Girls’ Night Out

Girls’ night out! I hear it all the time, but rarely have I been fortunate enough to enjoy it with my sister. I nudge her with excitement, and we clench the opportunity. Usually, when we hear those three words, our attendance is often overlooked. Tonight, everything changes with the agenda, including dinner and dancing. Dancing, the honey to a tea of nostalgia. Occasionally, we are invited to dinner. After all, our exquisite appearance matches perfectly with a fancy five-star restaurant. Our sparkling petit bodies shimmer like a red ruby. But, dancing was taboo. The last dance adventure was months ago, almost leading to our separation by the excitement it conjured. Despite the past hazard, several drinks at dinner later, we are enfolded by a mass of people and booming music in the club. Everyone is dancing in-sync to the latest hip/hop trap beat compiled with electronic dance music. As the four by four measured time signature strikes the ear, I feel every strand of hair moving rhythmically against my body. Alcoholic euphoria fills the atmosphere, and I become intoxicated by the ambience. Every jerky bob begins to weaken my grip on my safety, raising the level of danger with every intensified beat drop. Gradually, black out from the melodic menacing machine, thrusted down into a drunken stupor.

Sobriety returns and I am kissing the floor, feeling the pounding steps of the inebriated patrons above me. Each of them unaware of the dangerous state my body is paralyzed in. My eyes scan frantically for my sister’s whereabouts, but similar to my serenity, she has vanished. I want to scream her name. Shout for her to save me from the oblivious crowd, but my voice drowns in the whirlpool of bass. A lump of desolation begins to compose in my heart.

My body suddenly slides across the dance floor. I become a hockey puck of cadence, zig-zagging between the steps of the booty boppers. Occasionally, a foot would land on my face, increasing the level of annoyance that I am being ignored by the group of intoxicated neanderthals. How is anyone kicking me without noticing my existence? Eventually, my body flies off the dance floor and landing in a lightless, sticky sanctuary under a table. My mind races back to the whereabouts of my sister. Is she still hanging onto the life we shared before coming out? Does she know about my disastrous predicament? As the hours flow into the night, my hope of being found sinks deeper into an abyss of solitude with every trap beat. The depression lulls me to sleep.

A sweeping sound awakens me. The large mass of humanoids who were joyful jumping and laughing earlier must have all returned home. There are merely a handful left, must be the staff. Perhaps they will discover me under the table and offer a rescue. The bristles of a long pole move closer to my position, and I am certain I will be seen. I feel the straw clutch and drag me out from my hiding spot, adding me to a pile of dust. My sparkles should shine bright enough to be visible through the muck and other rubbish. Unfortunately, a large paper lands over me, blocking any opportunity to be noticed. My body begins to be lifted from the floor, offering on final glimmer of hope for a rescue, but I fall into a large bag. Seconds later, darkness wraps around me. The fear of never seeing my sister again becoming evident, I close my eyes in disappointment. Sleep washes over me.

The pungent smell of rotten food grips my nostrils, coercing me to wake up. Moldy milk oozes down around me, nearly dousing itself over my sparkling red gems. Spores from week old cheese scream in delight at my beauty. From my position, I see sunlight piercing through the gloom of this noxious prison. A loud roar fills the surrounding chamber. Old, desecrated items which were once distant from me instantly invade my space. Their bodies crush against mine. Fungus from the dairy products, perhaps even…fecal matter, ooze over me, diminishing my sparkle and shine. The realization of death strikes me. I screamed for my twin one last time, knowing it would be pointless.

“Imani, have you seen my earring?” Keisha screams. “I had it last night. I know I did. I wore it to the club.”

Imani enters the room, brushing her teeth. She mumbles, “I don’t know,” while shrugging her shoulders.

“Dang, they were my favorite pair, too. Hanging red gemmed earrings. What am I going to do with just one? I wonder if anyone found it at the club?”

Keisha looks over the lonely earring, hopeful that someone found the twin and turned it in.