Living the Dream

Not five minutes ago I got back from a party in Park City. I am not one for parties regardless of the city they're in, but I decided I should go to this one because a) I'd been blowing off the guy who had invited me for months, literally, and b) it's good to do things outside of one's comfort zone every now and again.

The guy picked me up and we met a couple of his friends from Utah State and drove up. The father of the girl throwing the party owns the Canyons, so the party was in a suite up there. When we arrived a security guard wouldn't let us go up to the room because they'd just thrown a bunch of drunk people out and they didn't want to have to do the same thing again, which inspired the hope that this was actually a party worth going to. We politely excused ourselves to use the restroom, found the elevators, and made it up to the Room 341.

There was nothing - absolutely nothing cool about it. There were about 15 people dancing and standing around. All the lights were off, which made things difficult for shallow people like me: I worried constantly that the girls I was looking at were actually ugly.

Everybody at this party was so stupid that it was a relief when I finally found the whiskey they'd finished off before I got there - anyone that acts like that sober should be shot.

Finally, after about 45 minutes, things picked up when we noticed two people in the corner by the window hiding behind the curtains. The curtain only covered them from the chest up, leaving it obvious to the rest of us how much they were enjoying one another's company. Just as I became aware of them, some other guy saw them, too. He went over to the seat on which they'd wrapped themselves together, grabbed the girl's leg, and physically dragged her off of the guy.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked the girl as she finally let go of her friend in the corner.

The dancing and idiocy basically continued around them, but everyone was paying attention.

"Don't worry about it, he's gay," she replied, irritably straightening out her clothes. He was obviously worried, however.

"That dude that dragged her off is her boyfriend," someone whispered to me.

"Oh!" she muttered. "You're such ... drama.... Are we really going to do this now?"

The kid in the corner was a skinny guy with a scarf. "What's going on?" he asked, visibly concerned for his own well-being.

The boyfriend, a thick, sturdy character, realizing he was the center of attention, looked from the dancers, to his girl, and to the guy in the scarf. "Nothing's going on," he said. "My girl does what she wants and that's fine and that's good and it's hot."

"What?" The scarf guy was at least as confused as the rest of us. "That's weird, man." It was clear that he didn't want to fight, but was expecting one, as were we all, nonetheless.

"No!" The boyfriend was really upset now. "It doesn't matter! She can do whatever she wants."

The scarf guy was clearly bewildered. "What?"

"Hey! Don't freak out, man!" the boyfriend said. The girl stood by, a picture of apathy.

"I'm not freaking out - I'm freaking tripping out."

The scarf guy shook his head and walked away, toward us.

"What is that all about?" we asked him.

"I have no idea."

"Do you know that guy?"

"I don't know either of them. I didn't know they were here together." Neither did she.

He shook his head. Holding his hand up with his thumb and index finger held about an inch apart, he said, "The dude's like, 'It doesn't matter,' but it's got to matter a little." It was almost a question, but none of us knew the answer.

The boyfriend was making out with the girl now while our new friend Nate, the scarf guy, nervously introduced himself to us.

A knock at the door proved to be our security guard friend who was concerned that "four guys who don't belong in here" were hiding inside in the dark. Our hostess went to bat for us, but we were leaving anyway. As we walked out I looked back and watched as Nate's girl led him back to the couch and straddled him, her boyfriend watching the whole thing.

I can't decide if Nate's a hero or just another creep at a lame party. Who does that and gets away with it? The girl was clearly drunk. Nate was drunk but he was sobering up in a hurry. I don't think her boyfriend had had a drop, but it was clear to me that, of the three, he was under the strongest influence. What influence? Maybe hers, but, as I think about it, maybe ours.

It's very possible that Nate's dead by now. Regardless, he lived the dream. Right?