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The night is young and the club is loud.
Yana has started dancing—no, grinding—against a girl who's dyed her hair in either pink or purple, Vernon has been in the bathroom since god-knows-when and Jewel is either knee-deep in some girl's passenger seat or had left early, either way she'll be fine.
It took us multiple compromises and budgeting to get this party out of the group chat, lots of promises we plan to break as well, but it seems like I'm the only one who's doing nothing at the bar, sipping some drink the bartender had given me on the house, as apparently I looked miserable despite my best efforts in looking the brightest in the club, the most magnetic, I said hours ago.
The club was playing a familiar song I used to sing with someone I no longer remember. Until our voices cracked and our thighs burned from the amount of jumping, we gripped each other and screamed each word, but now I cannot remember whether her name was Sally, Shariah, or Sarah, and I briefly wondered whether she'd be willing to go party with an old friend in the coming days.
But she wasn't the focus my thoughts. As I sipped my drink—mojito?—my mind went to a time that only existed in my memories now, in pictures from a decade ago where bonds were forged, loves of lifes were found, and where multiple paths crossed for one single event. FSY, For the Strength of Youth, a week-long event where I met the love of my life, the songbird that haunted my waking dreams, the bright blue star who guided me through the night.
Alessandra Kye.
Alessa, Sandra, Andy,
Ally, Sands, most affectionately known as just babap. Or maybe that was now a nickname from a long time past.
The bravest soldier I've ever met, a vivacious geranium, the one who lit my nights and forced me to choose what was better for me instead of what was better for the other.
My own celestial kingdom, my heaven on earth, and my most intimate friend, even though it was likely I was never hers.
I huffed, after so many years of getting over her, she somehow still crashes over me like a wave, or more aptly like a mine. One thought spirals into hundreds, if not thousands of thoughts all waxing poetry for her. Soon enough, I thought about where was she now. Was she still singing? Is she currently a missionary? Does she still pick at her food when it's not homemade?
My mind briefly entertained the thought that she was now married, possibly with kids. And I couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy, before I shut that particular Pandora's box for later.
As I continued my attempts at small talk with the bartender, constantly asking for refills and occasionally accepting the free drinks other men handed me, my drunken thoughts drifted again. God, what was I doing? I was supposed to be enjoying the party, not ruminating like a sad divorcee.
But it was true.
In another life, in a different universe where I was a guy and I had a whirlwind romance with the girl I loved, would I have stayed in the church, married her after a few years of engagement, and expecting kids by now?
In another life, in a different universe where Sandra had a preference for girls as well, would I have been joining the craze, singing along to the love song playing right now, with her in my arms? Would I be kissing those lips, feeling her fangs graze my tongue, and her soft arms around my neck?
In that different universe where you liked me regardless of how we are seen by the church, would I be mouthing the lyrics against your mouth right now? Would my hands be wrapped around your waist right now, your hands cupping my face as you hum along, making a world of our own in this drunken crowd?
Would you have a ring, and would I have carved a poem inside that ring as I got on one knee to the ground in front of a waterfall? Would we have worn white dresses, or would I have chosen to wear a white suit at our wedding? Would we have kids, or would we have been the favorite aunts?
And for a moment I swore I saw a glimpse of that future in the crowd, a couple rocking each other closely as the LEDs turned everything red, the girl's face looking exactly like yours, or at least how I imagined you'd look a decade later, and the other girl who's been murmuring sweet nothings in her ear looked a little like me under the light.
I'm drunk, I thought. Out of my mind, close to schizophrenia, I must be having a manic episode.
And maybe I was, I thought.
As a girl who looked too much like you murmured something distinctly like "do you still remember—" before she was drowned out by the music the DJ was playing, dragging me from the stool I sat on as she wrapped her arms around my neck. . .
I must be dreaming, I thought.
As the girl's eyes disappeared as she smiled that fanged smile I may or may not know well, stealing a kiss from my lips as she swayed me to the music, her hands reaching to cup my face and remove a smear from my cheek, just like she used to.
Yes, this isn't real and I must be delirious.
I may have said it out loud, as the girl's smile faltered slightly, before chuckling and pressing our foreheads together. I felt a pang of disappointment at that, I wanted her to smile just like before. Genuine, and brimming with hope.
So I murmured a name, I do not know whether I called her "Alessandra" or just a pet name I used to call her, the noise has faded into the background, and I could only focus on the twinkle of her eyes.
I knew I was safe, and maybe I said the right thing as she brightened up at the word I let loose from my tongue, keeping me in her arms as I slowly closed my eyes, moving my head to nuzzle into the crook of her neck.
Because there was no Aubrey who wouldn't consume all the space just to be with her Sandra, as close as she could possibly get.
Maybe I was home, in her arms.
Maybe I had passed out on the stool I sat.
Maybe I was dreaming, in bed with a husband I don't know if I truly love, but a good father to our kids.
A ring on my finger, maybe, but not the right one.
Maybe I'd have abandoned my dreams then, and I was nothing more than his wife.
But right now, in this moment where maybe I am in her arms, I have forgone all care I have for reality because she mattered most.
Yes, I was truly home.