Put the Needle on the Record

Heads bobbed up and down to some ridiculous pop song that sounded like the one the DJ had just played, which sounded like the one before that, which reminded her of two songs before that, which could have been the one after that, but no one at the party seemed to care. The girls flailed blindly in search of more jellow shots and the guys kept checking their back pocket to make sure the condom hadn’t fallen out.

Spencer held her cup of cheap beer up to her lips, feigning interest in her beverage and the current topic of conversation: Who had a better jump shot Aiden or his brother? Apparently, the only way to solve this mind blowing enigma, was for Aiden to claim it, chug a beer, spilling half of it on his shirt, and then shoving his brother who would then repeat the ritual. This same topic of conversation had been in effect for the past ten minutes. It looked like a bizarre mating ritual straight out of National Geographic.

Spencer would have walked away earlier, but Aiden was standing on her shoe and she was wedged between a large potted plant and a sliding glass window. The fact he kept shoving his tongue in her mouth wasn’t helping either.

A loud crash erupted in the kitchen, the clanging of glass breaking and major spillage. Aiden’s eyes widened, suddenly snapped out of his shoving match with his brother, aware that broken glass at a party meant spilled alcohol, and that was totally unacceptable. Shoving his cup in Spencer’s face, he pushed through the forest of partygoers, heading, Spencer knew, for the secret stash of tequila he had in a kitchen cabinet.

Across the living room, three of Spencer’s fellow cheerleaders were laughing hysterically and pointing at the wide receiver that had passed out on the couch and someone had written “HOMO” on his forehead in black marker. Spencer’s eyes passed between her girlfriends and the football player, seeking some time of esoteric connection between the two but none came. The girls cheered. The guys made touchdowns. It seemed to be that simple.

She suddenly became aware she was still holding Aiden’s cup. A tiny bug with a missing leg was floating around in his glass, caught in a bubble of foam. It was either wasted or dead. Spencer decided both options had merit. Maybe she could switch places, and float around in Aiden’s cup, resting on the soft foam that was slowly evaporating, until she reached the liquid, letting her insect body slowly sink to the bottom.