Her car was already packed with more than enough necessary and unnecessary things--her mother's doing.
"Oh, I'm sorry! Ju... Just try to squeeze in here," Melody said.
She looked around at her mess of a car and lamented she did not expect to have to put everything into her car that morning.
"Surely my parents would've taken some of the stuff, but no," she said.
We made the drive up to the mountains where her new apartment stands, laughing and singing to music all the way there. We were received, later, by her roommate Amber. Melody's parents, following closely behind us with a mattress in the bed of their truck, managed to get there after we had time to soak the place in and reconcile this was the place my best friend will be calling home at least for another year. I suppose this is one of the woes of getting older.
When everything was unpacked, we sat in the new floor and did something we usually do: play games and watch television--until, of course, hunger beckoned us into the base of all anti-feminist jokes. Melody is deceivingly witty in the kitchen, and made a nice dinner. Some hours before, Amber came home from work and almost immediately went to bed, but even she was struck by the smells of a delicious dinner waiting.
I made a comment about loving cake-flavored vodka during dishes, and I should have known what it would ensue. Amber swept Melody and I into her car and made her way to a liquor store otherwise closed to get a bottle of it and shots for when her friend Maddie was to arrive. I suddenly wasn't okay with being an adult anymore.
The neighbors were already drunk, and by the looks of the amount of cigarette smoke in the air, they were hoping to each reinact the lyrics to the only song to make Asher Roth famous. They were close when we came by. Word was it an old friend was nearby drinking copiously, with a cigarette dangling from her fingers. She squealed when she saw us, and could not wait to catch up. I let the glass of wine I had stir in my hand while I watched her and everyone else.
"I'm a social smoker now," the friend said.
With a huff she blew smoke in the air and recalled quitting in December. She claimed it only happens anymore when she drinks. That was not comforted by the fact that it is summer, so the habit could blossom once more, but she didn't seem phased.
While I watched this country's finest get "shit-faced" on more than just the strawberry wine I had, social networks were buzzing with alcohol adventures. Most had nothing to boast. Some were of recent mothers who should remember morning sickness vividly, yet decided to stay out all night anyway. And others were, what I assume, in the same state as Melody and Amber's new neighbors.
But after a shot of "sex on the beach," which felt vulgar and sweet, I was ready for a glass of water and bed. I can remember the last time I was around such a thing, I'm just thankful to have always been a spectator.