1 Aug

I had a long list, three to four stapled pages, of things to do before I died. I don’t know where it is now, but among graduate from college, send a message by balloon, go skydiving, and have first kiss, I’d intended go to a real party. I’m not sure if I wrote it on the list, but if I did, it was because it made perfect sense to distinguish between a real high school party and a real college party. I don’t remember a time when I was with a group of people and thought, “Now this is a Real Party!” Because it never looked as hot and orange, crowded, romantic, or upsetting as the movies made me expect. But I’m pretty sure I’ve been to a party. I’m pretty sure it was real. I hope there are Real Post-College Parties. Maybe I’ve already been to one. Wait. When we celebrated my brother’s belated nineteenth birthday last Saturday, ate barbecue, drank tequila, and when I sat on the couch laughing as my friends danced in the living room to music so loud it made me nervous, I thought, “This is a fun party.” So there. Fun and real.


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