. My extreme social anxiety

will start to deflate as I learn that as much thought as I put into my words and actions, no one
else will dissect them so thoroughly, and the same often applies the other way around. Eventually
I will begin to write a narrative about this crazy night for a teacher who will make me see that I
have a voice and a means to use it. I will finally find something to chase after and I will begin
walking towards it with my head up high.
I will have a conversation with the same ex, after months of silence, where I will reveal
to her that I finally feel human. I will apologize to her seeing that all my anxiety and
insecurities, all of my home-brewed negativity, all directly attributed to our seemingly symbiotic
dismantling. She will ask what it means to me to be human and I will respond with two words...
To Want.
I will learn overtime that we are how we react and that if I can talk myself out of
anything then surely I must be able to talk myself into everything. I will grow out of my
lifelong existential crisis and attempt to start again with the right foot forward. All Ive ever
wanted was to want; Ive known what I should want but have never felt inclined to chase it. All
Ive ever wanted was to feel driven, to feel a moral obligation to myself to succeed. All Ive ever
wanted was to feel normal, but soon Ill learn that normal doesnt really exist, its just a label that
isnt even universal. I will find that no matter how hard I try to understand this life there is no
way to make sense of all of it. I will question Whats the point of worrying if its only ever held
me back and kept me from living? I will learn that I am my only roadblock. Soon I will learn a
lot of things; about myself and the world around me. Soon I will learn but first Ive got to get
there.
I finally peel myself from the mirror and begin my descent into the basement: to Wilson
and Jay for one of many smoke sessions to come. My footsteps echo against the wooden stairs, I
take a breath and for the second time tonight I can hear it. Time seems to have stretched further
than I thought possible tonight, each step feels like a year and each year feels like another that
Ive wasted, well Im sick of wasting time. I cant recall whose words they were but someone
once told me that you have to fall before you can truly get up, I guess Ill confirm that for myself
in time.

At the end of the 2013-2014 school year a question was asked to local users of a social networking app (most of
whom were in high school). The question polled what the best party of the year was. Toms party was the unanimous
victor. As of April 2015 all of Toms dining room chairs are held together with glue.