It was the first football game of my senior year in high school and I was drunk. This was not unusual for me or any of the people I hung out with for those three years. Since sophomore year, we had always found a place to drink before any school sporting event or dance or assembly we frequented...and we frequented all of them. I didn't think this was strange; it was all I knew about high school. It wasn't until years later when I had conversations with people from other schools than the one I had attended that it came to light not everyone consistently arrived at school events three sheets to the wind.
Kiya was the "DD" that night; "DD" loosely used as she had been drinking as well. We always voted before leaving whatever party we had been at who would play this role based on who was the least drunk. This was always a hard thing to determine as our drink of choice at the time were two cheap bottles of wine consumed by each girl, accumulated through shoulder tapping at grocery stores or big sisters/brothers or sometimes even parents. Our fake ID's didn't come into play until that winter.
After parking the car a few blocks away from the football field, we walked and talked about how epic our senior year was going to be. We felt invincible. As always, security would be in attendance at this game but we already had them wrapped around our little fingers. It was strange, but our security guards actually cared about being popular with the kids and we had long since locked down an "understanding" of them looking the other way when we misbehaved in exchange for positive recognition and conversation with them in the school halls. Many days, we opted not to go to class and would sit in a big group in something we called "Senior Hall." The security guards would walk right past us, wink, and continue on their way. We would smile, wink and blow kisses at them until their backs were turned and then talk about how sad, pathetic and stupid they were.
Our class had named myself and my six best girlfriends the "Sacred 7." We pretended to be surprised, humbled and even embarrassed about this nickname given us while we quickly drew up ideas for T-shirts advertising it. They were basic tight, white, crewneck T-shirts from the Gap that had our emblem of Sacred 7 on the front and and our individual nicknames on the back. The nicknames for each of us derived from the name of the award we had each been given in junior high at our graduation ceremony. These awards were things like "Best Smile" or "Prettiest" or "Best Eyes." Mine was "Best All Around" so mine was abbreviated "BAA" on the back. We wore these T-shirts to every football, basketball and baseball game we attended despite our boyfriends pleas to wear their jerseys instead. This name was sadly our identity.
We walked up the bleachers to the 20-30 people that we consorted with, and the game commenced per usual. Small talking, bad-mouthing, flirting and bouncing around from group to group is all we did...the only reason we would make note of the final score of the game was because our boyfriends would be hurt if we hadn't watched them play. The game was over and after determining whose house we were going to continue to drink at, we made our way back to the car.
"You guys, this year really is going to be the BEST," I said dramatically. "The security guards didn't even LOOK at us. We can do whatever we want," I happily added.
"Absolutely!" Brooke said. "And those junior bitches are going to be put in their place. It's a rite of passage. Right, Jamie?" She looked over at me with a knowing look that had everything to do with my personal hell I had endured the year before. The senior girls when we were juniors had openly hated me, calling me names while they sat in Senior Hall and challenging me to play in our annual powder puff game with threats of killing me, kicking my ass, etc. Lucky for me, our powder puff game with them had been canceled the year before due to the bloodbath we had witnessed between the junior/senior girls when we were sophomores.
"Ha, ha! Duh!!!" I said in my standard sing-song voice. "Did you SEE what Laura was wearing?!?!? Skank." I flipped my hair away from my face disdainfully and added, "Her and her little friends think they are so F-ing special. Pathetic."
We rounded the corner, car in view, and began to skip ahead towards it. "Shotgun!" I called out, assuming my position by the front seat door. "Ummmmm, who's the dumbass that left a beer can in the window?" I asked casually. "Krissy?"
At that moment, three policemen literally came out of nowhere with their flashlights shining in our bewildered faces. "ID's please," one of them said solemnly. "You girls are in big trouble."
We looked at each other and stayed completely motionless. My heart was beating so fast I thought I may die of a heart attack. Considering how much trouble I knew I was going to be in with my pastor step-father and frail mother, I remember actually hoping I would, in fact, die.
"ID's!" the police officer demanded again.
Brooke and Kiya jumped visibly and started for their bags. The rest of us followed suit. Denise and I began to cry as we handed over our drivers licenses. "Please," I whimpered. "We didn't do anything wrong."
"Whose car is this?" the police officer asked, unaffected by my tears.
"It's mine," Kiya said quietly.
"This your beer can?" he asked, reaching inside the back door and holding the PBR in front of him.
No one said anything.
"THIS YOUR BEER CAN?" he repeated.
"No," Kiya lied. "It must be my brothers' that he left in here. He's 21."
"I need everyone to step over here with me. I need you all to blow," he said as he held out the device used to determine blood alcohol level.
We all blew into the contraption he held out and we all, of course, were noted as having alcohol in our bloodstream. As they asked us all for our parents' phone numbers one by one, we were separated and told that our parents were going to have to come pick us up. We were told that we had a decision to make. Either we would all get MIP's or they would turn us over to the school and go through whatever disciplinary action the school deemed fit. All of us chose to go through the school.
As my step-dad drove up, I prayed for my life. Deep down, I was ashamed and embarrassed. I knew how disappointed he would be in me. I got into the car silently as he got out and talked to one of the policemen. Five minutes later, he got into the car and started to drive home.
"What was the score?" he asked brightly.
I was dumbfounded and remained silent.
"J. What was the score?" he repeated.
"I don't know," I said quietly, shifting uncomfortably in my seat.
We were silent for a long time. "I love you, J. You make really bad decisions, but I love you," he said softly.
Silent tears streamed down my face as I reflected on how out of control my life was. I consistently felt deeply unhappy, but refused to acknowledge it or take any steps in a different direction to change. I felt very alone and very unloved, trapped in a lifestyle that was empty and meaningless but at the same time provided me my only identity at the time.
I ended up being suspended from school for a week and grounded for a month. Looking back, my step-dad's reaction to that incident was the first grace-giving experience I allowed myself to feel and acknowledge. I continued to allow myself to be viewed by my friends as something I was not for another two years, but I never forgot that my father loved me from where I was at.
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