nights like this, jean kirstein

1. 𝐖𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐄 𝐁𝐄𝐋𝐎𝐍𝐆

"Pool House" by the Backseat Lovers plays loudly from the radio in your Jeep Wrangler as you drive down ward memorial boulevard with all of the windows down and two packs of vodka seltzers on the floor of the passenger side.

The familiar California breeze hits your cheeks and the salty smell of the Pacific coast calms your nerves. Palm trees sway in the distance, and to your left waves shimmer under the September sun as Henley Gate welcomes you.

Everywhere you look on the campus of UC Santa Barbara people are buzzing around, an array of different words are spoken at once and a thousand different voices share conversation.

Sophomore year of college is on the rise, the hustle and bustle of move-in weekend never being something to mess around with and this year was no different then the last. . . people of all sorts riding bikes to their next destination, saying goodbye to their parents, and everything else under the sun.

Here, it didn't matter where you came from whether it was across the country or from Europe, or the highschool drama you were the center of. You could be whoever you wanted to be.

You have no plan, no guide on how to do things right. . . but you knew that this is where you had to be.

Your older sister Cassie, formerly a junior here, passed away the summer before your senior year of highschool.

This left a dent in your world, and you knew that things would never be the same despite the path of better things in your wake.

She was always there for you, to prepare you for the worst and teach you another lesson you would never forget. She left you a video for your first night away from home, telling you that "all you have to do is endure and survive, because no matter what there are people that you'll fit in with.' and her words lingered in your head like the worst hangover of your life

Passing her memorial tree near the lagoon hit the hardest, but you did it no matter what.

Seeing her picture, the flowers scattered and the ones that grew, and the cards from friends that were laid out always caused your heart to ache. There were even a few of the remains of candles from her vigil so long ago.

People who you had no idea existed would come up to you and hug you, saying how sorry they were for 'what happened.' and that your sister was one of the best things that happened to this world. They weren't wrong, She was almost a saint.

There was no avoiding it either, because your family didn't handle it well.

Your father divorced your mother and is now somewhere down the coast, while your mother sips expensive wine and pops pills on the porch of your home pretending to be as happy as she possibly can.

Your brother is two years older than you and is a senior at the same school, texting you every so often but for the most part he does his own thing with his own group of friends and surfing day and night to escape his own problems.

He doesn't talk to your mother as much as he used to, speaking only when spoken to and hanging around your dad.

That's just the way it goes, whether you like it or not.

You make your way down Ocean Road on your way to Isla Vista where five of your best friends, two of which had already arrived, would be unpacking their own things into the house you would be renting out for the school year.

Your stomach fills with an indescribable warmth, the feeling of excitement filling your body from your head down to your toes as you get closer and closer to the place you call home.

All along each street you pass, students are unpacking and some are already making their way down to the beach under the late afternoon sun in the tiniest bikinis, pedaling smoothly on pastel bikes.