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Lost In A Bottle MAG
Lost in a Bottle by Melissa M., New City, NY As we pulled up along the curb, I changed from my dress shoes to my boots. We were going to take a bus to the city. I couldn't believe that my parents had let me go. I was excited.
We entered the house and made our way downstairs, the bass sounds leading us. We descended into the dark, unfinished room, two solitary bulbs providing the only light. The darkness made people feel at ease, as if it was protecting their anonymity, but I saw them.
I situated myself in a plastic patio chair, haphazardly placed between two tables, each covered with various alcoholic beverages. I found some orange juice that had yet to be spiked with vodka and drank it. It was obvious that people were beginning to feel the effects of the booze ...
"Hey, Melissa, you look really good tonight," muttered an esteemed member of the senior class as he rubbed my shoulder.
The atmosphere was one of urgency. They had to consume as much as they could, as quickly as they could.
"Melissa, do you drink?" one girl asked.
"No," I answered.
" Oh, I envy you," she responded.
It was clear that she did not envy my sobriety. It was her simple way of bragging. She made me sad.
It was not the vomit or the binge drinking that bothered me. It was the mob mentality that justified alcohol consumption to the point of illness that angered me.
We finally made it to the club in the city where I saw more of my classmates drinking, smoking and being out of control. I knew that they had done this before and would do it again.
My boyfriend and I, along with the other sober individuals, made sure that everyone was driven home and I wondered if any of them would remember what happened.
As I returned to school Monday, a girl approached my boyfriend and thanked him for saving her life. Her flip attitude disgusted me. He had actually saved her life, but if he had not been there - what would have happened?