There was a prearranged meeting time. That is, I was to come to the party at the end of the night, 30 minutes before Amy’s curfew. This was a favor to her, as it always was. I played her designated driver because she would drive drunk otherwise. I had heard enough of these stories over time to work this system out with her.
This is how I was a friend to her. This, during senior year, is how friendship manifested itself with me. It was not about confiding talks nor social inclusion. It amounted to baby-sitting because she needed it. It amounted to baby-sitting because I let it.
It had taken someone in our class going through a windshield for her to acquiesce. For her to let me pick her up from parties.
Her curfew was 2 A.M. I didn’t have one. To be honest, my parents didn’t even know I was leaving the house. They were asleep. I watched Saturday Night Live and then left. I had parked the car a few houses away that afternoon on purpose and my parents said nothing.
I was sneaking out on a Friday night to give my drunk friend a ride home. Even now, even knowing I was doing something noble and nice, I still can’t believe this is how I spent my senior year. I still, even now, find it pathetic. Knowing I was doing it then for her attention is only salt in the wound.
Amy was how I rebounded that year.
She was not my only friend, not the only person I associated with. She was my only friend who gave me a real window, a real opening, into this scene. The rest of my friends hung out quietly, calmly and only rarely, socially. Amy provided a gateway into the popular clique — something I found fascinating. Something that made me want it, want to be a part of it. Popularity is the drug of high school.
I snuck out.
Exactly 14 minutes later, I was rolling to a stop at the party. The house was quiet from the street. There were some lights on but things seemed to be dying down.
I walked to the door and tried the handle. Unlocked. I let myself in.
Some couples were rolling around in the room immediately to my left. I averted my eyes, trying to avoid the absurd dry humping. I didn’t want to be here; I didn’t want to be recognized. I walked towards the back of the house, staring at the floor as I went, dodging cups, people and furniture.
Had to find Amy.
My best guess was the back yard. She tended to migrate there, unless she had made it upstairs with a boy. I blinked, sending out a quick prayer that this wasn’t the case this time. Upstairs was the scenario where most bets were off. She and I had never worked out a good system regarding her and boys and bedrooms. I didn’t want to try and sort it out that night. Ever, for that matter.
Who was I kidding? I would walk upstairs and get her. I would drag her out of wherever she was. And this was the issue. I knew what I would do. I knew what my job was and I knew I wouldn’t deviate from completing the mission. But the issue was her. The issue was her yelling, screaming, slapping me as I tried to drag her out of the bed. As I tried to do her a favor, tried to save her ass, she would fight me every step of the way. This was my idea of a nightmare. This was why I hated this job. This role. And yet, I put myself up for it at every chance. This is what I did. And I am why she got to have fun. I was her safety net.
Some part of me got a thrill from that. I felt proud for doing it. Noble.
I pushed through the kitchen and outside, onto the back porch.
A pool, a deck, a hot tub, all the lights on. And the Smashing Pumpkins playing. “Disarm.”
Amy was sitting on the deck, talking to a couple of people, watching others in the hot tub. No one was in the pool, though there seemed to be some clothes floating in it. As I walked up to her, a boy leaned out of the hot tub and threw up. He wiped liquid off his mouth with the back of his left hand. His right hand was still holding a cup and he took a drink as he settled back into the hot tub. Out with the old, in with the new. I refrained from sarcastically cheering for him.
“Amy.”
She turned her head and noticed me.
“Oh, hey.”
“You ready?”
“To go?”
“Uh, yeah. It’s about 1:20.”
“We can stay for a few more then. We have another 20 or so.”
I rolled my eyes. She didn’t notice. I didn’t want to be here. I didn’t want to debate with her over the time. I wanted to be in control of the situation. I was doing her the favor; why did I allow this nonsense? I had no idea why I allowed it.
I allowed it because I didn’t know what else to do. I didn’t know how else to behave, how to control the situation.
I stood, awkwardly, for a few moments by Amy and the couple of people she was talking to. I recognized them but didn’t actually know either of them. Amy made no introduction — a girl and a boy that might have been a couple. I couldn’t tell. I didn’t care.
I stepped backwards slowly, moving away from the three of them. My steps were slow and shuffling. When they turned to look at the hot tub, as the puking guy began raising his voice, I turned and took several steps. By the time I returned to facing Amy and company, I was a good twenty feet away. They didn’t even pretend to notice.
I wandered around the pool, still dodging cups. Fucking red Dixie cups. Fucking drunk people. I sat down at the far end of the pool on a deck chair. On the end of it, hands clasped between my knees. I wanted no part of being here. Everyone else was indulging my presence — no one, other than Amy, had made eye contact with me.
There was a girl in the hot tub I liked. I didn’t know her personally, but I had a tiny crush on her. I hated her now, seeing her there like that. Crush dead.
I tapped my feet. Water in the hot tub splashed. Sounds rustled. I stood up and walked back to where Amy was sitting.
I stood there, just outside of the conversation, shifting my weight back and forth from foot to foot.
Right then, at that moment, I was hanging out with the cool kids. I was hanging out with people who did not know my name, who did not think I was cool.
I stood still, waiting. I held my breath, just wanting something to do. I counted to 47 before I let the air out. The next time I made it to 63. I thought I counted faster the second time.
Amy’s group was still ignoring me. I was bored. I was attention-starved. I moved; I walked over to one of the chairs surrounding the pool.
I climbed up onto the chair, standing in the seat, towering over everyone.
I cleared my throat. Amy looked up and rolled her eyes. She started to say something to me. I tried not to make eye contact with her.
“Everyone, thank you for coming. I just want to say how great it is to see you all here. I look forward to being ignored by all of you on Monday . . . ” I threw my hands up.
Amy walked over as people stared blankly at me. They stared through me, blinked and returned to their drunken conversations. For a brief second, I debated leaping into the pool from right there, leaping into the deep end. But I had no change of clothes, the air was freezing, I had to drive home. Amy made it over to me.
“Zach, what are you doing?”
I bent over a bit, still standing on the chair. I bent over and put my hands on my knees, pulling my face close to even with her face. I spoke slowly. Condescendingly.
“I’m trying to have fun.”
“You’re being an ass.”
“You want to see that?”
“Look, we can go if you are going to be like this.” Drunk, this was the first thing Amy had said that made sense to me. Never-mind that it was the only substantial thing she had said to me.
I stood up and hopped off the chair, putting my hands on her shoulders for support as I leapt. She flinched. I pretended not to notice, pretended not to be hurt.
I put my hands up against my head, over my ears.
“What are you doing?” she asked. Her tone was exasperated.
“I’m not listening to you, for starters.” I didn’t know why I said this; this was the opposite of what I wanted to say. The opposite of what I wanted. But my priorities had shifted. I had committed to a new course.
“Look at me! I’m Nixon!” I threw up peace signs. “I’m Nixon in China! Look at me! I’ll teach you motherfuckers to dance!” She shook her head. “Look at me! Who, who are our enemies? Who are our friends?”
“What are you doing?” she asked again. Realizing I was working my crowd at too high a level, at an intellectual level for which they were not ready, I threw myself onto all fours.
“Arf! Arf! Look at me, I’m a dog! Look at me!” I started galloping on all fours. “Arf!”
Amy sat down in the chair where I was standing previous. Her head sank into her hands. People noticed me, but perhaps not in the way I intended. I thought, I seriously believed, this would be funny to a group of drunkards. Halfway around the pool, I realized this was not going to be the case.
Halfway around the pool, I realized the ass I had truly made of myself. I was about fifteen feet from the hot tub now. I considered stopping, stopping to roll over on my back. Rolling over, throwing my arms and legs up and seeing if I could get the girl I liked to come rub my stomach.
I seriously considered this. In my head, this was a viable way to hit on a girl. To be endearing. This is what I believed it took to get attention. To get noticed. To get loved.
I went with it. I actually rolled over on my back and barked. But it was half-hearted, something I could play off later without feeling like a total idiot. Amy was ignoring me. I didn’t blame her. In a way, I was ignoring myself. Especially as my girl in the hot tub still didn’t acknowledge I was at this party, that I was right here in front of her. That I was on my back, trying to get her to rub my stomach.
I was on my back, staring at the hot tub upside down. I was ready to go home.
I lifted my head and looked over at Amy.
“Time?” I asked. Even I was no longer amused by my actions. She didn’t turn my direction. I sighed. I had to get up. I had to get up and I hadn’t figured out a graceful way to recover from the whole dog debacle.
I rolled over, stood up and shuffled over to Amy, my head down, the only sound came from my shoes as they scraped against the concrete. I was not lifting my feet as I walked.
“Ready?” I was embarrassed to be speaking now.
She turned to me, slowly. “Yes. And don’t ever do that again. I can’t believe I’m walking out of here with you. Actually — you go and I’ll be out in few minutes.”
Well done, Zach. Well done.
I let myself back out, said not a single word to anyone. I sat in the car, the radio on, watching the minutes count. If Amy got home late, it wouldn’t be my fault. I wouldn’t speed for her.
It was eleven minutes before Amy emerged, carrying her blonde, stumbling self out. I shook my head a little and watched her try to open the door. I finally leaned over and opened it for her; she had too much of her weight against the car and almost fell as I pushed the door open.
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