Personal Narrative- Parties :: Personal Narrative Essays

Personal Narrative- Parties Every weekend there is a party somewhere. Whether it is out(p) at the Momma, the lake, or even at someones house, it is the change place to be. Last year, I arrived at the H bothoween dance not wearing a costume but expecting to have a great time with all of my friends dancing and listening to music. I overheard someone talking about a party that was going to start at Marys house. Being invited to go with all of my friends, I didnt want to be the wimp of the group, so I decided to go along. I drove away from the dance thinking that I would only placate for a little while at the party.Pulling into the driveway, I instantly knew that this wasnt a good idea. My hands were shaking, and I had goose bumps all over my armor and legs. What if my parents find out? I thought. How would I be able to explain being at a party to them? I was supposed to be at the dance. I looked at the trailer and saw people going in and out. Can I still leave? I was going to leave . However, I stepped out of my car and could hear the music playing from someones system. It was the song Joker by the Steve Miller Band.The aroma of the trailer could be smelt outside, and the Jack Daniels was being circulated ilk popcorn at a baseball game. I looked inside and saw people sitting on a dark pumpkin-colored couch playing cards. They were wall hanging out in the kitchen. People were going to and from the small 70s size refrigerator popping the tops off of their beers and letting them fall on the floor which was cover in dirt, pieces of broken dry wall, and glass from a broken window. The looks on peoples faces were that of sheer fun, they were making fools out of themselves, and, even if they hated it, they werent going to stop.I form Mary, who was gloating with the thoughts of her fantastic party, and behind her rose a voice that I recognized very well. I looked and saw Tonya staggering down the concrete go of the trailer. She was laughing hysterically and talkin g in a loud, uncontrollable voice. Supporting herself on the car next to us, she looked at me through her almost psychotic eyeball and started to rummage through her pockets and babble.