I Should Have Died That Night

I went through a phase. I was sad. Not a "boohoo no one likes me" kind of sad, but a deep, bone-settled kind of melancholy. I was at a small college in San Francisco. A 24-hour plane ride from home with a 15-hour time difference, piled with a huge school workload, NCAA basketball regime and underlying clinical depression; I was not in a good place. Wait, the phase? Drinking to the point of unconsciousness. I look back with dismay but also a good sense of humour.

Some friends and I were going to this weird outdoor dance the school had planned and decided to take a couple shots. We then all agreed it wasn’t worth drinking and that we would just have fun, despite sobriety.

Rumours flared that afterwards there would be a party in the woods just off campus where security wouldn’t dare search. “The Wall” was an underage frenzy for drugs, sex and beer pong. In a tiny clearing, a graffiti brick wall stood, opposite was a man-made cement river. The only way in was a steep hill or a more obscure path with hanging branches that came off from a back road. It was a nine-minute walk from my dorm and difficult to do sober. Uneven footing, a foot-wide bridge, potholes and wild raccoons. It is a wonder I am able to write this.

Anyway, after the dance we thought we would check out the happenings at the wall. In retrospect, this was a grave mistake. The atmosphere was electric and with my appearance at its best, I felt good. I had a reputation at the wall for being wild and fun. I arrived with three of my best friends at the time and within two minutes I had a drink in my hand. From “I’m not drinking much tonight” to “Fuck it, I’m 18” in under five minutes. The boy who had given me a drink was an acquaintance from another wild night of which I had no memory… but that’s another story in and of itself.

The drink tasted good, all sugar, barely any alcohol. It slid down easily. Too easily. My friend’s face lit up as she remarked, “You are in for a good time tonight, my friend.” Stupidly I replied, “It’s one drink, shut up.” She later educated me loosely on what "Jungle Juice" was.

A concoction created from the devices of broke college students. Find all the liquor you can, props if it’s all spirits. Chuck in as much fruit and punch mix as you can afford, then mix. If you are feeling extra adventurous, add as many narcotics as humanly possible. The key is not to warn newbies and sit back.

I finished my first drink, I was feeling relaxed. Second cup, I was getting chatty. Third cup, holy shit I am too flirty I’m putting Loose Louise to shame. Fourth cup, “I’m sorry that you have control issues Becky but I am not getting off the floor.” This was said but it may not have come out as such. Fifth cup, WRONG WAY TURN BACK, it wiped my hard drive. Gathering from what other people told me the next day I then proceeded to drink the remaining contents of the "Jungle Juice" container, which hilariously people had been washing their feet in.

These parties always ended in one of two ways: one, it was 1:30 AM, or two, campus security would decide to finally come down and break it up. I am not a lightweight so I usually would be disgruntled by the ending of a good night on most occasions at "The Wall."

The latter happened and we all crapped our pants. Teenagers scattered and headed back to campus or their off-campus apartments via Uber. Being on an athletic scholarship I could not get caught; this was illegal and I am a guest in the United States. I do somehow remember sprinting up an almost 80-degree incline, across a foot-wide bridge and then an extra mile back to my dorm. Only a few hundred feet from the door of my dorm I tripped and slammed my head on the pavement. They say you can’t remember pain, but my head throbs at the thought. I burst out crying and immediately clutched at my head. Two of my friends who witnessed it assisted me back to my dorm room.

After three cups in and embarrassing myself immensely in front of a male friend I had feelings for, I heard a knock at the door. My roommate always went home or to her boyfriend’s apartment in the city, so I had the room to myself. I stumbled over, with one eye closed so I could concentrate. Disclaimer: we were both super drunk and although too intoxicated to consent I had general feelings for this guy, I genuinely regret nothing. Not to get graphic but there was barely any talking, just a bad gag reflex and vomit. He stayed over despite this but I will never be this embarrassed ever again.

The next day, he left with a kiss and a “I hope you are alright.” I reconvened with my friends from the night before over a hangover brunch. We exchanged stories and I discovered a close friend had been sent to hospital to get his stomach pumped; side note, we had had almost the same amount of alcohol and we are the same height and weight! The things I said can’t be taken back but apparently I was a hoot.

We went back to "The Wall" the next day to see if we could retrieve a bracelet I had lost. The horror on our faces could have been seen from miles away. Glass everywhere, very obviously from many parties had here. Condoms, spray cans, random deep pits, human feces and an unidentifiable black substance everywhere. It was a war zone. I wore open toed shoes to a place littered with shards of glass. Unscathed I looked at my friends, with a simple nod we mutually agreed that this was stupid and we were never to do it again.

We did do it again.

I ended up conceding my scholarship due to mental health issues a few weeks later. I think this was for the best and I have had many wild nights since. I miss the friends I made there but I’m glad we got to have insane nights we still talk about. Regret nothing, it may be a funny story someday.