Christmas Daze

Christmas time, my first year of college. I’d just been dumped by Roxanne. I was not in what one might call the Spirit of the Season. If anything, I wanted to curl up and die.
My friends were having none of that. "C'mon," they said, "we're going to the Christmas dance. It’ll be fun," they said. It was their final Christmas dance, and would have been mine too, had I not gone off to school prematurely. I think about it that way now. Prematurely. I was too young to go off on my own, I think. Then again, maybe it was the best thing for me. No matter. You can't change the past. I went.
Anyway, my friends were adamant that I/we go to the Christmas dance. So I went.
Everyone got together, drinks were had to warm things up, and we headed out. Not once did it cross my mind that Roxanne would be there.  Why wouldn’t it have…and wouldn't she? She had more right to be there than I. It was her school now, not mine. And why hadn’t it crossed my friends’ minds  either, for that matter; Roxanne went to the same school as them.
But it didn't cross my mind; I was in a daze and being led about by my friends.
When I saw her, I felt like I’d been stabbed. I wanted to puke. I must have made a scene, because the next thing I knew my friends were hauling me out of the gym and into my coat.
I remember Garry Martin, Danny Loreto and Renato Romey escorting me home. Were there others? I don’t remember. I do remember that it was bitterly cold that night, but I was numb to the cold. Mad, angry, likely off my head too, I tore my parka off when halfway home and threw it to the ground, and carried on walking. Garry ran back to collect it, and draped the hood over my head when I didn't co-operate in allowing it to be worn. He refused to let me take it off again.
A few days later, I threw a party. My emotions were swinging like a pendulum. A party seemed just the thing. My parents insisted on collecting keys as everyone entered. There was drinking to be done and they knew it, and there was no way they were going to allow anyone to drive. Was there drinking. Yes. A whole lot of it. “Caps” was all the rage. You know the game; you snap your fingers, sending the cap towards the bottle between your opponent’s legs, and if you hit their upturned bottle cap off their bottle, they have to drink. The prospect of success seems unlikely, but those upturned caps flew off with greater regularity than one would think possible. Renato did not do so well, and my parents wouldn’t give him his keys back. Hell, they wouldn’t give anyone’s keys back if they caught the merest hint of beer on their breath. Renato was okay with that, but he was so drunk that he crawled over two parked cars, as opposed to walking round them.
Nobody got their keys back that night, now that I think on it.