When some events have happened in my life I knew their memories were going to stay with me. The day I got married, the first time I held my children, things like that. Normal important stuff. Some happy, some sad, but all of them some kind of milestone or major event.
Then there are the memories that have stayed with me for no reason. Recurring bad dreams that I can’t wake up from because, well, they aren’t dreams. Since you are here on this blog with me you get the displeasure of taking a trip into one of these, because why not?
I grew up all over the place (being in a military family), but spent my high school years in a pretty rural area in the early 2000’s. This was before the age of smartphones and high speed internet had just arrived in our area. There wasn’t much to do. We drank. We drank a lot.
Most weekends were spent at somebody’s sprawling plantation house or waterside mansion. We would make a large bonfire and stand around drinking whatever we happened to get a hold of during the week. Having enough to drink was never a problem. I’m sure our parents knew. Some didn’t care. Others were probably just helpless to stop it. It was what it was.
This particular night was spent at the plantation house. Not sure why but my memory starts Inside the house. Some of the country boys who had grown up in the area were wearing their baseball jackets and were playing beer-pong on a pool table. One of them (a rather portly fellow) was alternating between swigging from a handle of Wild Turkey and taking his shots. He wasn’t going to last very long into the night. Crappy rap music (Ja Rule maybe?) was playing on some portable speakers. Some desperate looking girls in the corner were starting to get loud and handsy. I could smell pot coming from somewhere deeper in the house. I went outside.
I don’t remember exactly what day it was. It was cold. The sky was very clear and full of stars. Adirondack chairs and large slabs of wood had been arranged around a very large bonfire. I sat in one of the chairs and pulled out one of the malt beverages I had stuffed in my coat pockets. I was already inebriated; usually was within the first few minutes of arriving at one of these parties. I sipped from my bottle and stared at the fire. We had been reading St. Augustine in philosophy class. I thought about the time when he stole the pears. I thought about throwing all of my belongings into the fire. Then she came over.
She was a pretty girl. Some were prettier, some were not. Didn’t matter. She was a nice girl too. Was always at events without really saying much. Usually was part of the scenery. Had long blonde hair and blue eyes. Her tongue was connected all the way to the tip in her mouth. We used to tease her about it. “Hi Benny” she said as she sat down in my lap. “Hi” I said. I had a girlfriend who wasn’t at the party. She put her head on my shoulder. I thought she was going to pass out. She was drunk. Everyone was drunk. Always. She started kissing my neck. I stood up and put her down gently on the chair.
I started walking towards the dock’s plantation. It was probably a few hundred yards away. Passed some people smoking and laughing on some plastic chairs in the dark. They said something to me. I didn’t respond. Some of my friends yelled at me from the house and asked where I was going. I kept walking. Somewhere along the way I finished the rest of my drinks. I never made it to the dock.