A New Reflection

28. Dancing

I change into a black dress that is shorter and lower cut than anything I have ever worn before, but in my state of inebriation, I allow Cora to convince me that it looks amazing.

Before meeting Isla, Elia and Ethan, I down a fourth shot. Cora seems disappointed that we are parting ways, but we promise to meet up again at the dance. Friends caring whether or not I am present is still a new and jarring phenomenon to me.

"I saw that little moment of hand-holding with Kamden," she teases before giving me a quick hug and waving me off. I know my face is bright red and must look interesting contrasted to the ink black of my outfit.

Ethan greets me with an overly affectionate hug, and it is immediately apparent that he is far drunker than I am. He scans his eyes over my entire body, and I don't know if he is checking me out or expressing disapproval at the amount of skin I'm showing. Ethan looks out for me as would an older brother.

"Nice dress," he remarks, and the tone fails to clear up my interpretation of his reaction. Inebriation does not help one discern tone or body language very accurately.

"You look hot, amiga," Isla blurts out in her typical straightforward fashion.

"Um, thanks," I laugh. "So do you." The snug dress clings to her curvy body, and her light blue eyes shine under sparkly eye shadow and dark mascara.

It's freezing outside, but the warmth of the vodka buzzing through my body keeps me comfortable until the bus arrives. Observing the other girls on the LC shuttle, I realize my dress is still more modest than the outfits most others are sporting.

"I had four shots," I blurt to my friends, out of context. "How drunk are all of you?" I ask them, cracking up for no apparent reason.

"Just had a couple shots," Elia replies. "Had to keep it low key so we can look out for our friend here." She pats Ethan on the back in condescending fashion.

"I may have gone overboard," he admits with a sheepish expression, struggling to pronounce some of the words. "That dress looks really good on you."

I'm not sure to whom he is referring until I feel his hand on my wrist.

"Down, boy," Elia scolds him, slapping his hand off of mine. "No pawing at your friends. There will be plenty of scantily clad girls at the dance you can flirt with."

Ethan blushes.

As we make our way inside the ballroom downtown, I whisper loudly to Isla, "I just remembered why I wasn't going to come tonight. I'm afraid of dancing."

"Don't worry!" She grins at me and winks. "I'll show you. You will be great!"

Isla drags me directly to the dance floor, which is dark with flashing lights and overpopulated with drunk college kids.

"Follow me and do what I do!" she shouts. I attempt to do as she instructs, mirroring the motions of her hips, bending my legs as she bends hers, mimicking the rhythm of her swaying arms. If I could produce a mirror image of her dance moves all night like this, I might survive.

The beat of the music, my connection to Isla and the alcohol pumping through my system produce a sensation of being in a pressurized, emotion-saturated bubble unlike anything I have experienced before. My brain is switched off, but my heart and body are buzzing with heat and thrill.

Elia and Ethan reappear, and a vague sense of self-consciousness sizzles under the layer of numb recklessness protecting me. They join us in the dance, and I look to Isla for confirmation.

"You're doing amazing! Keep it up," she encourages.

Ethan moves in closer, and the four of us are dancing in a tight-knit blob. His body continues to gravitate towards me, and we make eye contact several times until the whole thing has me cracking up, and he laughs too. It occurs to me that everyone I have interacted with tonight seems to be physically closer, speaking more honestly, craving connection. I have spent eighteen years of my life with black-and-white views, believing alcohol to be in a solid black box of "bad." In this moment, I'm convinced drinking has opened a secret portal to a new land of sparkly treasures.