While living with my grandparents has its perks (unlimited prune juice), it also has its downside (the only available beverage is prune juice). And even though I’m in the biggest city in the world, I’ve never felt more alone. There’s nothing more depressing than coming home from work and seeing people your age having crazy amounts of fun together, and knowing the only thing that awaits you is hearing the latest CNN updates from your grandfather.
So when my friend said she was having a graduation party in Boston, I jumped at the chance to go. Too bad I didn’t jump fast enough and all the tickets on the good bus were sold out. I wasn’t going to miss a weekend with my friends, though, so despite reading reviews of late, overbooked, and nonexistent buses, I booked a seat on the discount line. Not only did the bus show up on time but it was also double decker! Which was good, because the thought of arriving to Boston unemployed and in a single decker bus was just beyond embarrassing.
My friends picked me up at the bus and we went straight out to the bars. I don’t know how I went from being able to drink for ten hours straight just a month ago to not being able to stay awake past midnight now, but it wasn’t pretty. I feel like I’m aging in dog years; every month out of college is seven months of adulthood. By the end of the summer I won’t be able to go to happy hour without putting in my dentures first.
But even though I was falling asleep at the bar and ordering alka-seltzer shots, I still felt better seeing my friends again. It reminded me that at one point I did used to have the ability to have fun. And fun we had. The beauty of no one having jobs is that no one had a reason not to come to the Boston reunion weekend. It almost felt like we were back at school, except for the part where the drinks were more than $2 and we had to tiptoe into a real house and close the door to go to the bathroom because real live adults lived there.
And the grad party itself was a blast. Well, to my stomach, at least. There was enough food there to keep me fed and nourished for the rest of my life and, seeing as everything in my grandparents’ kitchen is pureed, I thought I’d load up. Not that it was different from any other BBQ situation I’ve ever been in – I don’t know why but I feel the need to treat every BBQ as if it were my last supper.
It must have been all the food that made me forget that I can’t play beer pong. Four years of college and I’m still lobbing the ball ten feet from the closest cup. I can write that down on my list of reasons not to miss school. Not so much the losing, but the feelings of rejection when people choose to play with the family dog instead of me.
Anyways, before I knew it the weekend was over and I was on my way back to New York. There’s definitely a spring back in my step now. I know there is hope in the world. I know that I’m not alone. I know that even though I spend my nights explaining to my grandparents that law school will not help a writing career, somewhere out there, a double decker bus ride away, I actually do have friends.