One HELL of a weekend.

So the first time Bron decided to partake in the timeless ritual we refer to as "getting trashed," it turned out to be quite the night. I was at my friend's house, whose parent's most definitely enjoyed their drink. If you know what I'm sayin'. So, naturally, there was a cabinet full of just about every top of the line liquor money could buy. I was in heaven. Being alcohol virgins, and me having parent's who haven't drinken any sort of alcohol since 1973, we had no idea what we were getting into. Me, especially. We started grabbing at random bottles that looked interesting and started swigging. "Ick. This one's gross." To the next attractive looking bottle. "Hmm.. this one's ok." And to the next. This went on for far too long and i was wondering why i didn't feel this whole 'drunk' thing I had heard so much about. "Hmm..." I thought, "Oh well," as i found myself in a good mood with no idea why. Nor did i wonder why, that thought never occurred. Well, i was 15 at the time, so of course there was a 'super, great, had to be there, football game' to attend. We were a few blocks away, so we started walking there. All i remember once we got there was feeling like one of my guy friends was suddenly my best friend and spending far too much time sitting next to him with my arm around his shoulder and head laying against him. He asked first mentioned friend if we had been drinking. (duh) Then he asked if he could drink too. So we made our way back to her house for some more boozing. Great idea! We get there, and i continue to drink.... and drink... and drink some more. Now i was nearing a state of confusion, and had no idea why. Next thing I remember, we were walking back to the football game. Halfway to the football game, there was a field we had to walk through. I next found myself laying in said field throwing up a lot and hearing the guy friend from earlier (who was also laying a few feet away from me) tell my friend "Turn her on her side so she doesn't choke." Next thing I recall after that, I was laying in my friend's bed alone, with no recollection of how i got there, and then back to the abyss. There were moments after this that i recall that were a lot like those scenes in those movies where people are really sick and passing from unconsciousness to consciousness. You know, the black screen slowly parting to a blurry screen, then back to the blackness. During one of these moments i remember seeing my friend's Aunt above me putting a washcloth on my forehead. Then the blackness lasted quite awhile. I woke up the next morning feeling a lot like death, as you can imagine, and in new clothes. My friend told me the clothes from last night were covered in puke. "Great," I thought, as the mention of the word 'puke' arose new feelings in my stomach. Well, there was a birthday party (without booze, which sounded great at this moment) at another friend's house that night. Me and first mentioned friend were planning on going, and shocker, we went. At some point during that night, an accident occurred. It happened very fast, but this is what I recall. Another friend said, "Hey, lets go swing!" We were at the bottom of a hill, and the swing was at the top. We turn to go up the hill, and I see a guy coming down toward us on a bike. I stand there, STILL somehow not fully there from the night before, waiting for him to stop. He obviously knows he's going to hit me. Yet he seems to just continue gaining speed straight towards me (I found out later there were actually no brakes on this bike). Suddenly I realize, as he's about to hit me, "He's gonna hit me." Again, brain working in slow-mo. So at the last second i attempt to jump out of the way, but instead end up jumping ONTO the bike and thrown pretty hard to the ground. I'm still in a daze at what just happened as everyone is laughing around me. Two friends run over, and the first says "I wish i would have gotten that on camera! (still cracking up) It was like one of those moments from Funniest Home Videos! (still cracking up)" The other friend (cracking up) says, "Are you ok?" At this question i decide i should probably figure that out, and assess myself. "My knee doesn't feel good," I say, and the other friend helps me up and about 15 feet to the deck. I then realize my leg feels wet for some reason, and lift up my pant leg. Blood, and lots of it, at my ankle. I follow the trail and lift my pant leg further, and find my knee eventually, pouring blood. Same friend helps me walk (which is quickly becoming more difficult by the second) to the kitchen to have the birthday girl's mother clean and patch me up. By the time we make it to the kitchen, my knee is considerably swollen. I'm finally patched and cleaned as much as possible, and head back to the party. Walking anywhere is becoming increasingly difficult, and after it takes me about 10 minutes to climb down a flight of stairs, i decide sitting for the rest of the party might not be a bad idea. I go home eventually and tell my parent's what had happened. My knee is about twice the size it should be, and walking from point A to point B takes around 5 times longer than it should. I see the doctor Monday, and he says i hit a tendon in my knee and that i should stay home from school for about a week and try to rest. To me, this sounds great. When I'm finally forced to go back to school, I'm allowed to use the 'off limits elevator' and think this is all pretty fantastic. Today, 6 years later, i still have a scar on my knee and if you feel the scar, a little hole in my knee cap. Great fun for grossing out people with weak stomachs.