One Stupid Thing

Cheers to Us

What's the best way for a group of Pogues to celebrate the probability of finding a legendary artifact? By having a bonfire in the backyard. The seven of us gather around the fire pit—which is really just a hole in the dirt—laughing and screwing around to our heart's content.

When JJ moves to get another beer from the cooler, my eyes follow him curiously. He turns back towards me and stops in his tracks. "Do you, uh... want one?" he asks me cautiously.

I open my mouth to refuse, but I hesitate. In the past, I'd only ever used alcohol as a crutch to lean on when my emotions were too difficult to process. It's not the healthiest coping mechanism, I know that. Looking back, I finally understand why I never allowed myself to have a few without any other reason than to just have a good time: I was afraid of being out of control.

Growing up sheltered from the realities of the world, the worst thing I could do was embarrass myself and by association, my family. I can't believe I was ever naive enough to think that stepping a toe out of line was as bad as it could get. Now, I have an entire list at my disposal of traumas much, much more devastating than that. Yet, here I am. If I can survive a car accident, a gator attack, a murderous father, a psycho brother, my mother's death and living on an island for a month, I think I can handle a few beers.

Giving JJ a firm nod, he reaches back into the cooler, opens the can and hands it to me. The Busch Light is cold and wet in my hand, but I ignore the discomfort and take a swig of the chilled liquid. It tastes crisp and light on my tongue, and as I swallow it leaves my mouth feeling dry. JJ watches my expression expectantly.

"I thought it was going to be more bitter," I tell him honestly.

"But..."

"But I don't mind it."

JJ smiles brightly and throws his arm over my shoulders, tucking me into my side. As we walk back towards the fire, Pope's eyes lock on the beer can in my hand.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa. Now, now, Stella, let's not go too crazy." His eyes are wide as he continues to stare at it.

"Pope, this is a beer. Not a full bottle of thirty-year-old whiskey," I remind him. "I'm not going to get black-out drunk."

JJ nudges me with his hip. "Hey, you're total allowed to get black-out drunk if you want to, baby."

I roll my eyes and ignore my boyfriend. "I'll be fine. I just want to have a good time."

"Yeah, let the girl have a good time, Pope."

Pope narrows his eyes at the boy next to me. "I was joking. Could neither of you tell that that was a joke?" He looks back and forth between the two of us. When we don't answer he just sighs, shakes his head, and walks away in the direction of Cleo. JJ and I snicker at his reaction and continue onwards to join the rest of our friends.

About an hour later I'm on my second Busch and the night is still alive. Although I experience the warm, fuzzy feeling that accompanies having a slight buzz, I still feel pretty with-it. Amidst all of the chaos, JJ, who just cracked open his fourth, raises his can in the air.

"To the Blue Crown," he toasts.

The rest of us join him, repeating, "To the Blue Crown."

I bring my can to my mouth and finish it off, crushing the aluminum between my fingers and tossing it into the fire. Then, feeling a tad mischievous, I wait until JJ lowers his beer away from his face before snatching it and taking off towards the hammock.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey!" he protests, darting towards me. "Go get your own beer, you little thief!"

Giggling up a storm, I clamber over the macrame, just barely escaping his grasp. JJ follows my route, climbing onto the hammock after me.