Burning

Jeff

A sweltering heat. My heart beat loudly; it felt like it had actually moved closer to my ear drums. Dizziness. A dozen eyes slowly following the two clumsy figures in the dance hall. Laughter. Sloppy wetness on my face that tasted like stale air and liquor.

I woke up, feeling awkward. It was a one-night stand: a time where two people use each other and nothing comes from it but a few weird exchanges in the cafeteria the following day. And the guilt.

But in a crowd of testosterone-induced bravado, guilt is quickly assuaged. My male peers affirmed me in my conquest, while my heart was silently accusing me. The awkward sickness I felt after the experience was numbed by the growing masculine pride in me.

I had done well, I thought. It wasn't that bad - I was making it out worse that it really was. Maybe, I'll do something like it again...

Of course, I did. Not frequently, though. After that experience, I felt a spiritual "awakening," as if I had to prove my goodness to God or something.

I made a vow to Dustin, who was quickly becoming my best friend and trusted confidante, that I wouldn't drink again for the rest of the summer. Being the good Christian brother that he was, with equally hypocritical values, he rebuked my sobriety strategy for the impossibility that it was. I was in college, after all...

And human, for God's sakes.

He was right.