That One Night

Teenage years are tough. You’re told to do the right thing, but everyone knows you’re probably not going to do the right thing. You have the pressure of trying to be cool. The stress of balancing school work and your social life.  And you always having your parents on your back about everything. They always look over your shoulder because they don’t trust you. “Mom, don’t you trust me?” The words that sting to any mother. “Well of course I trust you.” And that’s it. She’s off your back for a few weeks, but eventually she gets right back on track and the cycle starts over. The days in between when she is stalking and letting you do your own thing are the safest days to do something that she wouldn’t want you to do. Guess she shouldn’t trust me.

         “Abby are you ready yet? We’re going to be late!”
         “Yeah, yeah. I’m just finishing my makeup. I’ll be down in a second.”
         I hung up my phone and continued putting the finishing touches of eyeliner on my eyes. My best friend Devin and I are going to a party down town. It’s a college party, but thanks to Devon’s sister, we’re able to get in no problem. My mom thinks that I’m just sleeping over at Devon’s and staying in for the night. There’s no way I could tell her where I was going. She would flip. What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.
         I grab my phone and shove it into my pocket then grab some money off my dresser. I grab my bag full of clothes off of my bed and run down the stairs and go into the living room to say goodbye to my mother.
         “Bye mom,” I say fast, trying to leave as quickly as possible.
         “Bye hun, don’t stay up too late. We have to go to your grandmother’s house tomorrow. She needs help raking the leaves off of her lawn,” she replies, flipping through TV channels.
         “I won’t, bye.” On my way to the door my phone starts to ring again. I pull it out of my pocket and see its Devin again. I don’t bother answering. I run out side and jump in her car.
         “I’m sorry!” I say, completely exhausted.
         “It’s okay,” she says while backing out of the drive way.
         Devin speeds out of the development and heads towards town.
         “So where exactly are we going?” I ask couriously.
                “To my sisters, friends, boyfriend’s apartment. The up-stairs and down-stairs is all colleges students. They’re all friends so they decided to have a big party,” Devin explained. I can tell she’s in a hurry to get there. She would speed up then come to a stop at a traffic light, then speed up again only to come to another light.
                “How many guys live there?”
                “Um, I think eight. Four up stairs, four down stairs.”
                “Must be a big apartment,” I say.
                “It is. It more like a really big house split in two. There it is,” Devin points to a large house on the right side of the road. Every light in the house is lit and about twenty cars are parked on the street. Devin dives further past the house to find a spot to park. We end up parking about five blocks away. We get out of the car and start walking on the side walk.
                “You excited?” asked Devin in a jittery, yet excited voice.
                “Yeah,” I smile. I have never been to a party like this before. This was the complete opposite for Devin. Devin moved here from New Jersey. Apparently she partied every weekend when she lived there. Her parents didn’t care. Her parents partied when they were teenagers too. It was normal for them.
                I also came to learn that she’s never had a boyfriend. This really surprised me. Devin is very pretty. She has long dark hair and striking blue eyes. She is also very tan. Although not all of it is natural. I guess spray tans are normal in New Jersey too. But her reason for never having a boyfriend was that no one in her old town ever had a boyfriend or a girlfriend. Everything was hook ups. No strings attached.
                My other friend, Kayla, has been with her boyfriend for almost two years. Devin thinks it is the strangest thing that two people could be together for that long in high school. But that’s normal for us in this town. Two people like each other, they stay together.
                We approach the house and Devin spots her sister standing on the porch with a red cup in her hand.
                “Angela!” Devin shouts over the loud music.
                “Devin!” screams Angela, much louder than Devin, “Come up here!”
                Devin and I walk up the steps and approach Angela.
                From what I know, Angela is a big partier. All day, all night. She is in college but Devin and I question how long she’ll still be in college before she gets kick out.
                Angela is standing in a group of guys, all looking to be about 20 years old. She can hardly keep herself up right and leans on one of the guys for support.
                “I’m glad you guys could make it!” she giggles, drunk out of her mind. “Here, have a beer.”
                Angela stumbles over to a cooler and pulls out two beer cans, almost dropping one. On her way back over to us, she stumbles, not being able to walk in her high heels. Ready to fall to the floor, two guys grab her by the arms and help her back to her feet.
                “Whoops!” snorted Angela in an obnoxious voice. “I guess I’m a little tipsy.” She laughed.
                “Yeah, I guess so,” said the guy standing next to me. He was more talking to himself then anyone but I decided to speak up.
                “She’s always like that. I don’t think I’ve ever been around her when she’s sober.”
                The guy laughed then looked over at me. The first thing I noticed about him was his height. He is about seven or eight inches taller than me. From what I can make out in the dim lighting of the porch, he has shaggy brown hair with a black beanie resting on his head. I also notice that he had a lip pricing on his right side. He’s wearing a purple and black plaid shirt that’s only half buttoned with a white shirt underneath. His legs are being occupied by a pair of black skinny jeans with a pair of purple shoes popping out the bottom.
                “Really?” he asked. “I guess she’s a hardcore partier then.”
                “Yeah she really is,” I say. “Her sister is like that too,” I turn and point to Devin but then I notice she is not by my side anymore. “I guess she went inside.”
                I start to get nervous. I wasn’t planning on being on my own tonight. I thought Devin and I would be together. I don’t know what to do at a party. On top of that, I don’t know anyone.
                “Are you like that?” he asked me.
                “Like what?” I ask, slightly confused.
                “A partier?”
                “Oh, well, not really,” I reply nervously.
                “Well maybe I can show you the ropes. I’m Dean by the way.” Dean puts out his right hand and I reach up to shake it.
                “I’m Abby,” I reply shakily.
                Dean lets go on my hand and walks over to the cooler on the porch. He takes out two beer cans and struts back over. He hands me a can that Angela fail to do. With a shakey hand I pop open the top and slowly bring it to my lips.
                I’ve never really drank before in my life. The most alcohol I have ever had was just one sip of wine. I didn’t even think it tasted good.  I would have tried other stuff but I was always afraid my mother would find out. But at the moment; I don’t care.
                I take a swig of the beer and the awful taste fills my mouth. I want to spit it out more than anything. I can’t. I don’t want to make a fool of myself in front of all of these people. To them, beer is like water. I eventually swallow and the liquid burns my throat like acid.
Dean must have saw that I didn’t enjoy that drink too much. He laughed a bit in a playful way and took the can out of my hand.
                “Maybe you’re not a beer person,” he smiled. “Here, come in side. I’ll make you a drink.”
                Dean sets my can on the railing of the porch and I follow him through the door that leads inside. The music is pounding and I can’t hear anything but the beats of the song. The front room is packed with what seems like one hundred people. Dean grabs my hand and weaves through the crowd of people. He leads me into the kitchen which is also filled with people. He lets go of my hand and pushes people out of the way to get to the counter. There are bottles and bottles of unlabeled liquids. Dean grabs a red cup from the stack on top of the refrigerator. He pores a clear liquid into the cup first then adds a little of a yellowish drink. Last he adds a touch of something that is pinkish red.
                “Here,” he turns to me and hands me the red cup.
                “What is it?” I ask skeptically.
                “Oh you know, a little of this, a little of that,” he smiled and waited for me to take a sip.
                I didn’t want to be rude so, I slowly raise the cup to my lips and take a small sip. To my surprise, it tasted kind of good.
                “Do you like it?” he asked.
                “Yeah,” I say, “It tastes like strawberry lemonade.” Dean smiles at my comment. I take another sip, liking the drink even more.
                “If you haven’t really drank before, I would say that that should be your only drink for the night. There’s strong stuff in there.”
                “Hey Dean!” yelled a shorter guy from across the kitchen.
                This guy is taller than me but shorter then Dean. He has choppy blonde hair, slightly hanging in his face and similar clothes on as Dean. He moves his way through the crowded kitchen and jumps next to Dean.
                “Oh my god, you gotta come down stairs! Eric brought this stuff and...oh my god, it’s so good! The room is spinning!” This guy is bouncing off the walls. He’s clearly on something. Probably the stuff he is talking about.
                “Okay, okay I’ll be down in a minute,” Dean said. The guy ran back through the kitchen then disappeared around the corner.
                “Do you smoke?” Dean asked me.
I feel like such a loser. I’ve never drank or smoked. I feel like saying I have, just to look cooler then I am, but I know that it will somehow he’ll find out I’m lying.
                “No,” I answer embarrassed, “I’ve never tried.”
                “You want to learn?”
                I’m not sure how to answer. I do want to try. This guy is so cool. I don’t want him to think I’m a loser. But what if I do try and make a fool out of myself? I mean, he knows I never have so maybe he won’t care if I’m bad at it.
                What if my mother finds out? She would kill me. She would never let me go anywhere again. But she’s not here. There’s no way she’ll know.
                “Sure,” I finally answer after my mental battle.
                “Follow me,” said Dean with a smile. Before I leave I quickly take the last swig of my drink and throw my cup on to the counter.
                Dean led me out of the kitchen the same way we came in. The main room is still filled with people and the music is still on full blast. The room smells of stale alcohol.  It almost makes me gag. Staying close to the wall, trying not to run into anyone, Dean eventually reaches a door that leads outside. It’s not the front door. This door brought us to the side ally of the apartment which is filled with cars. The cool air makes me shiver from being inside the hot house.
                Dean walks to the back yard and approaches a metal door sticking out of the ground.
                “I know this looks sketchy,” Dean laughs, “but it’s just the only door that goes into the basement.”
                I can feel my nerves starting to get to me again. I have no idea what to expect in the basement. I wish Devin had stayed with me. I would feel better if she was here. I think she has smoked before so she could help me. I would feel more comfortable if she was helping me than if Dean was.
                “Come with me to Pleasure Island.”
                Dean turns the lever on the door and pulls it open. Immediately I smell something fowl. I have no idea what it is. He steps down on to the rickety wood steps and motions me to follow. I almost want to turn back. But I don’t. If this is what Dean thinks is cool, then I’ll do it.
                I follow Dean into the dimly lit basement. I can feel my hands start to sweat from nervousness. Stepping off of the last step, I spot a small circle of people sitting around a table to my right. One of the people at the table was Devin. She doesn’t notice that I’m there until I’m standing right next to her.
                “Hey! Abby, what up?” she asks in a dreamy voice. She seems so off it. Like she’s in the clouds.
                “Hey,” I say back with a slight laugh.
                Knowing that Devin is here has calmed my nerves. I see Dean take some stuff off of the main table and move over to a smaller one.
                “Abby, come over here,” he called.
                I leave Devin and sit across the table from Dean. He has a few pieces of square paper and some stuff in a plastic bag. I don’t really pay attention to what he is doing. I can feel the drink he made me start to kick in. My head feels real heavy. The dim basement seems to be getting even darker. The loud talking of the other people in the room, and the booming music leaking through the ceiling from up stairs, is ripping through my ear drums.
                I rest my elbows on the table and put my head in my hands. The pounding starts to go away but I know it will come back.
                “Okay, here,” said Dean. He held out something that looked like a cigarette but I know that’s not what it is. “I’m going to light it, then you’re going to put this end in your mouth, inhale a little, but not too much, then take it out of your mouth, then exhale. Easy?” he explained.
                It took a second to wrap my head around everything he had just said.
                “Yeah,” I say wirily, “easy.”
                I take the drug filled paper in between my fingers as Dean lights one end. I bring it to my lips then stop.
                “Wait, what’s in here?” I ask hesitant to try it.
                “Just weed,” Dean answered.
                “Okay then,” I say. I’m not really sure why I asked. I’m still going to try it no matter what is in it.
I bring the rolled paper back to my lips and inhale very slowly. I can feel the smoke filling my lungs. My eyes start to water and I let out a huge cough. I cough again and again and smoke comes pouring out of my mouth. I look over at Dean who is smoking like a pro.
                “That wasn’t so bad,” he commented. “This time, inhale a little less. It will help you not to cough as much.”
                I bring the lit roll back to my lips and I do what Dean told me. I feel the poison smoke enter my lungs once again. This time, I exhale and only cough a little.
                “See,” Dean smiled, “It just takes practice.”
                I smile, happy that I didn’t make a total fool out of myself. I see Devin walking over. She plops her self down right on my lap.
                “I see Dean taught you how to smoke!” she shrieked, wrapping her arms around my head so she doesn’t fall.
                “Yeah,” I say happily.
                I bring the roll back up to my lips, going around Devin’s arm. I go to inhale once again but then I stop. My skin starts to get really hot. My eyes start watering again. I drop the lit roll on the table and Dean quickly picks it up.
                “What’s wrong?” Dean asks in a concerned voice.
I stand up, pushing Devin off of my lap. She falls down on to the floor.
                “Hey!” She shouts, very irritated.
                My hands are sweating and it’s getting hard to breath. Everyone has stopped talking and is looking at me. I run to the stairs to get out of the steamy basement. I burst through the door in the ground into the cool night. My skin is filled with blotchy red spots, all up and down my arms. I can hardly breathe. My wind pipe is getting too tight for air to come thru. I fall to my knees, wheezing, desperate for air.
                “Abby!” calls Devin. She kneels down on the grass next to me and puts her hand on my back. “Abby, what’s wrong?” I can tell Devin is freaking out. But so am I.
                “Devin,” I whisper in a scratchy voice. “I can’t breathe.”
                Then everything is going black.



I hear a door shut and I jolt awake. I’m in a hospital bed and I see my mother standing next to me. I have an IV sticking out of my arm, connecting to some fluids. I lay back and give a huge sigh. I’m so dead.
“How are you feeling?” my mother asks in a soft voice.
“Tired,” I reply. I know what’s coming. The “I’m Disappointed” speech. But I deserve it.
“Do you remember what happened last night?” she questioned.
“Yes,” I answer, not being able to look her in the eye.
“You could have died Abby.” She walks away from the bed and over to the window. She’s looking outside, but I know she has no interest what is out there. She can’t look at me. Just I like I can’t look at her.
I have no idea why I’m in the hospital or what cause me to not be able to breath. It must have been from what I was smoking. But everyone else who was doing it was fine.
“Why am I here Mom?” I ask.
“You had an allergic reaction,” she stated.
“To what?” Last I knew I wasn’t allergic to anything.
“Marijuana.”
I had no idea I was allergic.
         “How could you do something so stupid Abigail?” My mother was turned so I couldn’t see her face. But I knew she was crying.  “Did Devin pressure you?”
         “No, she just told me about the party. I wanted to go. It’s not her fault Mom.” The last thing I want to do is blame all this on Devin. It was my choice to go to the party. My choice to drink. My choice to smoke. No one made me.
                Why drugs Abby?” My mother turned to me. She had tears running down her face. I could feel my own eyes start to water.
                “Because everyone else was doing it,” was my answer. It wasn’t a good answer. But it was truthful. 
                “You promise me you will never pull a stunt like this again.” At this point she was pointing her finger at me. “I had no idea where you were. You were at a party with a bunch of people you didn’t know. Devin was drunk. Was she going to drive back to her place? You clearly had no plan! And you lied straight to my face!”
                She was going on a rampage, pacing all around the room. For the first time in my life, I didn’t know what to say. I just kept my mouth shut.
                “You don’t have to go with the crowd Abby. You are your own person. You can make your own decisions. At least I thought you could.”
                “I’m sorry Mom,” I muttered, tears now streaming down my face. “You don’t know what it’s like to be me! You don’t know what was going through my head!” I say, raising my voice.
                “Well then tell me Abby!” My mom sat down in the chair next to my bed and crossed her legs. “Tell me all about what it’s like to be you.” Her voice was steaming with sarcasm.
                I want to hit her so bad right now. I don’t need her attitude. I also don’t need to explain this to her.
                “Whatever,” I spat.
                “Let me guess,” she starts, still using her sarcastic tone, “you were trying to impress people. You were trying to be cool.”
                She is saying this with sarcasm, waving her hands in the air. But those actually were my reasons for going to the party, drinking, and smoking. I don’t know how to explain this to her. It makes me sound like I feel sorry for myself. That my life is so boring or so horrible, that I turned to drugs. Which was an epic fail.
                But that’s not me. I don’t feel sorry for myself. I have a great life. I have a lot of friends. But I have a feeling that after they find out about this, they won’t want to be my friend. I wish I could take that night back. I wish I did go to Devin’s and stay up all night watching chick flicks.
                “I’m sorry Mom.”