It was evening, and one of my friends had got the four of us together to go to mid-town to what he said was a party at his friend’s house.  We took the subway down and met just at the entrance.  We were barely sixteen, being all in the same grade at the same school.  When we got there, he said that he wasn’t sure of the exact house, but he knew the street.  So, with full confidence in the situation and in our friend, we began to walk towards the side streets.  As we turned a few corners, we noticed that the houses took on a certain air.  They were on large plots of land, with long driveways, green lawns, neatly manicured, and the houses themselves were a beautiful Tudor style and color.  I began to wonder if I had dressed well enough.  At sixteen, I didn’t have enough in my paid job to dress like I came from money.  But, my friend had never actually been wrong in anything, and I trusted that I wouldn’t be a pariah at the party.

Before we left the station, when all of us had arrived, our friend announced that he had brought a few bottles of beer with him, so that we wouldn’t have to worry about bringing something to the party.  Again, I trusted my friend.  I felt as if we were doing the right things and that there would not be sudden embarrassment and trouble, with anyone, let alone the police.

It was summer and the evening was turning to dusk, and we were excited, talking about the things that just jumped to mind.  We had been to parties with our friend before and there was definitely, always, bound to be alcohol and some marijuana.  We were the type to usually just arrive with nothing much, let alone a few bottles of beer.  So, being the mooches, we relied on our friend to cover for us.

So, this time we were excited, anticipating, hopeful, and imagining the rest of the night.  Because we were in such an affluent neighborhood, I think we were imagining bar service, a separate room where you would go to smoke up, and just about everything else including a pool out in the back that would be lit for the night.  The strange thing, however, was our friend.  He said, every now and then during conversation, that he couldn’t remember the address, but that he could recognize the house.  This was worrying me a little, as all the houses looked the same to me.  But, the excitement of being in such a rich place, in summer, with a few bottles of beer rattling in the backpack of our friend, at the age of sixteen, made the worry less and the excitement more.

As time was passing, the sky was dimming, and the dusk was turning to a darker night.  Some of the houses had front lights that were turned on, now.  The street had been quiet since we had walked into the neighborhood, and for the whole time we were there.  I noticed, because we were practically walking in the middle of the asphalt road since there were no sidewalks.  It felt unusual that there was no car traffic, or bicycles, or other pedestrians, or people around the houses, at all.  We were all, as a collective conscious, becoming aware of the strangeness of the situation and we were becoming worried.  We all had already said to our friend that we thought it would be alright if we didn’t show up at the party.  I think we felt that the neighborhood had a fakeness about it.

At about this time, our friend changed the direction of our intent.  He suggested that we just stop by at the playground he knew was nearby and just hang out on the jungle gym and playsets.  With the added incentive of drinking a bottle of beer.  We, as a collective, became discouraged. The reason for a house party was being able to avoid the police, and now, our friend was suggesting exactly the opposite.  He wanted to go to the playground where the police would for sure come and question us.  So, we began to suggest just forgetting everything and going back to the subway and all just going home again.

As we turned a few more corners and got close to the subway entrance again, we stopped in a partly empty parking lot. WE sat on the raised curbs and just started the last talk.  We were partly disappointed as we thought we could’ve had fun that night, and in the height of summer on a beautiful night.  Our friend rattled the bottles of beer in his backpack again, but we didn’t take.

Soon as night was on us, we thanked our friend, anyway, for just being the one to do everything.  He said he was sorry, but that next time he would make sure he knew the address.  In disappointment, although with a light heart, we all parted ways, hugging each other, and promising to call.  As I was leaving, I couldn’t decide if I was disappointed, as I would’ve liked being at such a cool place at such a cool party.  I also knew that I was only surviving in this world.

I still remember this particular night, though.  It was one of the few nights where we never made it to the party.  Usually, we could find our way to having fun, as the more people having fun, the more fun everything is, which is why when there is a party, people just invite everyone.  I think of this night as one of the missed opportunities.  It was a rich and beautiful neighborhood, which signified safety.  It was somewhere where we would fit, as sixteen year olds.  And we were already “baptized” in the vices of the underworld, so, we knew we would have fun, and that we would fit in.  So, missing the house, missing the party, and missing the “amenities” at the party, made us feel like losers.  We didn’t know whether we should blame our friend for not remembering the address, or the phone number, or for creating this particular situation where we felt like “losers.”

As we sat in the partly filled parking lot, and the street lights all came on, we all said our goodbyes to each other.  We promised to call.  Next week.  And everyone just left.  As for me, I just planned to go home, which I did.  I knew that even the end of the world would not be something I missed.  So, cheers to that night, and cheers to summer parties that happen in the warm dark, being surrounded by friends and a beautiful house.