The Question

My ears were pounding from the bass of the unfamiliar music,

Sweat beaded down my temple to my jaw line,

I caught a waft of the curls I burned into my hair every weekend,

Was this really me?

I felt a body press against mine,

 Jagged puffing of breath on my neck,

An added pair of hips swaying with mine,

And something hard against my behind,

That I prayed was a pack of Mentos.

I glanced down and saw dark hands

As they snaked their way onto the hips of my even darker dress,

His words “You got an old man?” steamed down my spine,

What did that mean?

I suddenly realized how short my barely there skirt was,

How high my sky scraper heels were,

How dramatic I painted my face,

How bouncy my fried curls were,

How illuminant my light skin was,

I slammed my eyes shut and drowned out the deafening beat.

Home.

I missed the sound of the wind flowing through the woods during the summer,

The howling of some mysterious creature echoing through the fields,

The smell of snow before a snow storm,

The warmth of my house in a blizzard,

The familiar smells of cinnamon and nutmeg,

But did I really miss the small town of South Windsor?

The gossip of infidelity,

The hill-billy, wanna-be rock-n-roll music,

The sea of fair skinned snobs who stomped through the mall,

Stiff white dresses suctioned to their anorexic bodies

With their Jimmy Choos clicking on the marble floor,

Their alien, stretched, done-up eyes,

That glared with judgment at anyone else who looked different.

I was one of them once,

Raised to believe that I would marry a perfect white boy

Who golfed with Father at the country club,

As Mother and I sipped wine and sat on the terrace in our white dresses

And watched my perfect children swim in a perfectly blue pool,

Then go home to my perfectly white house

Perfectly guarded by a white picket fence.

Was this what I really wanted?

I flashed back to where I was,

In the depths of the night club on a Friday night off University boulevard,

I smelled of smoke and spilled vodka,

My thighs burned from bobbing to the fast beat,

My feet ached from being stuck in the unnatural position of a Barbie doll’s,

The too much make up dripped and melted down my face.

I tore away from the cling-on attached to my back side,

I stomped towards the door, heels clicking, bangles banging together,

Strange disembodied hands kept grabbing at me, trying to stop me leaving,

My heart was twisting in my chest as I realized this life wasn’t what I wanted either,

What do I want?

Who am I and will I ever find her?

The chill air pierced my skin in the parking lot,

I wiped my hands over my face, smearing my mask I hid behind,

I ripped the torture chambers off my feet,

I heard a stampede behind me,

A mix of my best friends yelling my name,

The strange echoes of men calling me baby,

Trying to pull me back to them.