I walked up to the door of the 18th floor condo. I could hear the filtered sounds of vocals and bass vibrating through the walls. I let myself in and immediately noticed the mound of cocaine on the living room table and the gaggle of fiending vultures hovered over it like it was a pile of rare cut sparkling diamonds. I pushed my way through the thick and murky unknown party filler and made my way to the kitchen to find the nearest bottle opener so I could break into my cabernet sauvignon. I found an opener, but no glass suitable for a vintage burgundy… I had to settle for a cheap White glass. Not quite the note I was hoping to start the evening on.
Finally, he came over and said “oh good you found it” “Yep. I did”
“What are you drinking?”
“Something I probably should have saved for home” I said as I raised an unimpressed eyebrow at the less-than-stellar glass I was drinking from.
He didn’t quite get the wit of my wine snobbery and instead offered me a beer, obviously not realizing that I wasn’t a beer broad or that his glasses weren’t appropriate for a burgundy.
I looked around at the party goers as I sipped my wine. I was pretty sure that every single one of them was high. I felt a tinge of a craving coming on, but it was quickly thwarted as I saw some space cadet chick with dilated pupils and a motor mouth wiping her runny coke nose on the sleeve of her sweater as she continued to ramble on about absolutely nothing.
Then, it all came back… the memories, the binging, the hang-overs, the desperation, the depression, the depravity of it all.
Suddenly, I felt strong. But I also felt like I was the only one left in the world who didn’t do coke.
So I sat in the corner with the DJ, the only guy in the room that was into something other than getting high. And I watched him masterfully spin, mix, manipulate, and filter the tracks, as I sipped my expensive wine from the insultingly cheap glass.
After throwing down a mix he looked at me and smiled; “Not quite the party you were hoping for?”
“Yeah, well… I don’t really know anyone here, just Mike. We work together. He invited me… I only came because I had nothing better to do.” “Can I offer you a line?” I froze… realizing that I was wrong. I really was the only one in the world who wasn’t a coke head. The DJ was just as bad as the others.
“I’m going to pass on that Will… You’re about 3 years too late.”
He smiled at me again and said “I hear you; I’m trying to cut down myself. It’s a losing battle. I only really do it on weekends though.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll figure it out eventually, good luck with that!” I smiled back.
I threw back the remaining few sips of my cab and headed for the kitchen to pick up my bottle, cork it and head for the door. I strolled past the washroom and noticed someone hurling with the door open. “Lovely” I thought to myself.
I waved to Mike and left before he could make his way through the crowd to convince me to stay. When I got into the elevator, I sighed. I felt better. Better for being out of that condo… better for being out of the scene… and better about myself for finding willpower and strength where there once was none.