“Come on, let’s get drunk and do something stupid,” Gina says excitedly.
I follow her, trying hard not to run into anyone, but it’s difficult. People are everywhere. Gina moves ahead of me, her lithe body sliding around people like they aren’t even there.
In the living room is a ratty green couch. Around it is a lot of commotion. People cheering. Bewildered, I stop to watch. A guy kneels on either side of the couch. Two girls sit down. The guys tilt the couch back and two more guys pour white liquid down the girls’ throats. Students are chanting: “Go. Go. Go.”
A couple of seconds later the guys on either end of the couch tilt the girls back up. The girls look flushed, their eyes glassy. Giggling, they wobble as they stand and stumble away. Two more girls take their places and the guys repeat the process.
If that’s what Gina means about couch shots then she can call me Maddelena for as long as she wants. I turn away, looking for my roommate, and she’s in my face, two cups of the red liquid in her hands.
“Here you go, Maddelena.”
I take the cup from her and sniff. Orange, lemon, and lime chunks are floating on top. It smells like gasoline mixed with citrus. “What is it?”
“It’s called Jungle Juice.” She tips the cup and chugs down the whole thing, takes out a piece of fruit, and bites the fruit off the rind. “Ahhhh, this stuff is good. Try it.”
I bring the glass to my lips and take a sip. It burns all the way down, but in a good way. It’s sweet and painful. As though it’s telling me to enjoy the scorching. And I do.
I pull the cup from my mouth, and look at Gina. My eyes are wide with surprise. “It’s good, right?” Gina asks with a knowing smile.
“It is,” I say, taking another drink, this one larger than the first. My insides warm and open and relax and sigh all at the same time. I chug down more.
“Welcome to the best part of college,” she says, touching her cup to mine with a plastic clink.
I pull the cup from my mouth but don’t say anything. My mind is reeling. It’s as though I’ve been waiting my whole life for this. And suddenly I want more, more, more.
Two guys stumble into Gina's back and she falls forward into me. Jungle Juice from my glass spills down the front of my shirt.
“Great.”
Gina snickers, brushing a piece of fruit off my chest.
“Not funny,” I say, but for some reason my body disagrees and a gurgle of laughter escapes my throat.
Gina winks. “I need a refill. Want one?”
“Hell yeah.” My fingers cover my mouth. I’m shocked. Where did that voice come from? So full of excitement. Happiness even. Definitely not me. At all. Swallowing down another giggle, I say, “I’ll meet you back here. I’m gonna wash this off.” I point at the red juice staining my shirt. It’s ruined, but I don’t care. There’s a low furnace, warm and lovely, burning in my belly. I’m relaxed, more so than I ever thought I could be, and I want to explore.
“’kay, see ya in a few.” Gina takes my cup.
The first thing I realize as I walk is I’m stumbling a little, leaning into people. Smiling a lot. Apologizing more. Someone hands me a drink.
“Thanks.” I gulp it down in three swallows. The liquid wasn’t red and fruity, but amber. My throat, my stomach, each and every one of my veins are on fire.
My head feels heavy and light at once.
It’s freeing.
No more pain. No sadness.
I forget for a moment what I was doing. What was so important that I left Gina and the fruity drinks? I think.
“What’s on her shirt?” A girl asks, pointing at me.
“I think she puked,” someone answers.
I look down at my shirt and remember the red stain. Like my heart is bleeding.
“I spilled,” I say, laughing. “Do you know where there’s a bathroom?” I’m bold, unencumbered, and ready to make friends with the world. A giant weight has lifted. So my parents died. I need to move on. It’s been seven years. No amount of depression will bring them back. As my shrink says, “Accept what you cannot change.” That’s what I’ll do. Experience all life has to offer. Maybe this is what my aunt meant when she told me to live a little. I didn’t need tattoos but alcohol mixed with punch, and chunks of