The Morning After Recap: Independence Night

The summer after I graduated from high school I was excited to finally be free from compulsory family vacays to celebrate the 4^th of July. So to celebrate both America’s and my own newfound independence, I went big, I went all out – I went to a house party.

It was the kind of party I look back fondly on in remembrance of high school days. There was cheap vodka, a backup keg, and plenty of top shelf liquor plucked from the generous hostesses’ parents liquor cabinet. The night started out innocently enough, with keg stands, red and blue shots (white didn’t work out the way we’d planned), and plenty of high schoolers bragging about just how wasted they were.

As a mature, soon-to-be-freshman, I was so over the same un-graduated attendees that had been plaguing house parties for the last 4 years of my life. As I lamented the lack of “real men” with my equally sophisticated best friends, the college guys showed up.

There’s always a few; the ones who are so bored to death while visiting home that they will stoop to new lows and attend their buddy’s-little cousin’s-best friend’s party. Easily identifiable by their upscale party attire (not basketball shorts), college hats, and facial hair, heads literally swiveled when this otherwise unremarkable group of 4 guys walked through the door. Sensing the air of competition, the girls and I immediately discussed dibs before pulling down our Hollister tank tops and hiking up our Abercrombie shorts and plastering on our college-girl looks of indifference (an older, wiser friend had previously informed us that smiling makes you look younger.)

All that scowling must have done the trick, because a few Keystones later, I was flirting charmingly drunkenly with my favorite undergrad. I could sense he was nervous, given the tendency of high school girls to lie about their age, so to put him at ease I showed him my license (really). Once he had properly satisfied himself that I was legally 18, the sparks flew. Pretty soon we were passionately sucking face on the couch while people took pictures of us, elbowing each other and shouting “Myspace!”

As those with curfews slowly trickled out the door, others disappeared in pairs, and to impress my new friend with my maturity, I suggested we go somewhere a little more private. Unfortunately, a brief (and grope-filled) tour of the house proved every door locked and every bathroom –ahem—occupied. I suggested we take things outdoors for a little lovin’ au natural to find the Jacuzzi in use and the pool honestly too disgusting to swim in, let alone hook up in. And as we made our way deeper and deeper into the back yard, we saw it: a trampoline.

Needless to say, we “jumped” at the opportunity and “hopped” right on (ok I’ll stop now). The hookup got off to a rocky start (I had to feign preference for his school’s football rival to get him to go down on me), but finished with a bang—literally. Our hookup happened to coincide with the last of the night’s illegal fireworks displays, leading to my newfound appreciation for the missionary position (he missed the show, but judging by the look on his face, I don’t think he minded).

After bouncing our way off the trampoline and tiptoeing back through the house around passed out 16-year-olds, I walked him to the door and bade him a happy 5^th of July and goodbye for what I thought was forever. He ended up transferring schools and I still see him at the library; on those occasions I have to suppress the urge to salute him.