california.

You would think "Cheap Vodka Night" would have taught me a thing or two about keeping alcohol out of my purse, but instead it became rather a theme once I arrived at USC. As my purses got bigger, so did the containers of liquor. A cell phone met a tragic end when stored next to a 40 of bacardi on Halloween. A skirt was irreperably stained after being used to conceal a corked bottle of wine. But it was all worth it for the popularity I gained at parties after the kegs ran out.

"Whoever finds me a wine opener gets the first sip!" I trilled, waving bottles in the air and sending frat boys scurrying in every direction.

At parties where the supplies were ample, I saw nothing wrong with taking something with me for the road. Unfortunately, this became such a habit that when I did not have a purse to store the containers, I would march straight out of the party with a carton of cheap vodka under my arm. While the hosts of the party were usually too drunk to notice, the campus police officers stationed outside always objected.

There's a certain element of security in having alcohol with you wherever you go. I liked to be the one to provide it in the least obvious of situations.

“Anyone want some tequila?” I whispered down the aisle at Cinema 190’s screening of “Jurassic Park.”

"Anyone want a mimosa?" I asked, waving a water bottle, when some friends joined me by a fountain at lunchtime.

"Anyone want some schnapps?" I asked Bonne on the first day of our art history class together. She declined; she was always very engaged in the material, whereas I would stick around for half the class at most, getting increasingly annoyed with the pretention of modern artists such as Frank Stella and scribbling angry notes in my margins. Then, at the break, I would wander off somewhere to be angry and finish the Schnapps.

At restaurants I always ordered alcohol just to see if I could get away with it, but usually lost interest once I was served. Olivia and I went for sushi before meeting up with the rest of our friends to see the latest Harry Potter. I obtained a small bottle of sake that I couldn’t stand the taste of, yet couldn’t bring myself to waste. It was a bit tricky keeping the open bottle upright in my purse for the next hour, but it was all worth it one we got inside the IMAX theatre.

“Anyone want some sake?” I hissed as the opening credits rolled.

bernice.

Bernice was my bicycle, and she was quite a girl. We joked that she had developed a reputation thanks to her antics with the boy (and sometimes, girl) bikes that lined the Parkside exterior.

"Everyone's had a ride on Bernice," we said. 

The more we teased Bernice, the more she seemed to take on a life of her own, consistently providing us with new material. 

One night we returned from a frat party to find her seat stolen. Much to the amusement of the various boys who had followed us home, I hopped aboard anyway. 

I couldn't figure out what was so hysterically funny about this until I looked down to see the bare pole sticking up where the seat had been. 

"I'm not going to sit all the way down, you idiots," I said, but they kept right on howling. 

"Have a very pleasant ride!" They yelled as Bernice and I took off into the night. 

I always hit at least three bushes on the weekend ride home, and once I hit a person, but she should have been walking in a straighter line. 

When I was high I would take Bernice on an extended ride, finding wheelchair ramps and riding up them and down again. 

"Wheee!" I yelled when I thought no one was in earshot. 

On weeknights we would jaunt through campus, Bernice and I, to our favorite gardens and fountains, into alleys over cobblestones and sidewalks into lighted corridors and out again, round and round and round. 

And then by day we would jockey with the throngs of other bikers for a path to class, not remembering whether to keep to the right or the left, and sometimes trying to change sides at the last minute only to capsize or collide with other riders.  

I could never remember where I left Bernice, and sometimes I forgot about her all together. Thus, three or four days after our last ride together, I would be wandering the entirety of campus, checking all the various bike racks, as well as lawns and gardens, restraining myself from calling her name. 

One such night, around 11 or so, I had been to all of the daily hotspots twice over, and was beginning to give up hope. Bernice was not at the gym, nor Bonne and company's apartment complex. She was not outside any of the coffee stops or convenience shops. She was nowhere near the track, or the bookstore, or the student center. She wasn't even over at the University Village shopping plaza. Where else could she be? 

I had a vague memory of attending an art history class, but it seemed like something that had occurred in the very distant past. Surely I had ridden Bernice since then! But, just to be sure, I made my way over to the courtyard behind the cluster of art galleries and classrooms. I always threw Bernice somewhere on the lawn, since I was usually running at least ten minutes late. 

As I rounded the corner, my heart began to sink. The lawn was empty. Perhaps Bernice was gone for good this time. 

But as my gaze continued upwards, my heart began to pound in shock and awe.

Directly ahead of me was a fountain, a pool of water surrounding a large stone statue. The statue was crouched, humble, with head cowering in penitence. And on the head was draped Bernice. She lay completely vertical, with spokes pointed towards the heavens. 

"BERNICE!!!!!" I screamed for real this time, running toward her. 

"Is that your bike??" A random guy yelled from the sidewalk.

 "Ah.... I.... yes.... !" I stuttered, trotting frantically around the fountain, trying to figure out a way to dislodge her without becoming completely submerged. 

"Wait one second! I'll be right there!" He offered, swinging his leg over the fence that separated campus from the outside world.

I was still trying to process what was happening. Oh, sweet Bernice and the scraps you get yourself into. If only, if ONLY I had my camera. 

Now the guy was at my side, and he was all business. 

"I'll kind of straddle the water and hand her to you," he said. "You just wait on the edge of the fountain here."

"Ok," I said, secretly disappointed that my Absurd Experience was being resolved so fast. 

Demonstrating impressive balance and flexibility, the young man swept one leg to rest beside the statue, placing one hand on its head while using the other hand to maneuver Bernice off the arm. 

"Do you do this often?" I felt like asking him as he handed her to me, with nary a splash or drop of water between her wheels. 

Once Bernice and I were properly reconciled and settled on dry land, he was off again, perhaps to find other midnight situations to rectify. As for Bernice, I gave her a long, soothing walk home, stroking her handlebars all the way. Back at Parkside I tested her lock three times, to make sure she would be having no more impromptu adventures, at least for the time being.