We pile into a car being driven by a their driver. Me, my best friend (Tsunami), and a couple of guys. The two graduates whom we’re celebrating tonight are in the sole male graduate’s Mustang, with the other female graduate (Duchess) and two other people, a girl and a guy. The Mustang speeds off to some nearby supermarket in search of alcohol for the night. The rest of the party gets into a taxi and follows our car.
We arrive at the male graduate’s house and lounge about. Eventually getting bored, we move over into one of their guesthouses and take over the place, spreading chips and beer bottles onto the coffee table. Tonight, after a year of not drinking nearly as much as I used to sophomore year, I found out I’ve started to hate the taste and smell of alcohol. I become depressed over this for several minutes, mulling over the fact that I now cannot swallow down what I once enjoyed. On my side, my friend Tsunami is very tipsy while Duchess is dealing with her usual boyfriend issues, insisting on constantly leaving the room or borrowing Tsunami (who is very close friends with both Duchess and me, but D and I aren’t close). Just for once, couldn’t she deal with her own fucking problems? Why does it always have to be about her? One voice in my head asks. That’s kind of unfair though. It IS her graduation night, after all, the second voice chimes in. Whatever. I’d very much love to be tipsy right now, but apparently we can’t drink anymore, the third, depressed-over-suddenly-hating-alcohol voice asserts, effectively ending the inner monologue.
To my left side of the couch, Tsunami and Duchess are for some odd reason kissing one another on the lips. Not in a weird way, but a friendly way, except they do that three times. I feel left out. Not in a weird way, but in a way that knows that Tsunami would never do that with me. I don’t like this feeling.
The hookah’s we’d ordered an hour ago finally arrive. I keep myself busy with a double apple mint flavoured one, for once not gagging over it or getting too dizzy. I remain in a single position for a while, not caring about anything going on around me in the small guesthouse living room. Duchess is for some reason sitting knee-to-knee, side-to-side by her fellow senior graduate, even though she’s the one dealing with shit her ex-boyfriend’s giving her, the one whom she’d broken up with less than a month ago.
Nothing is really happening except for the fact that I’m lightheaded at this point, as smoking hookah for a while tends to do. This feeling leaves me to my thoughts, and that incessant, nagging voice comes back on. You’re too fat to be included in this shit. You were only invited out of politeness. Nobody’s talking to you because they’re not interested in you. Because you’re fat. Your best friend is close with that other girl because they can relate to one another because they’re of normal body weight. You’re not.
I try to to make the voice go away, and it does for a while. One of the guys at the party had managed to get insanely drunk and was acting like an idiot at this point. I haven’t spoken to Tsunami for the past hour or so, us being sat on two different couches and whatnot (oh, the distance,) and busy with our separate hookahs.
(cont. in Part II)