The pizza was still very hot, it practically burned my side even though it was in my coat pocket. I rode crazily down the street to his place, my trench coat flapping behind me like a cape because of the wind. I rode the bike right into his apartment and into the elevator. He met me at the elevator and I gave him the pizza. He told me to come on inside. I brought my bike into his apartment. The whole time I was there, I was paranoid that his friends were going to steal my bike. I seem to get paranoid when I'm drunk. It's the craziest thing. Apparently I didn't remember that the bike wasn't even mine to begin with.

We left his apartment and went to a house party next door. It was probably two in the morning by then and I knew I had to be up soon the next day. But of course I went anyway. I figured I'd be able to fit a nap in somewhere. I only had one more beer at the party because I knew I'd be sick if I had anymore. My friend disappeared for a couple minutes and left me with a half finished cup of beer and a fully functioning case of drunken paranoia. I was certain that the skinny guy in the corner looking my way was going to steal the cash I had in my pocket. I must have looked back at him for too long because he walked over to me. I remember there was something about his eyes that compelled me to look into them. It was the strangest thing. He walked until he was behind me and wrapped his arms around my waist. I wasn't quite sure what was going on; all I could remember was that as his hands travelled down the front of my stomach, I was certain he was trying to steal my cash from my front pockets. Thankfully I had enough sense to remove his hands and walk away. My paranoia may have been misplaced, but at least it was helpful. My friend came back downstairs and asked how I was doing. I must not have answered him too well; he said he would take me home. I simply agreed with him, took his hand, and tripped blindly home. He must have had to look through my purse to find my keys because otherwise I don't know how we got into the house. Well, some people could have let us in, I suppose. He walked me to the couch and helped me sit down. He must have left after that. All I remember is feeling sick, drinking the water one of my roommates gave me, and affirming everyone's questions that I was alright.

So a few hours later I woke up. I was pretty worthless for a couple hours. Plenty of fluids helps the alcohol induced dehydration go away. I knew those biology classes would come in handy sometime.

Once I felt I had recovered from last night, I started getting ready for tonight. Tonight was the formal for my sorority and the fraternity that's just down a couple blocks. I've been looking forward to this for a few weeks. It probably seems silly to some, but it really is fun. It's not like a high school prom, which is what it's often accused of. It's so much more than that. You become really close with the girls in your sorority, well at least I have become that way with my roommates, and the guys at the frat are just fun to be with, which gives the entire affair a new meaning. Several of them are graduating this spring, moving to different parts of the country, even the world. You want to spend time with them while you can, capitalize on the so-called "college experience" while you still can. On a less sentimental note, it's also fun to dress nicely, to do everything so it's 'just right,' to feel special and doted upon for once. The look in my friend's boyfriend's eyes when he saw her walk up the stairs to his house was like none I had ever seen before. He must have seen her walking down the sidewalk from a distance, because the whole time I saw her walking toward him, he had his eyes fixed on her and a half grin coloring his face. He smoothly reached behind his back and grasped a bottle of white Zinfandel from the wooden table, uncorked it, poured her a glass, and handed her a long stemmed rich red rose...in what seemed to be only one motion. When else would you see a guy go to all that simply to impress the woman with whom he is in love? I looked for my date, the friend who walked me home last night. I didn't see him anywhere. I rationalized he must still be getting ready. I reached for a glass to fill with the freely flowing champagne and was startled to have it taken from my hand. My gaze moved from the glass in my hand to the other hand clasping its stem. I recognized those hands. Apparently my friend wanted to surprise me as well. He handed me a bouquet of daffodils. No one had ever given me daffodils before. Actually, no one had given me flowers before, period. I was taken off guard but hoped he could read the thankfulness in my eyes. Of course I didn't think he could, so I maneuvered myself into his arms, raised myself onto my tiptoes, and hugged him. We sat down on the bench; he spread his suit jacket out so I wouldn't dirty my dress. He sat next to me, filled my glass and his, and we waited for the bus to come.

The guys were keeping our final destination a secret from us. This feat amazed me because of how many of them there were and how persuasive many of their girlfriends could be. I was a bit surprised when I saw two school buses pull up parallel alongside the curb. I looked around and saw several eyebrows raised, but decided this would be more interesting than the usual. Besides, maybe they cut down on transportation costs so that the rest of the evening would be phenomenal. Optimism, when tempered with a slight dose of cynicism, creates one of the better and more realistic views of everyday life.

Ryan told me to wait to get on the bus. He ran into his house and emerged with a vase in which to keep my daffodils before I went home. I didn't realize that he even thought about the little things like that. He took my hand in his and walked me to the edge of the front lawn, where it drops a foot to the sidewalk. He hopped down, held out his hand, and helped me step down. Then he walked me to the bus with my hand on the crook of his arm. I gathered my skirt in the front, dreading what would happen if I tripped on it while stepping up the stairs of the bus. Once I was inside, I had a strange feeling of deja vu. It seemed like high school, but different. It was as if we had returned to an era in our lives most of us would like to forget. An era during which we practiced playing different roles, found ourselves in painful circumstances of loss, were captivated by the fleeting joy of a first love. I looked back at Ryan and he too seemed lost in the mysterious atmosphere the bus created.

We sat near the middle of the bus and I could swear that the bus companies must have changed the specifications for the seats, spaces, aisles, and all around comfort of the bus. It made me glad of my height, or lack thereof. Ryan and I talked most of the bus ride. I grilled him, trying to determine our destination, but he held steadfast, resolutely as he always does. The ride was not very long, for which I was grateful as the weather has been warming and the satin of my dress was not the coolest material one could wear on such a day.

The drivers stopped but did not open the doors to their bus, they merely sat there. Waiting, it seemed. I peered out the window, mind working overtime, running through the possibilities of what was in store. After ten minutes, the driver again turned the key in the ignition, put the bus in reverse, and backed out of the parking lot of the large park. I turned to Ryan with a quizzical look on my face. It seemed to me that he was doing his best to not laugh.
"What's so funny? Oh come on, you can tell me what's going on. It'll do you good, I'm sure. And it's not as if I'll ruin it for anyone else."
"No way, are you nuts? Good grief, do you think that after all this, after keeping this a secret for the last five, no, six weeks, that I would tell you when we are just minutes from surprising you?"
I conceded by giving him a disappointed yet joking glare, and turned my focus back out the bus window. Ah, just minutes away. Hmm. I quickly ran through every possible venue only "minutes away" from where we were. I couldn't think of anything. Typical of Ryan to speak in generalities like that to try to throw me off guard.

Finally, after going in the most roundabout way possible, we stopped at the Edgewater, one of the ritzier places near campus. We could have all walked there from the frat house, but the school buses were added for comic effect. I bet it was Ryan's idea.

I hadn't ever been to the Edgewater before. It was beautiful. We couldn't have planned better weather and many of us walked outside when we finished our meals. The jazz band was inside, but we danced outside, under the slowly emerging stars.

Tonight was filled with firsts for me: my first flowers from someone other than my dad, my first formal in college, my first time dancing with Ryan.

We were instructed to bring a change of clothes into which we changed around ten o'clock. The school buses didn't meet us at the doors, instead we walked slowly back to the house. During the time we were having dinner, a crew must have come to set up a large tent and sound system. The white of the tent was dazzling under the nearly full moon and the music bathed me in its pulsing melody. If you've seen the movie The Fifth Element, and remember the diva who sings, you'll have a grasp of what the music was like. I've not heard anything like it before. It was a mix of trance and nearly opera. Whatever it was, it weakened my legs and brought my heart beat along with its tempo. A big grin spread across my face and I looked up at Ryan, who, surprisingly, was already looking at me with a similar expression to what I had seen on my friend's boyfriend's face. I probably blushed when I made that observation. Some people believe it's becoming to blush in those circumstances; I have yet to appreciate that reaction in myself. Ryan and I danced, drank some of the best beer I have had in a long time, and had a somewhat coherent conversation afterwards.

The party kept getting louder, rowdier until the police drove by. The police usually ruin things for us. One car stopped where the buses had been parked. An officer stepped out with a megaphone in his hands. The lights on the car began flashing as his crackling voice belched out of the megaphone. "Time to shut things down. Let's go home. Come on folks. Let's go. Turn the music off. Thank you. Ok, party's over. Time to shut things down..." I didn't understand why he kept repeating himself. Some of the guys, who were quite drunk, shouted things at the policeman, harrassing him, annoying him. I didn't want to have any part in it. Sure, I have my fun, but not when it involves things that could become serious issues, such as shouting at the police and refusing to leave.

Ryan and I walked to my home. I wasn't quite as incapable of walking as I was the night before. He stopped at the second step on the front door. Our fingers lingered in each other's until I walked up the remaining stair, fumbled for my key, and let myself in.

So here I am now. In a tank top and cargo pants. Smelling like beer that was accidentally spilled on me. Listening to the Lenny Cravitz song that says "All of my life, where have you been, I wonder if I will ever see you again." No, I don't own the CD. It's on the radio. Irony? Metaphor? Foreshadowing of something to come? I don't know. But tonight was unforgetable. Certain things could never happen if not for circumstances such as these. This is why it annoys me when I'm judged for simply being in a sorority, dressing a certain way, going to certain events. I realize that there are some who believe that this constitutes life. I know it doesn't. But I don't take myself so seriously that I refuse to participate in something simply because it's what the majority does. I am not blinded by the idea of my own self-importance. Contrary to the popular opinion of several I have overheard, sorority girls are not just ditzes worried about their makeup running in the rain, about having a boyfriend "whipped" to follow their every beckoning call, about their expensive manicures being broken. We are each individuals, we each have our own issues, our own joys and sorrows that create the person we have become. Above all, I want to make the most of everything I can possibly experience. I don't want to look back on life and regret I had not done more.

There's another house party tomorrow night. I'm very tempted to go because that's when I see several of my friends I don't otherwise see during the week.