Every year since 8th grade I've had my birthday party out at our cabin. Rustic doesn't really even begin to define the experience, but it sure does explain a lot. No running water, no electricity, logs out by the fire, toads clicking their throats by the pond, an outhouse with two (yes two!) seats, bugs everywhere, and a uniquely-smelling two-story cabin that my great-grandfather built with his own two hands. It's certainly an experience, if not one that many people might enjoy, one that we can all laugh and exclaim, "Remember when!" later.
This year was a bit different from all the rest of the years. Something felt off, like the toads were louder than usual, or the cabin didn't smell quite as musty. It really had nothing to do with these guesses, and I still can't quite put my finger on it, but I'm thinking it has something to do with age. We're all about to turn 20, 21, 22 and we're sitting around the campfire, quietly sipping Jones and reminiscing about the 'old times'. It's somehow not the same. Don't get me wrong...this time was just as great as the others, but it didn't feel quite normal. We didn't play drop-off, and not as many people spent the night with us on that famously bug-littered cabin floor.
We made mountain pies with yummy pizza filling, and littered the fire with marshmallow roasting sticks. We sat around and played Catchphrase, giggling with early morning goofiness, no alcohol needed. All it takes to make me act a little tipsy is simply sugar, good friends, and the wee hours of morning. I'm a naturally giddy person. It sprinkled off and on, and as I felt the rain drops softly pelt my skin, I watched my friends.
We each sat, huddled into our chairs, hoods up. Laughter spilling through the forest, and hair sticking sweetly to our rosy cheeks. One friend mentioned to me that I have a knack for bringing people together who wouldn't normally have ever gotten together. I realized that this rings true. I brought together people who, if not for my party, would have maybe wondered about each other in passing, and then left those thoughts behind. It's maybe a knack, but also a weird habit of mine. I'm often times a magnet for awkward situations and conversations, and as I think every year about my parties, I tend to think they all might be a little awkward because of my invites. But that was not the case this year, and it has never really been the case.
As I lay in my sleeping bag at 4 in the morning, awake and aware of my surroundings, I thought to myself that this might be my last cabin party. Who knows where next summer might take me, where I'll be, what I'll be doing...there are certainly a slew of possibilities and circumstances that could keep me from having another summer party. I think that might have been the issue with this year. It carried a different aura because my mind was whirling with the possibility of this year being the 'last year'.
I wasn't as talkative this year because I would catch myself watching. Watching the way my friends would animatedly converse with each other, watching the glow of the coals, watching my friends sleep because once we get to a certain age, sleep overs are not the same anymore. Nothing is really the same anymore.
I thought that maybe if I watched more than I talked, I could catch everyone exactly as they were in those moments by the fire. Capture those tiny moments and put them in a safe place to pull out later for a conversation containing some form of "Remember when!". I want to keep certain moments tucked safely away in my back pocket, because some things don't last. And I would be heartbroken should this party be a fleeting second, a pass over memory.
"There is nothing permanent except change itself." --Greek proverb
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