2002-07-03 | 1:07 p.m.
lust for life.

This is the most awkward embrace I've ever been part of. Since when did a friendly smile imply I wanted my neck sucked? I try to lightly push away his overbearing body; I pat his back to let him know I'm not enjoying this,but the drunken bastard continues to bruise me. His hands are running up and down my black pants while mine are now limply by my sides. After what seems like a lifetime,he pulls away.

"All right. Well,it was nice seeing you...uhh.."

"Aksha" I scream over the pounding music.

"Oh right...right.."

I watch him staggering away. I silently resolve not to smile at any more people I go to school with. It's getting unbearably hot. Sweat fights its way through layers of make-up that seem to be essential for outings of this kind. I don't see why. The countless hours of gyrating and pushing people around to stay alive decimate all signs of aesthetic enhancements. I sit on the only empty barstool and crane my neck to look for Mandy. There's no easy way to distinguish the people from each other in this kaleidoscopic setting. I spot a potential Mandy and jump off the stool to make sure. It is her. Her arms are in the air, her eyes are closed, as she jerks her upper body in circular motions. I tap her shoulder apprehensively. "Akshaaa!! I was wondering where you wenttttt." Her speech is unclear, and I back away from her mouth as discreetly as I can. Her breath is a foul mixture of passive smoke and tequila. "I met a boy....a sexxxxxyyyyy boyyy!!!' She throws her arms around my neck and I wrap mine around her waist and we sway to the music for a few minutes.

"You made out with that guy from...from that class of yours, didn't you?!, she yells into my ear.

"No, oh God, no...."

"Yes, you diiiiddd....I saw youu...! The sexy boy and I! We both saw you.."

"Where is this sexy boy anyway? What's his name?"

"He's getting another drink.....I don't know what his name is..but....he's sexxxxyyy...."

My throat hurts from all the shouting, but there's no other way to get the words across. I take my hands off her waist and look at her directly.

"When do you want to go home, Mandy? It's like, 2:40 right now..."

"I'm not goin' back...I'm goin' home with the sexxxxxy boy."

Her eyes shine with childish glee and excessive alcohol intake. "Oh....have fun." I walk away, weaving a path for myself - in and out of a crowd moving aggressively to structureless rhythms -and head to the Ladies' room. I'm having trouble breathing. I swing open the door and rush to the mirrors. I place my palms on the granite framing the basins and look towards the floor. I inhale deeply, but oxygen doesn't seem to reach my lungs. I try again, but it only upsets me. My vision is beginning to blur; my throat feels constricted; the familiar sounds of Ladies' room chatter disintergrate steadily. I frantically turn on the tap and splash some cold water on my face. I close my eyes and try to placate my racing heart. "Calm down....and you'll be able to breathe again. Just don't panic and you'll be fine..." I glance at the lady standing to my left through the mirror. She's around 25, shoulder length blonde hair, dressed in a black lace, corset-like top and hipsters, which show off her navel ring. She's applying a fresh coat of mascara, and once she's done, she closes her eyes for a few seconds to allow it to dry. When she opens her eyes, I'm still staring at her. She gives me half a smile and walks out gracefully. I turn my eyes to my own reflection. My skin looks years older than it is. The foundation has remained intact in patches; for the most part, it has completely vanished. Bits of eye-liner stand upright below my lashes while the only traces of eye-shadow are random bits of glitter that now adorn my entire face. Under a facade of blow-dried perfection, my hair is sticky with perspiration. I open my handbag and take out the neccessary to fix myself up. I start with wiping my face with a damp tissue, removing all the dying make-up. Then, I re-beautify my eyes, rub some lip gloss, cock my head to the right and look at myself one last time before I leave.

deja vu? | jamais vu?