It was the kind of party where I wasn’t sure who the host was and didn’t particularly care. Maybe it was because we were ostensibly celebrating the end of spring vacation, but the atmosphere was pretty depressing – even the drugs were downers, a bowlful of Tuinal and Seconal somebody had brought back from a Mexican drugstore. In the oppressive atmosphere most of the guests seemed to have gravitated to the floor, lounging at the feet of the furniture or curling up under the tables, the smoke from their half forgotten cigarettes creating a haze above them as I walked through the house, a low ceilinged, dark beamed, single floored maze, done up Southwestern style, complete with horse blankets and saddles, tin cutouts gleaming dully from the walls.
There were plenty of kids from my school there, but not many other seniors, and for the first time in my life I felt old – awkward and obsolete, a dinosaur lumbering over all the quick, bright eyed mammals scurrying below, twitching with plans that didn’t include me. Soon, after the cataclysmic impact of graduation, this world would belong to them, and my kind would no longer be a part of it.