blather_journal search results 7/11/02 Sitting here, thinking back on this crazy week full unexpected meetings and mishaps. A week that started out a girls night on the beach with a bag of marshmallows and backpack full of everything you could ever imagine and then some and converted into something completely different. We reached the beach stumbled across some thorn filled twigs which we confiscated for our fire. Our little fire slowly turned into a blaze and our burning logs and sticky marshmallow covered fingers were quickly joined by two guys and a 24 pack of Bud Light. Unable to turn away the two slurring acquaintances we sat around the fire in the sand on logs and crumpled beach chairs. The minutes turned into hours as the stunning orange moon floated higher and higher in the sky. The empty beer cans sitting in front of the fire multiplied by the hour as conversation passed in English, French, Spanish, and Drunk. One by one my friends fell to the peer pressure and popped open a warm, sand covered beer can while Bob Marly played in the background. Their battle to finish the pack before the night was over was fought with thrusts of seeming pleas to shotgun a beer and shields of excusive vomit and unconsciousness. Pennies melted and matches magically jumped as words stumbled out of lips into the fire or into the sky where we occasionally glanced to watch the stars as the night cycled its way back into day. Fumbling we squeezed five high school and college students onto a tent intended for two. We lay still, overlapping one another as the two guys quickly passed out, one in an awkward, compromising position and the other sprawled with a climaxing snore. Plugging noses with no avail it was apparent we would never fall asleep. Trying but failing to escape from the small tent quietly, we rolled our bodies into the sand our feet catching on the fly. Wearily we collected the dry and half empty beer bottles, pouring the remaining alcohol into the sand and placed them back into the box which we, fearing the early morning walkers, hid in the woods. Rekindling our dwindling fire we sat blowing into the flame and watching it grow, mesmerized. Tays Poetry ran from her burnt fingers onto a half full piece of paper as I lay on a sleeping bag being attacked by bugs. Safe, sounds, bite free, and hung over the two guys and Julia lay in the tent as Tay and I waged war on the endless armies of sand fleas with a drained bottle of bug spray. The two guys, aroused by our battle cries, staggered out of the tent and into the morning dew that had already covered Tay and I, dampening our clothes and soaking our bags. The tone of contestation had changed from the alcohol breathed one of the past evening. Comments and questions mellowly dripped out of our mouths into the sand like the leftover beer, missing our ears. The guys stood up with mumbles of goodbyes and walked away, seemingly wandering, lost, as they headed of the stairs out of our world covered in sand. Not bothering to help pick up the folding chairs with unknown owners or smother our fire that had reduced itself to coals, they climbed their way out of the passed night, and we knew that our time together had meant nothing to them except a chance to get drunk, just like they had the night before this, and the night before that, and the one before that until their nights had blended together, blocking any memory of the last time they hadn’t spent an evening drinking. We packed up our bags in tired silence and dragged our bundles up the mountainously high metal staircase. Flopping into the car, covered in sand we commented on the oddness of the night. Turing on the car the blaring rap music from the car ride there yesterday screamed out of the speakers. Almost pushed into the backs of our seats by the yelling voice melding all the words into one. Scrambling for the volume we turned it down and changed to some lighter music for our drive home. We dropped Tay off at her unsuspecting mothers house and proceeded to Julia’s, where my parents had though I spent the night. We walked into the silent house and took off our shoes filled with sand. Soon enough the quite was interrupted by the patter of light feet down the wooden staircase. Mallory’s little head popped down from where the railing met the next floor. I walked up to her as she stuck her head though the banisters, as I approached she said bluntly “you smell” with a small, almost undetectable whistle on the s. I told her about the campfire but fail to mention the guys and beer to the elementary schooler. A grin crept across her face as she peered out at me between the two wooden pillars. We sat down and munched Life and slurped down the left over milk, the sweetness overcoming the old aftertaste of burnt marshmallows. Julia’s mom came down and we made small talk, we told the truth about our night, just left out many parts. She swept Mallory off to camp giving us back the quiet house, with the exception of the occasional tossing of Annah, the soon to be 8th grader, up in her bed. We collapsed on the couch and talked. Our sleepy words making us sound intoxicated. The cleaning lady came in, dragging her vacuum cleaner. She stood in front of us as she dusted and we spilled our whole night to her not sparing her the alcohol-tainted details. The rest of the day consisted of slurred speech, backrubs, and 15 minutes of When Harry Met Sally until we both passed out on Annah’s bed. We awoke and I had a vague recollection of Annah coming into the room and passing me the phone and hearing my moms voice coming over the receive, however I had no memory of what it was we talked about. Our stomachs pulled us out of bed in search of some real food. Scavenging the kitchen we found some macaroni and put it on to boil and then plopped ourselves back down on the leather coach to have another deep conversation, only this time understandable. The time until our field hockey game was quickly fading away as we lay, weak, drained of energy, dreading attempting to put forth the effort it would take us to get through a game. We manage our way though, overcoming the lactic acid and heavy eyelids. My dad came to pick me up and asked me how the night was and what we did, I told him “we just hung out” knowing that I wasn’t lying, knowing that it wasn’t the moral thing to say. That night I lay in bed laughing about, and the irony of it all has kept me thinking about it. 020711 what's it to you? who go blather from