I graduated last night. Signed a paper, got my certificate, and now high school is officially over for me.
The thing I want to talk about, though, is not the ceremonial part. It’s not the dress I wore (a Ted Baker skater dress in a dark navy blue with floral details around the neck line, by the way), it’s not the two bouquets I received, it’s not the fact that I found it all quite underwhelming, to be completely honest; it’s the after party that I threw (!) when all of that was over.
I hadn’t thought it through much, or at all; I texted my dad in the middle of a dinner I had with everyone else who had graduated, and asked him to get some beer, wine and snacks. Which he did.
At first, I was on the couch with three boys and it was the most awkward combination of people ever. Fear was starting to creep in, as I wasn’t sure if anyone would show up at all. But an hour later, my backyard was full of people.
People were in the jacuzzi, and in the pool; I was running around, providing everyone with drinks and crisps. It was exhausting at first; I couldn’t sit much because people kept asking me things and the doorbell rang every five minutes. I had changed into a pair of sweats and a very old t-shirt, and I was glad everything seemed to be going quite smoothly. Don’t worry, this isn’t a horror story; nothing went wrong (at least for me it didn’t), I just want to write this down because I don’t want to forget about it.
As the evening progressed and the first crate of beer and bottles of wine had been emptied, I was able to slow down a little bit. It started raining, and the people who were outside in the pool or the jacuzzi obviously didn’t mind as they were wet already, but I did; and so did others, so we went inside to sit around the kitchen table, play some card games, and talk. Mind you, I hadn’t had even a sip of alcohol at all and it was about 2 AM at that point. I can’t even explain to you how fun it was to just sit there, hair up in a ponytail, one leg up against my body, chin on my knee, and listen to the conversations that the (slightly?) intoxicated people were having. I had known these people for a while now, and I know them quite well; but never, not once, had I seen them drunk at a party while I was completely, 100%, sober. And it was fucking great.
People kept asking me if I was okay, and if I was having fun at all. I must’ve looked like I was bored or something, but to be honest, I was just in a state of muted happiness. People were having fun in MY house and MY backyard, they were getting drunk and telling me how much they like me, they were saying things they never would have said without alcohol, and to me, that was everything.
My dad was actually in the living room this entire time. He was sitting on the couch, watching a concert of the Eagles on tv and typing things on his macbook. There weren’t that many people inside, so I really don’t think it mattered much.
Moving on to one specific person.
You know who you are. You know that I love you, you know that you mean a lot to me, you know that I always have fun when I’m with you, and you should know that I miss you, all the time.
You were the first person there. At first, you weren’t going to stay for more than an hour, but that changed quickly, as you were having too much fun to leave. I watched you with a bottle of wine in your hand, which is how it usually goes, getting tipsy at first, and flat out drunk later that night. You were sitting outside for a while, but when it started raining, you and me both went inside. You’d finished the bottle of wine and started playing some card game which required you to drink a beer within about five minutes, every five minutes. You and I had made an agreement; if you threw up, you’d pay me €50 if it was outside and €100 if it was in the pool, jacuzzi, or inside. You squeezed my hand so hard when you shook it, that it hurt. I kept walking out of my house to check on everybody, and sat down next to you inbetween those trips. You wanted to make sure I knew that you thought my parents, and me, are “very nice people”. You even sat down next to my dad on the couch – drunk – and told him in person. You kept repeating that. I didn’t mind.
You also told me, and everyone who wanted to hear it I think, that a boy had pinched your butt. Twice. (will talk more about said boy later.) You said you’d pinched his butt back, and I just laughed. You touched quite a few guys, and talked to them, in a way I hadn’t really thought anything of, until now. You went with me on one of the trips I took to the jacuzzi to tell people to turn the music down a bit (yes I am a grandma but it was also 3 AM on a Tuesday) and held the umbrella for me. We stood outside in the rain with the umbrella above our heads for a while, your face was close to mine, I could smell the beer in your breath, and you held an entire monologue about how there’s “nothing wrong” with homosexuals, and how your uncle was “like that” (using quotation marks because I’m quoting his exact words). I was still oblivious to the fact that you were having a moment of self-discovery right in front of me, until we went back inside and sat down again. (I REALLY HATE THE FACT THAT I HAVE SHIT MEMORY!!!) You said something that made me ask you, straight up, if you’re bi. You told me “I don’t know, actually.”
After that, you became quiet and you were mindlessly staring out the window. I asked you if you were sad and you said yes. I hadn’t seen it coming, so I hugged you tight for a while, and you hugged me back even tighter, my head on your chest. When you let go, you looked at me, smiled, and said “That made me feel better.” I told you I was happy about that, but when I found you later, sitting on a chair around the kitchen table, all alone, you still looked sad. I sat down on a chair on your left, and put my arms around you from behind. I leaned my chin on your shoulder and you leaned your head against mine. I stroked your chest a little for a while, and said nothing. Eventually, I needed to check up on people again, so I let go and left you there. I think you were feeling better. When you left, you kissed me on my cheeks three times like we do in this country, and at dinner today, my dad asked me if you had come out of the closet yet. He’s positive that you’re gay.
I texted you that you could talk to me if you wanted to, and you told me thanks, but no thanks. I know you’re not usually the kind of person to have deep conversations about yourself and your feelings, especially not over text, so I’m not shocked.
Okay. Next person.
This guy is an ass. He’s pretty, and he knows it. I’ve talked about him before in a blog post actually entirely “dedicated” to him (quotation marks because I wrote that blog post for no one but myself and I want you to KNOW that) and I hate the fact that I always feel the need to impress him. I feel ugly, he is pretty, and when he shows interest in me, I can’t help but be my best for him. It’s annoying. Moving on.
He and his friend (also an important character to this story) showed up already drunk at my door at 2:30 AM. I opened up (sober, I’d like to stress that as much as I can) and he said “Hey, beautiful”, kissed me on my cheek; not even an air-kiss, but a straight up lips on my face kind of kiss, and hugged me tight. I didn’t talk to him much after that, he went outside and got in the pool – and pinched a butt, apparently – and the next time I saw him, he was in the pool practically begging me to get in. I can see his face as I’m writing this down, he was smiling and sticking his hand out to me and told me that “I know I want to”. He said it was boring without me, and asked me about my boyfriend. I left him alone in the pool, because I was not going to get in the pool and I was too sober to continue the conversation. Next thing I knew, he was making out with my friend.
And she’s the next person.
She, and the friend of the asshole guy, the one he arrived with, were in a relationship but broke up about two weeks ago. She was struggling with it, and so was he, to an extent; she told me later, that she didn’t mean to hurt her ex-boyfriend by kissing his friend, even though most people might think she did. When she kissed him, her ex-boyfriend walked inside a couple of minutes later, seemingly upset, and said he had just won a bet (because apparently someone had bet him that they’d make out) but wasn’t happy about it. I felt sorry for him, I must admit; also because, and this is top secret information, no one knows this, especially not him, and it has to remain that way; she kissed another one of his best friends when they’d only been broken up for a few days. I knew that, but he didn’t, and I was kind of mad at her for doing this again, even though it’s irrational, because she’s single. But bro code, sis. Bro code. Not his friends. She changed into her clothes quietly when it was time to go home, and when she left, she hugged me, whispered “I’m sorry” in my ear and then broke down crying in my arms. I held her for a while, told her it was okay and that I wasn’t mad, and felt guilty for being part of the reason she felt like that, because I was supposed to be on her side. She left immediately after she let go of me, and texted me later. She hated herself for what she’d done.
Her ex-boyfriend is the second-to-last person.
He’s nice. He’s just genuinely nice, honest, sweet, caring. He didn’t drink at all, until about a year ago I think, and last night was the first time I’d seen him drunk, while I was sober myself. I hadn’t seen him after he’d arrived until he walked in upset, and I didn’t see him for a while after; I assumed he’d gone home, even though he hadn’t said goodbye. However, at around 4:15 AM, when most people were gone
– and this is where the last person comes in –
a few girls were left, waiting for another friend of mine. She had locked herself in the bathroom in my hall, and was awfully quiet. I was kind of worried that she might be throwing up – or worse – in there, so I got a knife and unlocked the door (which was WAY too easy by the way), which got locked back up immediately. Eventually, her friends got tired of waiting, and left her there. After I’d closed the front door behind them, I said her name out loud, and a few seconds later, the door unlocked. Not only she, but also my other friend’s ex-boyfriend came out of the bathroom. And, to make matters more difficult, before my other friend and her ex-boyfriend started dating, the ex-boyfriend and the girl who’d locked herself in the bathroom had been in a relationship, as well. So, there they were, in the hall, both in their swimming suits still, paranoid that anyone would find out that they’d been making out in the bathroom. So they told me to lie. They wanted me to tell everyone that it had just been that one girl in the bathroom, throwing up, and that the ex-boyfriend had gone home hours ago. And I did. I lied to my friend, who felt like she was the only one who had done something wrong, even though nothing was theoretically wrong; but the act of kissing someone’s (close) friend, or kissing someone’s friend and then LYING about it, is just a little… eh. I don’t like lying, and there are literally only two people right now (and one of them is me) who know the whole truth.
But to be completely honest, I was loving it. The drama, the sensation, the conversation, their faces when they came out of the bathroom, everything. It was like a real-life American tv-show that I was in the middle of. On the sidelines, not being pulled in, but still very much a part of the narrative. I finally got into bed at around 5 AM.
And this, ladies and gents, is it for today’s episode of “What the fuck happened”. Tune in next time for more! or don’t, because I’ve spilled a lot of secrets in this post.