3:22 p.m. | 2002-09-25


One more time�

It�s Saturday night after the Friday when we buried another person, gone, �Goodbye, farewell, until we meet again,� but now we are celebrating. We are toasting one of ours, one single for just one more week before she leaves us to start an life exclusively with one other and it's really just a sign of what�s to come for each of us, who will be pairing off over the next few years also.

She reaches in her bra and pulls out some tiny, yellow pills and the group shines as they take them. Time passes and nothing. Her teeth sink into another pill as she splits it in half and passes under a bathroom stall to a friend. Twenty minutes pass and she starts to feel a pulsing warmth, and then nothing. She takes another pill, splitting it with her teeth and passing to someone else.

WOOSH!

One more time�We gonna celebrate, Oh yeah, all right, Don't stop dancing�

She sits with the neophytes and shows them the way as her head tingles and warmth washes over her in wave after wave. �Take ice out of your glass and hold it in your hand.� Their smiles grow. �Stroke your hair.� They cannot stop.

She looks up and someone tells her that she is beautiful. She smiles. Thank you, she hears herself saying. You�re beautiful, she thinks. Everyone here is beautiful. Someone else pulls her up to dance. She rubs up against a stranger and moves with rhythm, focused only on the guy dancing around with glow sticks in his mouth and his pants. She wants to sit down and watch him instead of dancing. She wants to put her hands in his pockets and wrap her fingers around the glow sticks and watch her glowing fingers dance in his pockets.

She walks around and then decides to go back to the group because people are grabbing at her and touching her and even though they mean well, she doesn�t like to be touched under normal circumstances and she doesn�t want to be touched now. They are in her space, these strangers, they are pushing at her molecules; she can feel them chasing her molecular balance into another room.

One more time�

She dances through room after room until she finds the group scattered across a banquet, they look at her with huge eyes, all inky-black pupils, and smile wide, wide, wide, wide, wide smiles and if she shakes her head from left to right real fast she can see a fast white line of teeth blending from one head into and another�teeth, teeth, teeth�her cousin is clenching her teeth. �Stop clenching your teeth,� she teases and reminds her as her cousin chomps on gum and smokes a cigarette.

She reaches over and lifts a Menthol, lights it and inhales, then flipping the cigarette and passing it to a neophyte. She takes her first drag and squeals, �Can I keep it!?� she asks. It�s all yours.

The club closes and they head off in search of another party. They enter a crowded club and she walks around, asking for directions to the bathroom. A strange guy tells her, �Room 402� in a nearby hotel. She steps away from him and disappears into the crowd.

One more time�

The last club closes but they are groking, groking, groking, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeee, �Let�s Go!� They go to an apartment and they drink and they talk and they talk and the sunrises and they continue and they call people and they smoke and some sleep but two of them continue until suddenly, it�s afternoon on Sunday and they feel a bit lost. Not tired, just lost, in this place. They stop. They have to let it go, they have to come back to who they were, the charade is over, the sun recognizes them in their costumes and it smiles at them. �Take it off,� the sun beckons. �I know who you are and that person is ok. Come back to being yourself.�

So they lay their heads down to sleep and unconsciously slumber on the short path to reality.

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