June 14th

by Jessica Kraker

Those nights in June, I remember them most. Alcohol running freely through my veins as I coasted through another party with more people who I didn’t like, but they liked me. Because everyone likes the screw-up. The reject. The one they can look at and think, “Damn I’m doing pretty terrible, but at least I’m not them.” It’s like I’m their cautionary tale, their constant reminder of who they never want to become. And that’s fine with me because I don’t like myself that much either.

Those nights in June were good for the drinks and the music. People are annoying and easy to avoid, but trying to get away from terrible music is impossible. I’m happy I didn’t have to try. I could feel the bass through the walls when I leaned my head back as I slouched in some corner. Its pounding was like a precursor to the hangover I’d have the next day.

Those nights in June were times I could forget every single thing I’d done wrong my entire life. I could stay in the shadows and let the real people have their fun. It was like watching the birth and death of a whole universe right in front of my eyes. I didn’t even have to think. I just had to look. I saw every mistake and every scandal and every victory. And I wondered if that’s what “normal” looked like.

It wasn’t. If those nights in June taught me anything, it was that alcohol and good music and too many people in one space often led to the breaking of social constructs. “Normal” people got the chance to hang around a loser like me and not catch my disease. And I could have a night of fun without my usual anxiety and self-loathing. We can be whoever we want when no one’s going to remember the next day.

And as I sit alone in my basement with empty bottles around me and only silence running through my head, I think of how I miss those nights in June when human company was more valuable to me than I knew what to do with. I think of how the music is only ever good when you can see other people vibing to it with you, as one cohesive mass. I miss the people. I miss the people, but the alcohol is the only one who missed me.