What If

Chapter 39

                  

John and I sat in the living room with an entire bunch of his friends, one of them I assumed to be Ivan. I sat on the couch while he sat next to me on top of the couch, his feet resting on the white couch cushions, dirtying them, and his butt next to my head. Yay. Despite that, I didn't mind.

A bunch of people were doing that: some sitting on couches, some sitting on couches, some in big chairs, some on the armrests of said big chairs, and some on the floor. It was a good-sized group, of course, sending my anxiety through the roof. I was not a people-person, part of a reason I didn't like parties in the first place. I just get awkward around people and I was feeling it was just about coming to that point already.

It also didn't help that there were twice as many guys as girls in this little group. I felt sorely out of place and partially unwanted, but everyone was having a jolly old time otherwise.

"Alright, alright," John said, on his third beer since I got here. "Who am I now?" He jumped off the couch and played a fake guitar enthusiastically, shaking his hips side to side, copying his favorite idol. "You ain't nothin' but a hound dog! Cryin' all the time!" He didn't have a bad voice for that song at all. I'd have to request it the next time he and the boys had band practice.

Everyone laughed drunkenly and yelled out "Elvis!"

I laughed too, but was nowhere near drunk. Not that I was trying to be or anything.

John jumped back down on the couch and chugged down the rest of his beer.

Then his friend, Ivan, stood up, drunk out of his mind and said "Okay, my turn! My turn!" He wasn't anywhere near stable, wavering and wobbling from suddenly becoming vertical. He took a deep breath and belted "Well, that'll be the day, when you say goodbye! Yes, that'll be the day, when you make me cry!" His voice was like a screeching cat, making me cringe in my seat and feel embarrassed for him.

"Buddy Holly!" we all yelled and cheered.

John cackled next to me, smacking his jeaned thigh like a hillbilly. He shoved my shoulder with his drink and yelled over the laughter "You next, Colleen! You next!"

I watched as all eyes turn to me, my anxiety level shooting up like a rocket. I couldn't think of words to say let alone think of a person to impersonate. "Uh, um," I uttered, never being good under the pressure of a dozen eyes. ". . . Okay." I stood up and stayed up awkwardly, trying to think of a person who hadn't been done yet. "Uh . . ." I just started dancing and sang the first oldies song that came to mind. "As I was motivatin' over the hill, I saw Maybellene in a Coup de Ville!"

Everyone howled with laugher, including John, and screamed "Chuck Berry!" at the top of their lungs.

Thankful my extremely short turn was over, I sat back down and took a sip of my beer. John patted my shoulder and said "Very nice, Colleen! Not a bad Chuck Berry impression! Well, except that he's a guy and you're a girl." He grabbed a new beer off the coffee table and downed the first half of it right away.

I shrugged, blushing profusely, feeling extremely embarrassed. "Thanks. I hope I didn't look too stupid," I said, brushing a few strands of hair behind my ear.

"Oh, not at all, love."

Someone else had stood up and was in the middle of an impression, but John and I didn't pay him a bit of mind.

I stood up, growing a little tired of our game. "I think I'm gonna go find something normal to drink," I told him, swaying my beer a little to make my point. "I know when I've had enough."

"Alright," he said, slurring sloppily. "You'll come back though, righ'?"

I smiled and shrugged. "I'll see what else I find." I turned and pranced my way back into the kitchen. I sighed to myself, happy to get some alone time. This party was turning into exactly what I had expected: a bunch of drunks and loose girls hanging off of every other guy's arm. I was getting bored and it wasn't even close to midnight.

As I spotted some potato chips on the table, or 'crisps' as they're called here, I started coming up with excuses as to why I had to leave early. Sure, they were drunk now and would probably accept any reason I threw at them as legitimate, if I pushed it hard enough, but they were champions of alcohol-binging, so they would remember what I said no doubt, and I didn't want to be bombarded with questions the next day. I also didn't want them to think I was having a bad time, especially John since he invited me, and I wasn't really, but it was just starting to become a little mundane.

I munched on some chips absentmindedly and thought to myself Maybe I could say my mom wanted me home. Nah, she doesn't know the phone number to this place. Maybe I could fake not feeling well. Boredom is a form of not feeling well, so it technically wouldn't be lying. But then one of them is gonna want to walk me home, while they're piss drunk no less. I can't let my mother see that I was with a bunch of drunk guys this entire time. Hmm . . . but then how do I leave without them wanting to come with me? And I doubt it's even safe for me to walk this late alone anyway. Crap . . . I'm in a pickle.

Coming back in to reality, I ditched the half of my beer that was left in my bottle and instead raided Ivan's fridge for something normal, but to no avail. There wasn't anything that wasn't alcohol or milk. I wasn't a huge fan of milk. So, weaving my way in and out of drunken partygoers, I was able to find a cabinet with a glass in it, which I then filled up in his kitchen sink. I chugged it, only to refill it and chug it again. Beer made me thirsty. It really shouldn't be considered a beverage if it makes you thirsty. I mean, soup is a liquid too, but it's not a drink.

I cleaned my glass and put it back where I found it, being the courteous person that I was. I thought a good way to pass the time was to perhaps go upstairs and find an empty bedroom to take a nap in. It would run the risk of running into a couple 'getting busy', but I was willing to take that chance just to be away from people for an hour and a half. Besides, I could just knock on the door beforehand or something.

I turned to begin my search for the bedrooms when a familiar face caught my eye. I gasped, frightened, and hid behind a conveniently placed drunk guy trying to hit on an uninterested girl. I held my breath and peeked around the man to make sure I saw what I saw correctly.

And I had. She stood there in a really cute green dress, her blonde hair all done up gorgeously, her face with just the right amount of makeup, and with a beer in her hand, talking to a boy who I couldn't see, but had no real interest in. I was hiding from John's ex-girlfriend, Cynthia, who had absolutely no idea I was watching her.