Welcome to the New Age

It’s just a little bit humid. The sun is setting, the cars are accelerating, and the night is just beginning. The conversation gets heavy, reminding all of us of the drama of yesterdays that feel so far away. Finally, we arrive at our destination and the guards ask to see our IDs to verify we’re old enough to be here. The guy who takes mine rips it out of my hand, holds it up to the light and says “Oh boy, yeah. We’ve got a fake.” I roll my eyes and let out a soft laugh, trying not to insult him, because clearly he thinks he is pretty funny—only it was the kind of funny that your uncle tries to be around the holidays, when everyone throws out pity laughs and stiff smiles.

We’re greeted by heavy smoke and a mixture of dinging and bells. The sound of people winning money and losing time—or for some losing money and winning entertainment—crowds the casino. We wander around, looking for a place to eat and contemplating whether or not we are actually old enough to be in here. The results are in, and our IDs actually say we are allowed to participate in these festivities, but when did we get this old? 

After wasting some time with a hodgepodge of chow, we exchange our dollars for the sliver of hope that it will transform into more instead of watching it disappear. As the lines roll by, our hearts beat faster, our palms become sweaty, and the “cash out” button starts to look bigger and bigger. Do we cut our losses or do we risk burying ourselves further? It’s a constant struggle between greed and rationalization. 

When we finally find a $1 blackjack table, the guy next to us starts to shell out advice and we graciously accept it, showcasing our ignorance to the game. The man later reveals he plays every Sunday night. He calls it “therapy.” So one of the guys across the table says, “Just make sure you don’t need therapy for your therapy,” and the regular gambler lets out a hardy laugh. 

But I learn an important lesson from playing blackjack: I shouldn’t play blackjack. Luckily, I only forfeit four dollars as I walk away with a single chip. As we head for the door, I stop to cash-in my one dollar. “It’s not much, but it’s all I got,” I say. The lady behind the glass chuckles, and says “Do you need an escort?” I raise an eyebrow, and my friend explains that people with a lot of money might need someone so their money doesn’t get stolen on the way out. I smile and shake my head at my sad excuse of a dollar. Sticking it back in my purse, I find another ticket worth two dollars and rejoice in the fact that I’m leaving only seven dollars in the hole. 

And with the bass rattling the car, the music turned up so loud that my eardrums feel like they might burst at any moment, and four voices screaming our favorite song lyrics at the top of lungs, we are welcomed to the new age. 

Here’s to being an adult.

Can’t Hold Us*

The shimmering lights illuminated the late night sky as we headed to the “undisclosed location”—which is actually the same place every year. We were jacked up on adrenaline and motivated by our growling stomachs and our enduring desire to have one last crazy adventure with some people we knew we may never see again.

The bus driver either tried to amp us up or shut us up, but whatever he intended, as he turned on the music we were filled with more excitement.

Here we go back, this is the moment
Tonight is the night, we’ll fight 'til it’s over

So we put our hands up…

As Macklemore blasted through the speakers, a bus full of graduates harmonized on the first line—like we simultaneously felt the bass flood through our veins.

Y’all can’t stop me, go hard like I got an 808 in my heart beat
And I’m eating at the beat like you gave a little speed to a great white shark on shark week
Raw. Tell me go up. Gone!

It was both electrifying and calming because, in that moment, I knew—like Chbosky** so wonderfully put it—we were infinite. I was sitting next to one of my favorite people in the world, sharing my granola bar—which made me feel a little bit like a kindergartner. Yet we had just spent the last five hours in caps and gowns. We chatted over how excited we were that we just graduated and how much fun the party would be. But something was different. As we sat on one of the last busses of our high school career, we passed buildings on the campus that she would reside in next year.

In my moment of reflection, I realized that I wasn’t going to have her next year. Sure, we will be able to Skype and talk on the phone. But this is someone that I have spent the last three years with, and the more time we spend together, the better we get along. She told me last time we hung out, that even with all the time we had been spending together that she never got sick of me, and I knew I felt the same way. 

This is such a crazy time in our lives full of mystery and opportunity, and I’m so thrilled to be going to college. But with good change comes scary change. In a few months, the long talks in our cars, and the overdose of time spent together will be gone. Instead, in its place will be new friends and campus adventures. 

Yet as we sat on that bus, only the night mattered. For one night only, 

Here we go back, this is the moment
Tonight is the night, we’ll fight 'til it’s over
So we put our hands up like the ceiling can’t hold us
Like the ceiling can’t hold us.

*“Can’t Hold Us” by Macklemore

**Stephen Chbosky wrote The Perks of Being a Wallflower. This is a reference to this amazing book, and if you don’t get it, you need to read this book as soon as possible.