Again by Lisa Burstein

these kids had their whole lives
ahead of them and the only thing they wanted was a beer in a plastic
cup—something so simple, something so pure.
    All I’d wanted was another
shot at the life they had ahead of them. It was romantic, really. Or maybe
everything seems romantic when you have music blasting and shaking each red
blood cell.
    The guy working the keg had
adorably shaggy brown hair, thick football player arms, and was wearing a tight
wife-beater, but in an undoubtedly ironic way.
    “Hey ladies,” he said,
giving both Steph and Alex a sweaty hug, pulling them into his well-developed
chest. “Who’s your friend?”
    “Kate,” Steph said.
    “She’s new,” Alex said.
    “Well, hello new Kate,” he
said, handing me a beer of my own. The way his smile was as white and inviting
as the foam head on the top of it made me forget I’d even taken it from him, or
maybe it was the very long week I’d had, or that he believed new-Kate actually
belonged here.
    The cup was cold, familiar, made
me a little nostalgic for my own college-take-one days. All I’d wanted back
then was something this simple and pure too—a way to fit in, to be normal. I
didn’t know what truly needing alcohol would feel like.
    How it would take over
everything in my life.
    Beer always made me
philosophical, wine always made me poetic, and tequila, well, that made me
hurl.
    I stared at the beer.
Holding it was a little like someone who’d been suffocated, being given an
oxygen mask that might have carbon monoxide flowing through it. The craving chomped
at the deepest part of my stomach, and saliva filled my mouth, begging to be
washed away.
    Get a grip, Kate . I didn’t have to drink. I could hold onto it and at the first
opportunity dump it in one of the big plastic buckets scattered against the
wall.
    I hoped they were for spent
cigarettes and not puke, but they had probably been used for both.
    “Let’s mingle,” Steph said.
    “’Cause I’m damn tired of
being single,” Alex added with a giggle. The kind that at eighteen is still
adorable.
    We moved back into the
crowd. As we mingled, I couldn’t help taking a sip of beer. I mean, it was so
hot in here, and it was spilling. But as I knew and didn’t want to know, one
sip led to another, and another, and another until there was only the white
bottom of the cup as I drank the last warm, flat drop.
    Oxygen vs. suffocation
victim had nothing on beer vs. alcoholic.
    Before even having to tell
them, Alex and Steph sent some guy everyone called Shifty to get us a refill.
    Someone who liked alcohol
much as I did should not have decided hanging out with college kids at a party
was the best place to start not liking it. I had been strong this past week
because I’d been able to avoid this. Now that I was here and getting a buzz on
there was no escaping. I wanted more of a buzz—craved the familiar warmth to float
over my skin and insides like stepping into a bathtub.
    “You’re welcome,” Alex said,
nodding her chin at Shifty by the keg.
    “You say no to Grey Goose,
but crappy beer that tastes like my used panties makes you go crazy,” Steph
said, laughing.
    The thing was, it wasn’t the
beer that had finally broken me. It was me that had broken, finally.
    “She’s a cheap date,” Alex
yelled, pointing at me, but it was so loud in there no one was listening anyway.
    “It was just one beer.” I
bargained with myself as much as them.
    Shifty handed us our newly
filled cups and gave Alex and Steph a sloppy kiss on their foreheads before he
headed back to his friends.
    “Now it’s two,” Steph said.
    “Cheers,” Alex said,
clinking with me.
    The beer spilled and slid
down the side of the glass. I licked it clean out of instinct. “I haven’t
finished it yet.”
    “No, you’re giving it a rim
job first,” Steph howled.
    “You’re not even on a first
name basis, Kappa.” Alex added.
    We were actually on a no name
basis. It was like my own blood, and before I came here