Jul 14, 2012 / 3 notes

At my going away party for college, I got really drunk with the old Subway gang and was looking through one of the guys’ copies of Rolling Stone that had this editorial in it. I liked it so much I took the magazine to the bathroom with me. When I got out, I announced that I really wanted to take it home with me and I was going to do it whether they liked it or not.

Everyone laughed and I got to take it home.

I still remember that night perfectly, despite the insane amount of booze I consumed. I went to Rachel’s beforehand where she did my hair and we smoked cigarettes while watching Law & Order. Over 40+ people were wandering in and out of the guys’ apartment that night to wish me off. Enough alcohol to kill a small village filled the kitchen. We ran out of toilet paper and used Subway napkins in the bathroom. My best friend Melissa climbed all the way up the side of the two story building to get up on the balcony and one of her friends, Carla, kept kissing me on the cheek all night. Pete (my former manager) cornered me at one point to tell me he always had a crush on me and how he loved this one pair of black pants I used to wear because they “grabbed [my] ass just right.”

And Pete dropped his pants after winning a game of beer pong and I saw his ass. (It was a’ight. Seen better.)

Then we all got high and Melissa drew pictures of the solar system while we all sat on the balcony, drinking, drinking, drinking until the sun came up in the hot summer night, talking about time and space and our favorite crackheads we knew and I might have cried a little bit trying to say goodbye.

It was classic, those Subway drinking parties where we all went hard and hardly at all at once. There was a tomorrow but for the night, there wasn’t. I’ve been to parties since, tons of ‘em, but nothing was ever quite like these. You never knew with the Subway crowd - who would walk in that door, what we’d do five minutes later, where we’d go that night (or who we would go there with) or how we’d wake up in the morning.

It was freedom. Sweet, delicious, freedom. For the night, I was never day Heather, she of the million schedules, perfectionisting her way through life by doing a million things at once in a pearl necklace. I was an evening version of me: loose, open, laughing, seeing the world tilting within her vision into something else but not controlling it. And just not giving a damn either.

I do miss it. A younger version of me. But I still have that magazine. Part of my packing pile no matter where I go.

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