It's the sound of the loud music swelling in your ears.
The windows are down, and the air is just a little too chilly for a t-shirt, so you put on your backup sweatshirt.
In the dark backseat two of your brothers friends are attempting to light a cheap cigar they bought at the gas station ten minutes ago, where you bought the biggest cup and overflowed it with cherry Icee.
The driver cranks the music louder as the chorus sounds, and you, all of you, belt it out.
As the car slows down at the stop, you can faintly hear the crickets in the bushes, in the trees, in the night.
You push your hand out of the window as the car speeds up again. Up, down, up, down, your arm goes. You cup it to slow it down, flatten it to make it smooth. Faster, slower, stop. The car does this a thousand more times, you and your friends enjoying the dumb loud music and the smell of grape cigar in the back.
You finally arrive at the home you've been waiting for. You stumble over your flip flops, the grass wet under your cold toes, the dew already settling. You can already hear the laughter and chatter by the fire, and smell the salty air of wood burning.
It's a Friday, and high school is easy. Friends are easy. Bonfires are easy. No drinking, no drugs yet. Just dumb grape cigars that make the guys feel cool and some fake fist fights.
Someone suggests Ghost in the Graveyard and you groan. You're in flip flops.
Someone else says you all are too old to play that game, but everyone gets up anyway. Now the adrenaline kicks in.
Your crush chases after you, and he tags you and grabs your waist. You shriek. He finally acknowledged you!
Back and forth, around the house and back, you and your friends play endless rounds.
Breathless, you all settle back to the fire, which are embers by now. The guys stroke it and grab a hot coal. Shaking it in their hands they pass it, back and forth. You sneak a look at him a couple more times, and become resigned with the fact he doesn't notice you.
An embers flies in the air and burns a little hole in your sweatshirt. The wind changes and the smoke blows in your eyes and face, and you chant "white rabbits, white rabbits" until it goes away.
Your friend's curfew is coming up. Resigned, you say goodbye and the same boys come pile into the car, this time lighting a cherry cigar.
This ride is quieter. The music is calmer, turned lower. The air cooler, and you sometimes shiver.
You get dropped off first, and wave to your friends as they drive away, and you type in the garage passcode.
You've heard that sound a thousand times before, the whir of the heavy wooden garage door slowly going up. That sound is the sound of your teenage nights.
The living room light is still on and your dad is snoring on the couch, the TV whispering in the corner. The ring of the bells on the door wakes him up, and he grumbles and walks to his bedroom, telling you to turn off the lights.
You take off your flip flops, which are covered in grass. Your feet are wet.
You turn off all the lights and climb into bed. Tomorrow is Saturday.
You wonder what you'll do tomorrow.
You go to bed, tear free, fear free.
Life is good.
