I must have been insane to do it. Maybe my ability to reason had not been fully restored. I still operated under my old personality. It was the end of 2007, and the old me loved going out to ring in the new year.
Vivian looked cute. She wore tight metallic pants with a black silk scoop-neck and the strappy heels with the high cork wedge I’d passed on to her. I loved those shoes. Even as painful as they’d been after a night out, I loved them.
We waited in a short line. The girls wore tops covered by leather jackets that would later be shed to reveal sparkly colors and glitter and too much skin. I was conscious of my jeans and frumpy black sweater. I wore flat, black boots that might as well have been corrective shoes surrounded by all those tottering heels. These women clacked. I clomped.
Viv began making our way, pushing the wheelchair toward a large empty table up front that had a homemade sign with the words, “RESERVED — BAND” on it. Rob came over from practicing to thank us for coming out. He didn’t know we were grateful to have an automatic place to go. I used to love that when we were dating. Viv’s husband was in a band too, so we always had a choice of venues.
People parted as we cut across the dance floor on our way to the table. I received lots of attention, “Happy New Year!” wishes and condescending “you go girl!” pats. Apparently, my very existence among the scene was to be commended. Continue reading “A Holiday Rerun”