The clock continues to slowly tick in my ear. Though I hear endless annoying clicks echo the room, the big hand is frozen in time. I just want the long, skinny pointer to strike the teasing, bold three, and for it to be 7:15. I want to pack up my bags and leave this strung-out, horrible class. I can’t concentrate, and I can’t work. All I can do is fantasize about the wild adventures I will soon undergo.
Finally, the time has come. I lazily swing my backpack over my shoulders and excitedly exit the classroom. No more monotone teacher, and no more horrendous notebook doodling. The Monday Loco Lunes festivities, which will begin in several hours, are all I can think about.
The outside air feels brisk against my skin under the thin leather jacket, and I inhale the candied, minted scent. The dark, ominous sky welcomes my presence and hugs me with silence as I trace my footsteps into the darkness of the night. I walk the desolate streets to the metro stop and enter the crowded, noised bus humming with foreign phrases and words.
My foot impatiently taps on the metro, bare ground as the Spanish murmurs ring in my ear. Each stop, a body exits and another enters, always ending with a new companion sitting nearby. Finally, it is my stop, and I can go home to my three awaiting friends.
I speedily walk to the apartment as I pass flashing streetlights and speeding cars. The wind impatiently rushes to my face as I walk to the door and tease the knob with my golden key. The warm, cozy apartment air invites me up the stairs and into my room, where I am melted with happiness by my best friend’s smiles and laughs. We share our days’ stories, enjoy one another’s company, and cook a nice meal. After many bites of delicious food and sips of soothing wine, we all walk to our rooms and open our forbidden closet doors where our treasured items await us.
My staring contest soon begins with a cocktail dress or short skirt and lace top. Who will capture my eye and take the competition? Each item taunts me with desire, but only one can win.
After a short mirror fashion show and approval nods from my three friends, I go with the short skirt and lace top. Now, it is time for makeup, jewelry and hair. I part my locks, lash my eyes and gloss my lips. I highlight my cheekbones with a caramel tint, and I shimmer my lids golden brown. Three twirls of mascara and perfume pumps later, I am ready for the night.
The four of us lock the doors and leave the apartment with a powdered trail scent and high-heel hounds. We walk down the runway steps, open the gleaming door and walk toward the paparazzi cabs. Our directions are clear and the car submissively roars to our destination. We pay the fee, and step into a crowd of beautiful women and handsome men. Our fancy outfits blend into the massive blob of club anticipators and we are soon sucked into the mouth-entrance of the party.
Glamorous women sip on their sophisticated cocktails as they line the exterior of the marbled countertops. Men lean against the stools and wink their audacious eyes and flash their cute, crooked smiles. The bartenders behind are quick at work with flashing hands and darting eyes. They soon ask us our drink of preference, and my ice-filled, liquidated glass soon appears. I take a greedy gulp and walk into the heat of the party. I then lock my body into a tight dance circle with my three friends, whose hips magnetize to mine.
We throw our arms into the air and our hips to the ground. We sway our bodies to the rhythmic music and thump our fists to the pounding beat. The lights flash dark and bright as we twist our bodies into different moves and directions. Purple, pink, black and red splatter my skin, which soon fades to darkness. We silently listen to the passion-filled music in the black room, waiting for a new flash of vibrant colors.
Our circle continues to grow as we meet friends, old and new, and it shrinks as people wander deeper into the warm dancing melting pot of blending colors and bodies. Our circle soon distorts into triangles and squares as each girl finds a dancing mate and goes off on her own into the intimacy of the night. In the end, however, we are once again together in our comfortable, safe, smiling circle.
After the 5 am group reunion, my feet plead to go home. They can no longer endure the throbbing sensation of my pointed heels and the weight of my body. I thank them for being so supportive the whole night and promise to soon nurse them with bareness. My friends and I hug our dance partners goodbye and leave the buzzing, bright rooms that vigorously cling to us. We shove off the tug-of-war exhaustion and take the metro back to the lingering streets that lead us to our cozy apartment and comfortable beds.
I take off the victorious skirt and top, neatly hang them in my closet with the jealous neighbors, and jump into my comfortable, purple sweats and loose top. After a soprano sigh of contentment, I curl under my protective blanket, which covers me with sweet dreams and a sunken sleep.