To Be Free

We were twenty-three. Both no good history majors. Him, European history with a focus on warfare, and how it's constantly changing. Me, American history, straight up and down, all of it. Neither of us could see our lives going anywhere after we graduated. It was often a topic of our conversations.

"Oh, did you hear Emily got accepted into the med program?"

"Yeah. Sam's off to Yale at the end of the year, apparently."

"God, what the fuck are we doing? What are we gonna do?"

"Teach."

We didn't want to teach. We had a passion for our majors, but really couldn't see us doing anything else but teach. It was a nightmare, and for us, there was really no waking up from it.

So, we graduated in the spring, with the rest of our friends, all with their futures mapped out in front of them.

We attended graduation party after graduation party, everyone talking about their new jobs and schools. It made us antsy. We didn't know what the hell we were gonna do. We'd shrug and take a long drink from our beers when anyone would ask.

Break eye contact and walk away was another tactic.

We were too young for our future to be planned out, too. It hurt, it really did. All we wanted to do was fuck, drink, and party. Basically, continue our college experience for the foreseeable future.

Yeah, earning money and having stability was neat. But did stability ever make for a great story when you're eighty and trying to earn over your grandkids affection? No.

We got trashed at our best friend, Alex's, party. To be fair, there was a keg, and a fully stocked bar. That boy was going places.

During the course of the night, Matt and I, we lost clothing. He lost the shirt and tie I had bought him as a graduation gift, and his shoes. I think they ended up in the pool. I lost my whole dress. We ended up on the roof, somehow, too.

"Babe," he said to me, holding my hand. He kissed my knuckles over and over as I giggled. "We gotta," he kissed me again. "Fuck, we gotta get out of here."

"But, Alex's party isn't - "

"I'm not talkin' about the party," he said. He looked me dead in the eyes, his smile gone. "I'm talkin' about. About. This place." He let go of my hand, and threw his out in front of him, a dramatic motion to show he meant here.

"You wanna move?"

"Kinda." He grinned. "Let's run away."

"Where to?" I asked.

"Anywhere," he said.