My drink n' my two step

It starts with bass. Or maybe the beat. Either way the crescendo builds. Words start to flow, the beat rolls, the bass pumps through the speakers. I turn up the volume, not enough to blow the speakers, but so it pumps into the bathroom so I can do my makeup at the same time. The cement walls work against me, harnessing the fullness of sound in my room, so I quicken my pace with the eye shadow and leave my drink in my room giving me an excuse to alternate across the hall – makeup in the bathroom, dance party in the bedroom. Outfit is finally coordinated, heels are the last thing to be slipped on; perfume is the last thing to be walked through. My eyes are lined with black and the taste of black lingers on my glossed lips – it’s going to be a good night.

I remembered those nights while driving back from New York tonight. I wonder if I’ll ever be that carefree again. Listening to my ipod is often like taking a trip down memory lane. Songs will bring me back to specific moments in time – driving home from town in the summer mad at some boy; lazing under the shade of the tuna tower on the boat; 4am dance parties sophomore year; walking to babysitting in the rain; trudging back and forth to class when I lived up on Dent. I have songs for all those times, for all those feelings, and listening to them now brings it all back. I’m realizing more and more though that I’m changing. I’m not the girl I used to be. And I have a feeling I’m never going to get back to her – I guess that’s a good thing – growth? – but I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I certainly didn’t ask for it! I mean, whatever I’ll deal, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I want to. Yes, time will pass and I’ll move through this and I will get my life back, but I know it’s going to be different. It won’t be the same and I won’t be able to get my old life back. Yea I’ll be able to do the same things again, but it won’t feel the same and that’s what I don’t like, It’s not a loss of innocence, it’s a loss of invincibility. Young people are characterized by their naivete, their lack of experience that allows them the confidence to believe that nothing’s going to stop them. Except I’ve been stopped. I know I’m not invincible anymore. I almost died. I am sick.

I used to go out at night and it was completely escapist. Everything we’d do would be to push the troubles out of our heads. We’d drink to forget, we’d smoke to refresh the buzz, we’d dance until the lights came on. It was an escape from the house, an escape from work, an escape from life. We’d disguise ourselves in flashy clothes, high heels, and dark makeup with the extra cloak of the night allowing us to leave the worries from the day.

But now I don’t even have eyelashes to coat with mascara. I don’t have hair to blowdry. My liver is being ravaged by chemotherapy instead of alcohol. I miss that buzz. I’m sorry. I know I’m not providing the best example for my young impressionable brother by saying this, but I miss it. I smoked. I drank. And I miss the buzz of both. I miss the music, I miss the dancing, I miss the foolishness. It was escapist, but now I have something that I don’t know I’ll be able to escape from. Somehow I feel like alcohol and nicotine won't have the same effect over cancer as they did over boys and all my old problems. Will I ever be able to truly be carefree again? When this is all ‘over’ will I be able to go out again and forget like I used to? If I’m a different person, can I still act the same?

I remember one of the first summers I started hanging out with my girlfriends from home we were all staying at this housesit out on Hinson’s Island. We’d stay up late outside by the pool under the moon and the stars. Between trying to hold a séance and getting scared off by cockroaches we came up with the idea of oblivious innocence. I don’t remember why we coined that particular phrase. But that’s what it was then. It’s not like that now. We’ve all grown and we’re all over the place now. We still get together though. But I feel so different. I felt different at Christmas. I felt different this weekend. Is this how it is now? Am I growing apart because I can’t relate to them as much anymore? I don’t want to, but I almost can’t even help it. I barely talk about it with anybody; it’s always just my own thoughts in my own head and even then it’s only fleeting moments of clarity. It’s not fair. I didn’t ask for any of this. I don’t want this.

I want my oblivion back. I want my escape.