The heavy amount of underage drinking taking place at the house each night and the heavy continuation of it planned for the next four days before my parents returned, including New Year’s Eve, kept my fingers away from the number which would connect me with the Lattingtown Police Department. The potential of a grisly murder wasn’t enough to scare a 17-year-old suburban boy away from the chance to have parties at his parents’ sprawling house tucked into the privacy of the woods at the edge of town.
Oh yes, the remoteness of the house. My parents’ house was not in an area anyone would ever go just walking unless they had a very specific reason. On the very, Northeast edge of Lattingtown city limits, home rested on the side of a dark, lightly-trafficked highway which led out to a rocky section of the Atlantic coast which didn’t feature a beach or park. The remote aspect of my parents’ house made it perfect for high school parties, but also unfortunately made it fairly freaky to sleep alone there, even with all the doors locked and the alarm system on.
And the many doors. Living in a 5,000-square-foot house with six bedrooms was usually pretty sweet, but not when you were scared out of your wits. Instead of thinking about how I would show the house had I been a 2000s celebrity on MTV Cribs, I was now thinking of all the doors which led outside in the house which could be breached. The door which led out to the second-story patio outside my parents’ bedroom and looked down at the pool seemed especially breachable. I knew the alarm system no longer worked for that door and the handle was pickable. We had broken into the house before that way when we locked the keys inside. I was infinitely grateful I had already had friends help me push a heavy dresser across the outside of the door to my parents’ room to keep party guests out on the first night of our bender.
