Busy Weekend

I become less and less creative with my titles as the evening progresses. It is quarter to ten now and my title states exactly what I’m going to start talking about: how busy my weekend is going to be.

Tonight, I had a date, which was fun. I got a pulled-pork-on-a-bun sandwich, and a really big meringue cookie, which was delicious. We did a lot of walking, which was also fun. I learned how to play Minecraft at my boyfriend’s house.

Tomorrow, I have a leadership workshop for band, and I’m going to a ska concert tomorrow night. During the between time, I’m probably going to go Mother’s Day shopping with my sister and maybe some friends, and hopefully, I’ll get to take a nap and see a movie with my Best Friend. I have no idea when I’ll have time to write tomorrow’s Story A Day.

Sunday is Mother’s Day, and my sister and I are going to visit our friend’s mom–who has served as a mother for all of us band kids all year–and give her a present, and I’m probably going to present a speech that I wrote for her a while ago. I dunno, that’s going to be awkward, huh? Presenting a speech for an audience of one? Ack. That won’t be a party…

Anyway, after that, we’ll of course do whatever Mother’s Day thing we’re going to do with our own mother, and hopefully, I can go to some antique shops in the area and see try to find a typewriter, because they’re… cool.

At some point in all of this, I’ll have to write an essay for my drum major application, and hopefully read some more of The Princess Bride, which I will soon be doing a research report on. That’s going to be a party.

Well, I need today’s story for Story A Day May. I want to go to bed… It’s almost ten already…

The red plastic cup was light in my hand. It was empty, and had been empty for most of the night, after the first and only beer I drank at the party.

“It doesn’t taste good,” I admitted to my friends, shrugging.

“That’s not really the point,” said a girl with long black hair. I’d met her once or twice before, but I didn’t know her name. “You don’t drink beer because it’s yummy.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t drink anything unless it’s yummy,” I countered. I was getting a little bit sick of this party. No–I was getting a little bit sick of the beer, which I drank too fast and without any food. That’s why I was sick.

I sneaked away from my friends and into the kitchen, where I ate a bagel from the unfamiliar cupboard. I don’t know when I lost my cup, but it was missing from my hand, so I got a new one and filled it with tap water.

“Oh, so you’re one of those crazy kids who drinks water?”

I looked up from the sink and saw a girl with rust-colored hair and tiny Dixie cup.

“Yeah, that’s me.”

“Ditto.” She tossed her paper cup in favor of a plastic one, which she also filled with faucet water. “Hey, do you know who this party is for?” she asked.

“Not really… My friends dragged me along. I don’t actually know whose house this is, in fact,” I realized aloud.

“Nice. I know that the house belongs to a guy named Brett, or maybe his parents… I think I met him in Chem one time? He brought a Frappucino to his friend or something like that. That’s about all I know about him.”

“That’s more than I can say,” I reminded her. She laughed.

We talked like this for the rest of the night, conversing about everything from school to home life to why we weren’t drinking.

“As a person who has grown up with a chronic liver disease, I really frown upon people who mistreat their perfectly functional livers at stupid parties like this. And you, Phil?” she asked.

My name isn’t Phil, but she decided that she would call me that, and I would call her Rose, because it wasn’t likely that we’d ever meet again. After all, I was merely visiting friends in the area, while she went to school nearby. We thought it would be funnier if we didn’t know each other’s names.

“I don’t like beer,” I said. “It tastes bad and smells bad and from what I understand, it isn’t all that much fun to be drunk.”

“So I’ve heard…”

We kept talking until the party ended, and I never saw her again after that party, but I’m happy to have met Rose, because she made me feel less alone–if I could connect with a total stranger at a party, surrounded by people whom I’d never met before, I was probably pretty well off.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: