You stand awestruck
In a hollowed out high school lunchroom that used to be a gymnasium
She is hovering there in the copper sequins
That so perfectly conforms to her body
You a**ume that each one was carefully measured
And pressed to her skin with purpose
Her hair is a barely tamed explosion of looping curls and shimmering ribbon
Tied precisely in place
It is your junior year
It is a winter dance
And she is smiling at you
Next to her
Your beautiful girlfriend
All glitter and bu*terflies
Looks like a sparkly clown wrapped in packaging paper
When you sleep with your high school crush
Eleven years after high school
Not everything about it is magical
You are both drunk
And have stumbled home from your forth bar of the evening
You are laughing and kissing the way drunk people do
In oversimplified movie scenes that skip from the first shot of whiskey
To the stairwell in which you now find yourselves
You are glad that her hand moves so quickly to your belt
Because you have to pee
And disastrous as it may seem
This is a welcome and effective distraction
Her apartment is nicer than yours would be if you lived in Los Angeles
Or had an apartment
There are throw pillows everywhere
And more yoga mats that you've ever seen in a place that doesn't have communal showers
You are certain there are no Raman noodles in the cupboard
No plastic bottles of rum in the freezer
No mother upstairs wondering what she is going to do with her life
At the bar
You shared stories about the last decade
All the reasons she moved as far from Minnesota as possible
Maybe to her
You're an attempt to move to a better time
Or maybe you're just an amusing apparition who can go drink for drink
With a party girl from the Midwest
Whatever the case
You are in her bedroom
Her hair is an untamed explosion of looping curls tying you precisely in place
Wrapped together
You crash into desks and end tables
Flinging an impossible amount of bobbles
And shimmering ribbon in disparate directions
You are clawing through layers of spandex and lace
Trying to find that sequin skin from the photograph in your head
It is your junior year
It is a winter dance
And she is smiling at you
Just
Like
This