It was when the tired conversations drifted across the sprawling lawn and were caught in the swaying trees, the last of weary feet trudged off into the dim morning, and as the calm and comforting air still clung like dew to the grass. It was a tender night, the kind in which it made no difference what you wore or what you did. I remembered when the molecules seemed to part as I moved, and how when I stood still, they came in close, trembled around me, and made the night hum.
I had to walk back that time and, as you might expect, it took me until dawn to get home.
I was decently drunk, and the guy across the deck table from me was devouring Ramen noodles with a spoon. I was grossly fascinated by this.
I wondered into what depths humanity must have fallen for this crude method of consumption to even be a thought that crosses people minds.
So I asked him, and he told me that there weren’t any forks in the kitchen. I said that’s absurd, and of course they were forks in the kitchen, it’s a kitchen for christ’s sake, and did it even deserve to be called a kitchen if it doesn’t have forks in it?
“Chill out dude, I couldn’t find a fork.” He said.
“Yeah, well.” I reminded him, and waited triumphantly for his rebuttal.
Somebody else glided in from the darkness and sat with us at the table. This new guy put down a bucket of Ramen, and laid a spoon gently down.
“No forks,” he said, as I was staring at him like the Dalai Lama watching The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Then he pulled his seat in, made a lot of noise, and managed to scuff up the nice finished wood surface of the porch.
My ride told me that a little sip of vodka won’t hurt anyone. “Also,” he says “It gets the taste of weed out.”
I spend most of my time off to the side of the house, near the jungle gym, sitting on a picnic blanket and talking to people. There were also some Cheetos in an oversized green bowl that nobody ate until someone spilled them all over the lawn, after which they disappeared in a few minutes.
The girl I’ve loved since global history in sophomore year gets up and walks away. I never asked her out. Earlier, though, we talked about Barcelona, and how La Liga in Spain was refereed, and that the Spanish needed to man-up and play more aggressive soccer if they wanted to compete in the Champions League. We had so much in common.
She strolled to the driveway, and passed through the bright garage floodlight. She stopped there, in the light, dredged a cigarette out of her pocket and lit it. The smoke from the cigarette flexed and curled above her head. It was the first time I saw her smoke.
Something broke lose, and I pitched into a free-fall. I grabbed a Cheeto, and my head flew through space and time like a wind-borne leaf. I gulped a mouthful of air. Then the symphony in my head swelled, especially the violins, and I cursed myself, because I’d once swore (long story- Tom Hanks and all that jazz) that my life would never become a movie. But I couldn’t stop watching.
My ride offered to drive me back, because he was leaving, but I declined, because I was still fixated on Ramen.
“I’ll walk, it’s a nice night.” I said.
He left us there, and I asked what flavors of Ramen people were having. The second guy told me there was only one flavor. I wondered if people ever get tired of Ramen.
“I’ve only had it a few times, and I already am.” I said.
“Well then people apparently get tired of Ramen.”
“Are you?”
“I’m eating it now, no?”
“Yes, but are you getting tired of it?”
He told me that he wasn’t, and I asked if I could try some. He told me I could, but there weren’t any forks, and I didn’t want to use a spoon. So I let the matter drop.
It was a nice night. From the side porch, we could see over the tumbling lawn, and over all the people gathered there. The party took place mostly outside, which was weird, because most parties took place inside, where everyone could be cramped and in the dark and where it was easier to see who was hooking up with whom. But such is the trade-off when the temperature is nice. I was tired.
She decided to go home around 1:30, which was when I was thinking about leaving as well. Her ride came up to me and asked me if I’d seen her, and I motioned to the driveway and said that she was over there. I found a cheeto on the lawn, and ate it while I watched. The group of them left, while I stayed. I was bored- wandered around, swung from the swing set, and explored the house of our hosts. There was a TV that was up to my shoulders and I hastened to pass the word around. I wanted to keep existing- to keep enjoying the warm and loving moment. I sat on the picnic blanket again, then got up and encountered the porch.
A friend of mine who’d been trying to get with this one girl ambled over to inform me that she’s was now hooking up with the second baseman of the baseball team. He was alright about it though. Our baseball team was the New Jersey State Champions the year before this all took place, and about a month later, they won the championship again, dominating the final game 13-1. In that game the second baseman hit a run-scoring double, walked twice and scored both times. The next Friday, there was a big parade down the main avenue in town, with fire trucks carrying the victors, and hotdogs and cola for everyone who came out. Needless to say, it was a proud moment for us all.
***
Spoiler
This will be longer and eventually have more parts, ya? I'd like to know what, within this section needs to be added. Thanks.
I like this a lot. It really sets the mood for this story. 
Especailly this sentence:
