A Good Hug

This is probably the first party I’ve ever been to with what can be considered the old high school crowd. Party in the sense that there is alcohol, a lot of obnoxious yelping, and what seems to be the unyielding desire to beat the world record for “Most People Piled On A Small Couch.” It’s fun. I’m a bit late. I missed the frivolous “let’s get drunk!” festivities and arrived for the “dude, I’m so wasted!” brunt of it.

A particularly flushed friend of mine is off in a corner with a small group playing what looks to be a mix between Patty-Cake and Whoops-I-Accidentally-Touched-Your-Boob-Oh-God-So-Drunk!

A few… uninhibited females are running around spanking each other with ping-pong paddles and shrieking with terror.

I hate being in a mood, but I just can’t get into the whole party scene. I move to an empty couch and take a seat. In an adjacent couch, it seems nearly twelve individuals have found their way intertwined on top, underneath, and throughout each other’s limbs. I can even see Tomato Face himself peering through the middle of the tangled crowd, cuddling what is hopefully a foot.

The 40 Year Old Virgin isn’t that funny. But it’s playing. The host of the party is even quoting the dialogue word for word moments before it happens. I would be impressed but I’m nearly overcome with the urge to punch him in the nose. I suppress it.

The party has died down by now, those who are left squash together on another couch; this one is in front of the ping-pong table. Host and a particularly obnoxious partier, not half has drunk as he is pretending to be, have started a game of beer-pong, minus the beer and plus whatever lousy concoction is filling the half empty (I’m sorry, half full) plastic red cups scattered around the room. The game takes a while to begin, Not That Drunk Attention Seeking Whore letting Host know at every turn that he has failed to set up his side properly. I’m sitting against the wall on Host’s side, the game in front of me, and the couch to my left. A buddy is leaning against the wall next to me and cackles at the goings on. She could very well have one of my favorite laughs.

Riding Dirty is as good a song as 40 Year Virgin is funny. Not That Drunk Attention Seeking Whore loves it, and lets everyone know by singing along. He also incorporates a very impressive dance. Sadly he’s winning the game, too.

If only I had a nail gun…

I am probably being a little more verbose about my distaste with the young man, and Not That Drunk Attention Seeking Whore lets me know it with a snide remark.

Well, I’m not trying to talk behind your back. I’m making fun of you, because you’re being an idiot.

He shuts up, playing it off like he has to focus on the game at hand.

I don’t know… lousy concoction pong just doesn’t seem that fun.

Host loses, Not That Drunk Attention Seeking Whore gloats, everyone else rolls their eyes, quiet after party chatter begins.

I scoot over to lean against the couch. My lap is attacked by several pairs of feet, and Tomato Face rests his head on my chest.

It’s kind of sad, but I’ve missed this. Not Tomato Face’s head, necessarily, but just sitting with old friends, no matter how inebriated. I’m comfortable here. I don’t know half of these people as well as I would like, but I’m comfortable here.

Time passes, and I decide it is perhaps time to pretend it’s getting late. A quick “alright… I think it’s bedtime” gets the ball rolling, and people begin to rise and stretch. We move to the stairs and talk for a while longer, people grab their coats, find lost keys and camera cases, then begin the formal good-byes.

I’m still in a mood, which had lifted a bit during the party, but it’s coming back. I’ve waited too long to see these people again to have it end in a matter of hours.

Most of the good-byes I partake in involve a handshake and/or nod, shrug and farewell, but one in particular results in a quick hug. An amazing hug, in fact. With the sincere squeeze and quick rock side to side that at least fools me into thinking that some people are worth it.

I let go thinking I might have held on a bit too long, but I had to. I needed a good hug.

A friend and I drive Tomato Face home after finally convincing him to give up his keys, and I coast through the hometown alone with the radio off.

I don’t want to go back to school yet.