Drink to Remember, Smoke to Forget

1: Cordially Uninvited

July 4th, 1988

Louis Tomlinson stood but one of fifty people in the dimness of the summer sunset, shrouded over by towering trees and gloomy clouds, and yet, all eyes were on him. Their disgruntled gazes watched him at the entrance of the clearing, as their bodies slumped in defeat and laughter died on their alcohol scented lips. Their squeals and shouts, which once polluted the wooded area, silenced to a dull shuffle of movement and inaudible panicked whispers. Romantic couples unwound their bodies, slathered in sweat in the summer humidity, and hurriedly partitioned themselves throughout the small area. Cups of "patriotic punch," an unfortunate but effective concoction of their stupidity—equal parts Sam Adams and apple whiskey—hung behind the backs of legs, purposely obscured from Louis' view. A rare few even refused to exhale the smoke of their recent drag.

"Narc," someone shouted, earning a round of laughter. If Louis had noticed Harry Styles in the crowd, Louis would have presumed it was he, who shouted the insult.

Louis imagined that what was once a sacred gathering of booze and delinquent behavior, was now his lecture room, a place of order and rules. He could see the look of annoyance on their faces, the sobering of their expressions, even on those who did not work at the museum. Clearly, Louis' reputation preceded him, poisoning the ears of all. He spotted roughly twenty people he did not recognize; students from nearby colleges or friends of those he instructed. Given his notoriety in the college party circuit, Louis presumed most of the people were invited by the laziest of the new employees, Brad Cullinane. Even without Harry by his side, Brad appeared as the hub of the lawless gathering, drawing a substantiated crowd to his attention. Most of those in the group danced collectively to the music, rigidly aware of Louis' presence as they left a foot's length between one another. The music in which they danced blared from a boombox perched atop a large metal keg. If Louis needed any more evidence of their unruly behavior, he would have to look no further than that lawless image. That, and he could smell. The pungent odor of beer and cigarette smoke was so strong; it completely dissipated the natural smell of the forest.

As for the music, though it allowed for intimate conversations to be held, the blaring American anthems of Bruce Springsteen echoed throughout the area at a thunderous capacity. Those still at the museum, quite a distance away out of the woods, could perhaps also hear the music, but as a hum in their ears. In truth, Louis heard the music the entire trek to the party and presumed it as a warning. It appeared he was not mistaken.

Brad and the rest of his posse lounged stiffly against the thick tree trunks that surrounded the area, talking amongst themselves. Though they appeared entirely unbothered, their glances towards Louis, told him that they shared the same sentiment towards him like everyone else. They wanted him to leave. And Louis couldn't help but agree.

However, before he could even think about turning around and leaving, unexpectedly, like the scratch of a record, the radio phased into a piercing static, before silencing all together. A chorus of groans and complaints ensued—a rare few even directed at Louis. Despite it being clear that it was the weak radio signal to blame, Louis imagined that some people probably thought it was he who was responsible for the lack of music. Bad vibes or whatever bullshit they went on about.

"I knew this was a terrible idea," Louis said to his best friend Niall Horan, who stood beside him at the entrance to the clearing. "I just knew it."

Niall sighed, "Come on, Louis, it's not all bad... there are snacks."

"Snacks? What could they possibly have here that the staff manor doesn't?"

Without missing a beat, Niall cast Louis one of his classic "looks," a glare and a roll of his eyes. Niall may have only been a year and a half younger than Louis, but Louis never felt more like Niall's father, than his friend, than that very moment.