Long after the thrill of living is gone

A couple of weeks ago, Christin and I found ourselves in the position of being in our hometown on a holiday weekend. We had spent the day at my parents' house, lounging by the pool, eating hamburgers and hotdogs and drinking some cold ones, and by the time evening came around we were in the good mood to go out and find something to get into.

My 22 year old cousin Zane helped add to mood with the many tales of his nights in the bars of our small hometown. They felt familiar and made me laugh. Zane has a way of making the most boring story bring tears of laughter to your eyes, and he has you wanting to be a hell-raiser in the most desperate of ways. Sitting around the bonfire that night, Zane checked his cell phone that had been ringing non-stop all evening, and said, "I suppose I will be cutting this party short and going out to the B-Line." We decided to give him a little bit of a hard time about his pending departure.

"You'd rather go to a bar and hang out then stay here with your family?" my Aunt Cora asked Zane.

"Stay, drink with your uncle!" Larry's plea fell of deaf ears.

"Sorry guys," Zane stood up to leave. "I can't really afford to miss a night out. People are waiting on me. I'm kind of a big deal around here."

My family cracked up, teasing him about his ego and doing our best impersonations. Cora would put her hands on her hips, "Gotta go guys, I'm a big deal around these parts!" and we'd hold our stomachs from laughing so hard. Zane is a good sport so he left with a smile on his face and even though Zane's cockiness sky rockets at times, I totally felt pangs of jealousy.

After all, my friends and I, we used to own the town. There was a time when Christin and I would go out on a Saturday night, get into every bar free and drink endless amounts of complimentary alcohol as well. We'd walk into a place and people would know us, excited for the party to begin and we'd spend hours mingling amongst the girls and flirting with every guy. We knew were the after parties were, and who was going to be there, who was going to be hooking up with who and the party's substance of choice.

Driving into town later, we tried to decide which bar we would go to. We knew nothing about where the best places to go to were anymore, and couldn't think of any bars where we might have luck running into old friends. Five years ago, this destination would have been Colie's, a place that was owned by a friend of ours and where we also worked at from time to time. We could always find a good time there, doing shots with the regulars and dancing to the Stones.

Unfortunately for us, Colie's had shut its doors a few years back, leaving us always faced with a dilemma of trying to find the best place to party. This time, we decided to go with Starters, the only sports bar in the town. Walking inside, we found the place littered with only a few customers, and it was nearly midnight. The party had moved elsewhere. We trekked down the block to Hobie's, a country bar that usually comes with a live band. Hobie's housed an older crowd, usually of people in their 30s and 40s. Sometimes it wasn't so bad, especially with a group of friends, because the bar made for great divorcee drama and mullet watching. Upon our entrance, Christin and I were spotted by a friend's Dad and he immediately offered to buy us a beer. For a minute, my spirits were lifted, until I said hi to my friend's lush of a step-mother and she responded with "I AM A GOOD MOTHER!" We swigged our beers and left.

"What now?" I asked Christin.

"We could always try the B-line," she suggested. "We'll run into Zane at least."

While she had a point, I was cringing at the thought of going to B-line. B-Line is definitely the hot spot in the small town, and it is notorious for being overcrowded with underage kids, desperate for a Jaeger Bomb and a one night stand. Sometimes, depending on the crowd of hormonal youngsters, you felt as though you left the bar with an STD just for standing too close. I hated it when I was 18, and I loathe it now. Still, I felt we were running out of options and I was determined to find fun. We were at the B-Line for about 20 minutes, when I finally saw a familiar face.

Josh was a freshman in high school when I was a senior. The two of us often arrived to school early, due to our bus routes, and would find ourselves sharing the same table in the cafeteria while we waited for the bell to ring for Homeroom. Josh was an adorable boy, with sandy blonde hair and big brown eyes and was easily more attractive than most of the boys in my class. Even though I knew I would have caught hell for it from my friends, I had a crush on him. When prom came around my senior year, I decided I was going to overlook what others thought, and mustered up the courage to ask Josh to be my date. I wanted to go with someone who I thought would be fun, and who wouldn't feel like an actual date. The year before, I went to prom with a guy I hardly knew and spent the night feeling uncomfortable because I didn't know if I should hang out with my friends or hang out with him. By asking Josh, I knew that I could dance with whoever I wanted to and do my own thing, but have fun with my date at the same time. He would be too excited about getting to be the only freshman guy at prom to care about following me around all night. Just as I thought, he turned out to be a perfect date and proved to be an even bigger blast at my after prom party when he impressed all of the Senior class with his screwdriver making skills.

His face lit up as soon as he saw me sitting at the table, sipping my watered down Whiskey and Coke. "Tashina!" he waved enthusiastically, and pulled me into a hug. The two of us shared some small talk about what we had been up to since high school, and then the conversation turned nostalgic as we remembered my senior year.

"Hey," he looked at me seriously, "Did I ever thank you for asking me to prom?"

"God Josh, you never had to thank me. I had a blast with you," I said, laughing him off.

"No, I'm serious! Do you know how cool that made me because I was going to the prom with you? I was the man! I held that legacy the rest of my high school career. I was a freshman guy getting to go to prom with a popular senior girl! That's all I needed! I got to go to the 'cool' party! I got to be the kid who spilled all that went down at that party to my class!"

"The party was fun," I admitted.

"I've went to so many since then too," he said, "During high school, after school, while I was in the Air Force, and none of them compared to that night. Prom with you was the highlight of my high school years."

"Well, you're welcome," I said, and we clinked our glasses together in a toast. He took a sip thoughtfully and turned back to me.

"So does it suck?" he asked.

"Whh-at? Does what suck?"

"Being old," he said.

"Excuse me?" I stuttered.

"What are you now, like 27, 28?"

"Twenty-six." I quickly corrected.

"Yeah. Close, and still ... ouch, by the way."

"Ouch?" At this point, I was speechless.

"And no offense Tashina, but aren't you a little too old to be in this bar?"

I looked around the club at the mystic tanned 18 year old girls, and boys with popped collars paired with ironic T-shirts. Maybe I should have been offended, but I wasn't. He was right.

"Actually, sometimes it doesn't suck," I told him. "Especially when you are reminded of this scene. You miss it for a minute, and then you remember why you're glad to not be apart of it anymore." As I was saying this, I watched a couple of girls help their staggering friend to the bathroom.

"Out of the way, she's gonna puke!" one of her girls screamed.

"Watch her skirt! She's showing her ass!" another one warned.

"Yea," Josh agreed. "I wouldn't come here that often either, but sometimes I feel like I have to. I don't wanna sound cocky or anything, but I'm kinda big stuff here, ya know?" I gave him a fake number and left.

Defeated, Christin and I started home and decided on an impulse to check one last place - The Grill. We joined the crowd of three in the bar, and that included the bartender, and pulled up a seat as we placed our orders.

"Christin? Tashina?" one of the guys called over to us. We looked down the bar to find ourselves in company with two of the guys we graduated with. We took turns quizzing each other on the last eight years of our lives and asking what mutual friends were up to. We talked of our disappointed adventure into the old bar scene we used to know so well.

"This town is a ghost town for people our age," JC said.

"Where is everyone?" I asked.

"Married. Kids. Or they got the hell out of here."

"You're right," I said, and thought to myself how each beer I drank that night only succeeded in making me sleepier instead of getting me more drunk. I tried listening in on the conversation of everyone's job and mortgage plans, custody battles and company layoffs, but then thoughts quickly turned into thinking of how much more comfortable I'd be in a pair of pajamas versus the jeans I had on. Depending on where you are, twenty-six isn't old. In my home town, it's ancient. Somewhere along the way, an adult was born.

The bartender let us know it was last call, and after paying our tabs, the four of us left behind The Grill. I expected the alcohol to leave me with a bummed feeling about our night out on the town, but instead I found myself being more upbeat than I had been in awhile. I was proud of us. I know I may not be the most successful person my age, and I may not be the most ambitious, but I have plans. I don't have a husband, let alone a serious boyfriend, nor any kids to speak of. Just a few years earlier, the four of us could have ran into each other amongst $1.00 mixed drinks and orange wristbands; dry-humping each other on the dance floor. Now we were sitting and enjoying each other's company, and caring about what we each had to say. On a night of mixed connections, it was the perfect hook up.

"Remember when we used to own this town?" Jordan asked while we walked to our cars. We nodded and laughed in agreement.

"We're not the cool kids anymore, are we?"

"Nope!" Christin, JC and I all said at the same time. Jordan laughed.

"Thank God, amirite?"

"Amen!" JC chimed in.

Before getting into the car, Jordan stopped me.

"Did I ever tell you I got your name tattooed on my ass?" he asked.

"My name?"

Jordan dropped his pants and I laughed 'til I cried when I saw the tattoo reading "your name" permanently marked on his ass.

"I got this the summer of 2000 after too many shots of tequila," he said. "This is exactly what I meant when I said 'Thank God.'"

I smiled to myself on the way home, thinking about the constant reminders of the good ol' days. I told myself that I'd let myself pass out on a lawn chair by the pool when I got home, just for old times sake.

Tashina Savage has still got it! Don't believe her? Email her at sundaysgirl@gmail.com