 Sparklers |
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I spent April 25, 2003, with my family and friends. There was music. Food. Beer and wine and hard liquor. It was kind of like a wedding reception. Except not. I had a wonderful night. I think what I'll remember most is how everyone was there. Not all the people in this world whom I care about, but most of them. I took in everything and everyone around me as we sat outside on a beautiful evening with perfect weather. The flowers I didn't plant but to which I tend. The crazy pants my friend's dad wore because he knew they would make me smile and the way my other friend's dad kissed me on the cheek. How my dad drank the O'Doul's that I bought for him and my mom and my brother had on almost identical plaid shirts. The corn dip that looked vile but was strangely delicious. How pretty my sister looked. How my brother and my sister's boyfriend (who closed his eyes when he sang and drummed on his knees as my brother played his song) and my friend all played the guitar and sang for us. The way people were intoxicated enough by the end of the night not to care if Zuko jumped on them. Squeezing tiny licks of Easy Cheese into my dogs' mouths. The way my friends helped me to get ready by arranging candles and putting vodka and wine bottles in bowls of ice and sweeping the patio and bringing CDs and baking brownies. I look at pictures from that night and I know that I'll always remember the smiles and the songs and the sparklers. And how a small group of us stood in a circle at the end of the night and I thanked them for being there for me and how everyone said something deep and meaningful except for my friend who said drunkenly, "Now I can finally knock the bottom out of you!" and my friend's husband, who ended the moment as we all looked at him expectantly by raising his sparkler and saying in his heavy Southern accent about S., "Fuck him!" This weekend my friends and I danced around the room to the theme song of Felicity and took a long walk through my neighborhood in the sun and watched Waiting for Guffman. We went to New Orleans and saw Lucinda Williams who disappointed us by only singing five songs and only two older ones ("Drunken Angel" and "Essence") but was still wonderful and Bob Dylan who made us laugh because he sounded like he was vomiting up rocks in German. I'll never forget how my sister was so sleepy that she went by herself into an aisle to dance next to the other lone dancer and waved her arms and danced like she was at a Phish concert because, in her words, "Dancing can turn the whole night around!" We sang the Backstreet Boys and Grease and NSYNC on the way home and I lamented that J.C. is underrated. The weekend is just kind of a blur of happiness. My aunt sent me flowers. My dear friend (happy birthday!) gave me a beautiful gift and reminded me what I believe in. I drank daiquiries and margaritas with my friend yesterday before he left town and we drove down River Road and reminisced about all the times we did it years and years ago. We laughed when remembering how he once ashed his cigarette out the window but missed and exclaimed, "I burned my shirt." Then a few seconds later, "I burned my shorts, too." And then, "I burned my whole damn outfit!" We sang "The Wood Song" like we've sung it a thousand times before. I went to eat BBQ at another friend's new apartment last night and fell asleep sitting up because I was just exhausted. He called to make sure I had made it home safely and advised me not to pass out in my bubble bath. It's nice to have friends who call me to check on me and who'll sleep over and eat party leftovers out of the fridge the next morning. I am so lucky to have these people in my life. I feel like with this weekend I crossed a threshold. I mean, it came. It went. I survived. All of this I will remember.
© Copyright 2003 elb |
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