Flying High

The YMCA is throbbing through the sound system and a girl is crying in the pitch-black bathroom stall behind me. I wash my hands too quickly so as to drown the sound out with the hand-dryer; it sounds like caves sealing their secrets and I slip out past a tide of giggling young women in wedge-heels and back down the stairs into the fray. I wasn’t being cold-hearted; I just didn’t know the girl. It was none of my business. People often drank too much, cried, vomited, went home and blogged about the ‘Best Night Ever!!!1one!’; who was I to get involved?
Back in the main room I forgot the ceiling. It was too tall, too impossibly far away, so I decided it didn’t exist. I shrieked for another two vodka cokes from the bartender and tried not to look at his tentacle squirming under the skirt of the girl serving glow-in-the-dark shots. Not my business either and as I turned away, fishing the lemon awkwardly out of one of the glasses, I heard a shrilling giggle behind me.
I squirmed between the wet bodies and the sonic waves of sound towards my epicenter, Ash Raeburn. I lifted my hands high to protect the drinks from being spilled by the tumbling clumsiness of teens too drunk to restrain their beat-loving tendons. As I approached my friends (and Ash of course) I raised them higher. If I didn’t establish the drinks in my hands right away then Ash seemed to have a tendency of picking me up and swinging me excitedly every time we met after a few short moments apart. He said it felt like he had known me for days. I smiled even as some girl’s stiletto pieced through my shoe and blood began to pool in my shoe.
“Ash!” I called over, wiggling my wrists so that the glass would reflect the pulsating lights and catch his attention. He noticed me, came and took both immediately as I leaned heavily on him to remove my shoe. He looked confused, a frown deepening on his left face.
“Carelessness” I said, by way of explanation. I didn’t want my shoe to fill with blood, so I took my shoe off. He understood. We threw my shoes away and kissed and kissed until a million songs had passed by, the DJ had turned back into a pumpkin, and we were surrounded by people overdosing on euphoria, their skins turning inside out so their nerve endings could touch the music. Neither of us could remember who had drunk from the empty glasses in our hands so we smashed them on the floor and I danced barefoot on the shards until they turned into beautiful glitter and released the stench of rotten toothpaste into our happy mouths.
This annoyed the bouncers so they dimmed the lights and pulled the levers hard until the walls groaned and slowly closed in on us, top-first. They towered over us like disappointed parents and we laughed and laughed at them because they didn’t understand us anyway. It wasn’t until our own sweat recycled into condensation on the ceiling began to rain on us that we finally decided it was time to go. The music had stopped but the room felt so loud in our ears that we scooped up cigarette butts and brussel sprouts from the floor and stuffed them in the holes to keep the evening in.
Ash told me he loved me in the shark ride home. I told him that if that was real then he could tell me again in the morning. The next morning I found cigarettes butts from cigarettes I hadn’t smoked and a one-night-friend I hadn’t loved in my bed. I flew away.

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