I Felt Free For The First Time.
My friend, Sherry, and I went to see Toto in concert at Virginia Tech when we were in 10th grade. I have tried to verify this online, but I can find absolutely no proof that this concert ever happened.
I remember it well, because it was my second time drinking.
Sherry and I met beforehand somewhere on campus, then headed for a local restaurant that sold alcohol. We stood outside for almost an hour asking those of legal age to buy us some beer. Finally we acquired a six-pack.
We clutched our beers and ran to a dark corner somewhere outside of the throngs of people headed into Burruss Auditorium to see Toto. We didn’t want to be late for the show, even though our tickets were in the very last row, so we drank our three-beers-each as fast as humanly possible.
As 15-year-olds, we didn’t know that drinking faster ensured that we’d be roaring drunk in a matter of minutes. After my first time drinking, in fact, I had no idea what “roaring drunk” meant.
We could barely walk when we presented our tickets. As we found our seats, the show started – causing the crowd to jump to their feet and explode in applause. As wobbly as we were, we couldn’t sit down in our chairs.
We stumbled into each other and into the people around us, trying to see over the people in front of us. We fell frequently into two laughing college freshmen – John and Jim – whose seats were by ours. Eventually they encouraged us to rush the stage – which we did. This behavior was unofficially allowed at concerts in the prior century.
Two hours earlier, I would never, ever have left my seat. I would have stayed in the last row, unable to see, then complained for weeks – or years – afterward.
Instead, Sherry and I landed next to the stage screaming, jumping up and down, waving our arms and singing along at the top of our lungs. I felt free for the first time in my entire life; I had zero inhibitions.
I was on top of the world. I stood squashed among the college students, feeling “part of” the crowd for the first time in my life. Alcohol had done for me what I could not do for myself. It made me feel like I belonged where I was, like I was okay in my own skin, for the first time ever.
John and Jim invited us back to their dorm room after the concert, and we went with them as our initial buzz started to wear off. Once there, we revived ourselves by drinking champagne and making out to the Eagles’ Hotel California, which the boys played on repeat. Every time the appropriate part of the song rolled around, the boys would raise their glasses and roar: “… PINK CHAMPAGNE ON ICE!” For all I know, there were mirrors on the ceiling, too.
Eventually, Sherry and I went home, where our wild night came to an end. And I finally understood that “drunk” meant more than “drinking.” It meant I could do whatever I wanted, because I would finally feel free to be the person I’d always wanted to be.
I had no idea that, simultaneously, alcohol started to destroy the person I’d always been in order to make room for the person I wanted to become. The new person I envisioned was nothing like the sweet, shy, kind, vulnerable, sensitive girl I’d always been.
I wanted to become … invincible.
I didn’t realize then that alcohol would destroy the new person, too.