Party

         The party is in full swing. Bodies sway back and forth in the single stall garage covered in dart holes and stains of suspicious origin. Instead of a car, there’s an array of chairs and couches. There is white cloud filling billowing out the side of a used and abused green lazy boy. Broken plastic lawn chairs shoved in empty spaces. A long table is placed in the middle, covered in dents and scratches from years of misuse and abuse. Red solo cups are placed along the wooden table, condensation slipping down the sides, making water rings and evaporating back into the air.
         The air is rank. The mixture of adolescent sweat and burning tobacco lit by bearded boys. They stand leaning against the table, all deep voices and big smiles with boots covered in months of dirt and shit. The girls show off their new jeans that their moms bought for them, long and skin tight with rhinestones pasted on the ass. When they sit down on the chairs you can hear them mar the plastic. It makes a disco ball effect when they step into the spotlight. Glitter girls.
         One of the boys leans closer to a girl. He is tall with a five o'clock shadow, dark tanned skin and golden blond hair. The girl also has flowing blond locks. Her face is done up with shimmering silver eyeshadow paired with ebony eyeliner. Bits of their conversation can be pulled out over the blare.
         “It’s a beautiful night tonight,” the boy states as thick beads of sweat crawl down his neck like bugs. It’s too loud to hear the rest. He either says, “as beautiful as you” or “do you like the view” or “hand me my chew”. Whatever it was the girl swoons and smiles and they move outside to talk about it privately.
         They all painted on their smiles extra thick tonight like they don’t have a care in the world, but you can see some starting to slip. A boy in the corner sitting on a spinning bar stool looks at the floor a couple minutes too long. When someone catches his glued and glazed eyes he smiles extra big to make up for the fact. “How you doing buud?” an acquaintance asks. The boy just grins and puts two big thumbs up, then slowly starts to slip back into his stupor.
A quiet girl named Marie who had been sitting in the corner most the time with timid smile and a red solo cup in her hand slips around the party. She is a protective wallflower. A glint of metal can be seen in her hands by anyone who is present enough to notice. She is slipping car keys into her purse.
         Another dark skinned boy named Andre with black ink snaked around his arms starts to sink into a dusty couch. His eyes drift shut under his Burberry framed glasses. The contents of his cup starts to drip down onto his wife beater. The noise echoing off the walls can’t even awake him.
         The noise rattled bones. Laughter mixed in with the sounds of a popular country song mixed in with semi-intelligent conversation. A blender of screeches and coughs. In one corner of the garage sits the boys with Camel on their breathe and obviously a lot on their mind. “Do you know who Syria is good friends with? Russia. Fucking Russia.” exclaims one with a peach fuzz face. His name is Tim or Tom or some other ‘T’ name. “If Obama goes and tries to mess with Syria, Russia is going to bomb us and in turn start the next World War, I’m telling you man.” he shakes his head in disbelief and takes another drink to fuel his fire. The rest of the conversation fades into the background as the glitter girls make their way center stage. “Come dance with me!” one exclaims, grabbing an empty hand.
         Hours pass. Some glitter girls leave, because they always leave in groups. Andre is still sunk into the couch, every now and again he will shift to another uncomfortable position. Tom or Tim left after a heated debate. He mumbled something about foreign policy on the way out.
         The loud ones grow quieter and the quiet grow silent. There is a small black alarm clock in the corner. Its fluorescent red numbers give everyone a sense of dread, recalling future work that must be done and the knots in their necks and faint memories that are now regrets. The morning brings with it a cool crisp feeling, like taking a dip in a freshly filled pool; cold and refreshing. The glint of red and yellow starts to push past the darkness in the sky. The light unmasks them, showing the bags under their eyes and the scars on their knuckles. The glitter girls obnoxious sparkle turns into a soft glow. It all seems too much with the light and so anyone left at the party drags themselves with heavy feet and heavier eyelids to bed.