I didn’t party much in high school. Sure I took liquor from the cabinet, but I never had that “Project X” experience. So when my parents kissed me goodbye at my new dorm, my whole life (and my ass) changed forever.
An older boy who went to my high school had invited me to a party at his house and encouraged me to bring friends. Excited for the night, my roomie, a few new friends and I were able to get a little alcohol. With our tolerances low and our spirits high, we started our perfect night.
The weather was perfect, and we set out in uniforms of booty shorts and crop tops. We looked like every other naïve, slutty freshmen girl that flocked into downtown. It took less than five minutes before all of the stories I heard about my alleged “party” school were confirmed. We passed by parties on every block as we set out to our destination. When we arrived, the party was in full blast. It was overwhelming just to watch. Pushing our way to the gate, we finally got into the overcrowded yard and I set off to find my friend.
The rest of the night became a blur of dancing, meeting countless people, and mixing many different types of alcohol. At some point, however, I made my way up to the rooftop balcony. This, is the exact movement I should have just gone home. Once I was up there, however, I met a boy. This boy can only be described as the most beautiful boy I have ever met. Think Justin Bieber. I was immediately in love. And the romance didn’t end there.
“Want to go up on the roof?” Bieber asked me.
“We’re already on the roof!” I slurred back.
“No,” he laughed, “the roof, not the balcony.”
He pointed to the higher level next to us. I nodded enthusiastically, and he climbed up effortlessly. I however, had no clue how the hell I was going to get up there. I stared up at him helplessly and called over another guy to help. With Bieber pulling me, and using my human-ladder, I made it. That was when I REALLY should have gone home.
Once on the roof, I snapped a picture of myself, with the party raging below, to my sister. She immediately texted me to get down before I hurt myself. She clearly didn’t understand the party princess I had transformed into. A little while later Bieber said he was going to get more alcohol, and not wanting to be left alone, I followed.
As hard as it was to get on the roof, getting down was a whole new issue. The idea of “grace” was long since gone and I struggled as if I was trying to escape the depths of Hell. I jumped/slid/fell off onto the balcony. Hard. I immediately felt the pain but tried to laugh it off when he asked if I was okay. When he helped me up, however, he quickly became embarrassed and mumbled some excuse to leave.
Sad and rejected, I went to find my roommate, my butt hurting more with every step. I found her, and with eyes wide she exclaimed “YOU GOT YOUR PERIOD!” I immediately ran to the bathroom and discovered my shorts drenched in blood. Turns out it wasn’t my period, however. I had split my right cheek open.
I needed stitches, but I couldn’t go to the hospital without my parents eventually finding out, I settled for Band-Aids. This decision resulted in a deep, dark scar that is still just as prominent to this day.
I wish I could say that this scar had made me a smarter person, but it hasn’t. I’ve had a lot of fun in college, and I wouldn’t change a night of it. Now I have a simple reminder of the best years of my life every time I look in the mirror.
Or whenever a guy asks about it while hitting it from behind..