My First of Many Spilled Beers

Amanda (left) me (right) August 2006

Memories of my first weekend at Heidelberg College play vividly in my mind. I eagerly crossed T-bridge over the creek that separated Krieg Hall, the all freshman dorm, from the rest of campus. I was so young, open to possibilities, ready to meet new people, ready to be accepted. I didn’t realize that with my arrival I was crossing a bridge, just like the one that led me to the three-story brick dorm I found myself in that first night. After four years in this place, I wouldn’t be the same scared young woman who found herself on the other side. 

Campus was small and we made it to the dorm in less than ten minutes. I walked into a large, shared living area with long couches against two opposite walls, separated by a wooden coffee-table with beer caps glued to the top. My dorm room was a 230-square-foot rectangle with a tetris-like configuration of lofted beds, dressers, desks, and armoires, but this dorm room was much more spacious and inviting. I looked to my right and noticed they even had a kitchenette connected to a pantry. On my left I saw a bathroom with an area for the sink and mirror first, followed by a shut door that had a toilet and shower behind it. I felt a familiar tingle in my stomach. I’m going to miss taking a private shower and locking the door behind me when I poop. 

The sound of a can exploding caught my attention. I looked over and a hyperactive white guy hurriedly pressed his mouth to the top of the can to prevent any beer from escaping, but he was too late.

“Alcohol abuse!!!” someone yelled.

The resounding, gravely sound of “boooooooo,” followed from the rest of the crowd. 

Adjacent to each couch was a closed door, both containing rooms a lot like the one I lived in. I didn’t know it then, but I would spend countless nights in that room. Power hours, and drunken sleepovers. Pre-gaming before visiting fraternity houses would become the norm. Late nights with booze-filled fun, passing out on the beer stained couch, often without a pillow, and then rolling into breakfast only hours later, still wearing last night’s outfit. The most freedom I had ever felt.

“Hey, you two!” A high-pitched voice screeched in my direction.

I was sitting on the couch with another girl whom I had only met that night. I looked in the direction of the screech and pointed to myself with a questioning look on my face. Us? I asked, without uttering a word. 

“You don’t have a beer! Get a beer!” she demanded in a friendly demeanor. 

Like magic, two full beers appeared in front of us. 

Natural Light. 

I didn’t think I liked beer, but I had only tasted it once, the time I accidentally drank from Papaw’s faded Cincinnati Reds cup, thinking it was my apple juice. 

“Thanks,” I took the beer and shyly cracked it open. 

“Come here!” The friendly girl motioned us in her direction. We each sat down in an open chair, awkwardly facing her holding our beers. Was it obvious I didn’t know what I was doing?

“I’m Riley! This is my room!” not letting up on her excited, welcoming tone. 

We both introduced ourselves and before we could finish she blurted out, 

“Ok, chug until I say stop!”

I was confused but did it anyway. Holding the can to my mouth and pursing my lips, I let the cold liquid glide down my throat. 

Uck!! This is awful.

But I kept chugging. There was no ash tray to spit the beer into like I had when I drank from Papaw’s cup.  

Fall 2006- Riley (left) me (right) in her dorm

“Stop!” she eventually commanded. 

As I lowered the can, I looked over to see that my companion had thrown up on herself, the evidence of which was on the knee of her ripped Abercrombie jeans. 

“She threw up on her leg!” Someone shouted and the room erupted in drunken laughter. Even the girl was laughing, as she wiped the puke from her leg. Isn’t she embarrassed? 

That night I would drink much more than I ever had. Right before the night got hazy, I recall sitting in a circle, looking around at the upperclassmen surrounding me. 

I held up my beer, intending to toast to these nice people who had welcomed me in.  Too naive to realize that the alcohol now had control over my limbs, the beer tumbled to the floor and liquid exploded all over the carpet.  

I froze in the chair as best I could, but my upper body was still swaying, terrified that my clumsiness had just ruined my chance at having friends and fitting in. Ughhhhhh! Why do I always spill shit?!

The familiar sound of drunken laughter instantly replaced the feeling of embarrassment creeping over me.

“Oh my god! I love her! I’m adding her on Facebook!” one girl said to her boyfriend.

I joined in on the laughter, just as my beer chugging friend did after vomiting on herself.

The night faded away and my brain stopped creating memories long before I made it home safely. With a spinning room and beer breath, I crawled under my teal and lime green comforter and spent my first night away at college. 

I was awakened too early the next morning by a knock at my dorm room door. 

I sat up attempting to peel my eyelids open, wondering why my mouth was a desert when I noticed my R.A. standing at the end of my bed. 

“Good morning, I’m sorry to wake you, but your mom called late last night…” she trailed off. 

My brain tried to register the situation, as my eyes stayed fixated on her black spiral curls that looked as if each one was individually, meticulously formed.

Your mom called late last night…

I glanced over at my red flip-phone sitting on the desk within arms reach of the bed. It had only taken me 30 minutes of being on campus to realize I had no cell phone service, so the natural reaction of grabbing my phone wouldn’t help me now. 

“I’m so sorry to tell you… your grandpa passed away last night,” her somber tone matched the sour feeling in my stomach.

Grandma and Grandpa’s house

“Your mom said she will be here to get you later today. She’d like you to call her.”

“Your grandpa passed away last night.”

Was he at home? Was he alone?

Her words echoed in my mind, muffled by my feelings of grief and sorrow. She and my roommate left me alone where I sobbed under the covers until I could no longer handle the pounding headache. I washed down Advil with a cold can of Pepsi, packed a bag and emailed my professors telling them I would miss the first day of classes. 

I had just arrived and I was already heading home. But, I found relief in knowing it was only temporary. It was just to say my final goodbyes to Papaw. When I returned, I would be on a mission.

I would bottle up this grief and again be rewarded with a round of applause as an amber wave of rippling bubbles and foam rolls over itself before settling into a spreading stain, soaking the fibers, leaving behind the unmistakable scent of malt and sorrow.