The summer before my junior year in college, I was 20 years old. I was home in Indiana for a few months, and Sheena and I were headed out for a typical summer night—out to a lake house. This was Evan’s family lake house—a notorious hotspot for partying in high school.
Once we arrived, it was a tightly knit group of guys from our high school, some were older, some had graduated with us. Sheena and I started drinking (I guess we’d graduated to drinking beer by this point in our college careers) and we were taking shots. The music was blaring. We were all gathered outside, by the lake. It was a covered dock area, but it had lights, a bar, and a sound system. It was a little more sophisticated than the Tiki Hut from the previous summer. It was open on either end—one end faced the house and the other faced the lake, which was surrounded by huge houses.
Since I was enjoying the booze, I’m assuming no one else realized just how loud the music was, nor how loud we were talking. At this point, we were yelling.
Before I knew it, someone casually said, “Cops are here.”
I looked up, toward the house and walking toward us was a police officer. He was an older man, with a belly like Santa Claus—but his bag of toys included a breathalyzer and a set of handcuffs.
When he reached the dock, the music was shut off and he asked for everyone’s IDs. My purse was sitting in a chair, across the way from where was standing. In an attempt to gain time, and perhaps save my ass, I told him I didn’t have my ID. I knew I was about to get busted.
He instructed us all to line up for a breathalyzer. I looked at Sheena, and she mouthed a reassuring, “We’re busted.”
My mind started to race. I didn’t even have any phone numbers memorized to call either of my parents for help. But then I realized an even greater problem: even if I had the numbers memorized, my parents wouldn’t help me. I could hear them now, “Enjoy the night in the slammer.”
Once Sheena and I were in line together, she told me not to worry because her dad had enough cash for situations like these. But I was still scared shitless.
But then, a savior appeared out of nowhere. And her name was Mary.
Evan’s girlfriend was standing at the front of the line and struck a deal with the police officer. She asked him if she blew a .0, if he would let us all off the hook. He clearly thought she would blow something higher, so he agreed to her deal.
By the grace of God, Mary blew a .0. We were all off the hook. The police officer told us all to quiet down for the rest of the night—he didn’t want to be called out again.
We were all so thankful of Mary and we didn’t know how she even pulled it off. She said she’d had a shot, but it had been an hour or so since she had anything to drink.
We were just shy of lifting Mary above our shoulders, when we realized Evan, along with some of the other guys were missing. Not long after we began to search for him, he came paddling up to the back of the dock in a canoe.
He had paddled away at the first sign of the cop. Laughing hysterically, we all poured inside Evan’s parents’ house and proceeded to tell each other the story over and over again.
While we had somehow been spared out of getting arrested, but the night wasn’t over by any means.
Enter yours truly on a pull out couch, naked with Zach—the boy I had a crush on my senior year in high school. Sheena was in a spare bedroom, fighting off another guy, when she came out into the open area where I was laying.
“Holly…are you here?” She asked.
“Sheena…I…I have no clothes on,” I whispered.
We both laughed, some how I found my clothes and we were on our way unscathed. And no, I didn’t sleep with Zach. Ever.
The Bitter Lemon 