Choreomania

I love hosting parties until the party comes. I love the planning, the decorating, the perfect curating of the never-ending playlist, poring over who to invite and who to tactfully leave out. Then the first person walks in the door (right on time, who the hell even does that) and I’m like, oh crap. And I can’t even leave, because it’s my house.

I say house, but it’s a surprisingly large two bedroom- I moved in a few weeks ago, and I’m waiting for the catch. All of the rooms are separated from one another, and I have a loft (!!!) above the living area and a full kitchen. And, the rent isn’t atrocious, so, you know. A steal.

My roommate, Hannah, wanted to have a house-warming party. She’s charmingly old fashioned like that. She’s also charmingly type B, so I did all of the planning, which is fine! I love planning, like I said.

But anyway, the first person walks in and I’m like, oh crap. Not just cause it’s my ex’s (the big ex, the one Hannah has threatened to castrate multiple times) sister, but because she’s here at 8 PM sharp and I’m not even ready. Hannah comes out in a whirl of A Thousand Wishes body mist and the coconutty scent of her self tanner, air kissing Lucy on both cheeks. Hannah and I are not the kind of people to outcast the siblings of an ex, and Lucy makes a very good buffalo chicken dip.

“Are you ready to dance till you drop, hoe?”

            Lucy shrugs the best she can with her casserole dish resting on her elbows.“I dunno, is it that kind of house party? I brought cards against humanity.”

            “Yeah it’s that kind of party.” With a swish of blonde hair, Hannah turns to me. “Polly, are you wearing that?”

 “No. I still have to shower.”

            “Very classy, leaving me to greet everyone.” I glower at her. “I’m kidding! Go, go! I’m gonna put on the shared playlist.”

            So I go. I have a grand internal debate about shaving, then I shave every single square inch of my body below the neck. I steal from Hannah’s extensive collection of perfume, and drench myself in the muddled scents of cherry blossoms and tangerines. When I leave the bathroom, my nail polish is peeling and my fingers are pruned.

It’s 9 when I finally make my way downstairs- No one has made it up the loft, thanks to a sign Hannah put up earlier, but sprawled across the living room, are ghosts of Christmas past, present and future. One in particular is the big ex.

            Will is the kind of guy that thinks of himself as irresistible to women. He’s read “Come As You Are”,  his wardrobe is almost exclusively vintage, he carries around a tote bag, and he’s generally just beautiful. Curly brown hair styled into a mullet, sleepy hazel eyes under silver framed glasses, and really nice teeth. The worst part is, he knows it. He spots me and gives a lazy five, black nail painted finger wave. I hate him. I turn to pretend not to have noticed, but he calls out.

“Polly! Hey, c’mere.”

            “Hi.”

“Sit down, sit down.”

            “I’m gooood, I just finished getting ready. I should say hi to everyone else.”

 “Yeah? You look gorgeous. You dyed your hair, right?”

            “Yeah.”

            “Psycho red looks good on you, Pol. Honestly.”

            “Don’t say that, Will. It’s misogynistic.”

“Right, you’re right. Sorry.”

Raul, our friend, leans over. His frosted tips need toning, but otherwise, Raul is a good guy.

            “Hey, lady! Is this guy bothering you?”

            Will shoves him with a curt laugh. “Nah, just bantering. Right?”            “Define bantering.”

            Raul gasps. “Biiiiiitch! Your hair looks so good!”

            “Thanks.”

Will rolls his eyes. I make my rounds. Most of these people are Hannah’s friends, but there are a few people I’m cool with who I can chat with to avoid Will. Around 10, I spot him talking with Naomi. Acrylic nails wrap around his elbow, and her braids hit him with every head swinging laugh she makes. He’s not even that funny. I actually really like Naomi, but I hope she dies at this moment in time. A chin is tucked over my shoulder, and from her earlier scent mixing with a new musk, I can tell it’s Hannah.

“I didn’t think Lucy would invite him.”

I turn to face her. Her mascara is already flaking beneath bloodshot eyes, and her words are slurring. Jesus, Hannah.

She gives a too wide grin. “People are really liking the playlist!”

“Oh, nice. I wasn’t sure.”

“Yerrrp. Everyone’s like ‘Hannah! Love the 80s vibe’ and I’m like ‘Thank Polly! She’s bringing it back!’”

I keep watching Naomi rest her head on Will’s shoulder. Ugh. “Is it bad that I think Will looks kinda hot? I’m kind of feeling the wifebeater.”

Hannah deadpans. “Shut up. Yes. That man is evil. He SUCKS. He is the reason I don’t trust men with female best friends.”

I don’t think he actually likes her- Will has always preferred to be chased. “I know. I feel bad though, it’s not like he really cheated-”

“Emotional cheating… is still cheating.”

“I guess.”

“Let me make you a cherry bomb.”

One thing about Hannah, she is a master mixologist. Love Shack by the B-52’s starts playing, and as I throw my head back to drink, lights swim and I feel better already.

Until I don’t, and I’m scooping the remains of buffalo chicken dip out of Lucy’s crock pot with my bare fingers up in the loft. Raul is dancing below, wild and thrashing. Everyone else is generally shimmying and gyrating, but Raul is untethered, barely even following the cowbelled rhythm  of the song. Is Love Shack repeating? It feels like it’s been on for over 10 minutes.

Will comes up the stairs, and blanks me as I stare at him, licking the dip off my index. We burst out laughing at the same time.

“You’re so weird, Polly.”

“Screw off! Tell Lucy to just give me the recipe.”

“It’s my Mom’s Super Bowl Sunday special, no shot. You’ll have to marry in.”

“Shut up. The loft is off limits, by the way. There was a sign.”

            Will holds up a box of menthols.  “I just want to get to the balcony. May I?”

            “Sure, if you give me one.” I haven’t smoked since we’ve broken up. Will nods, and after washing my hands I join him out there.

It’s cool outside, almost chilly. The sparks of the lighter bathe him in a warm glow, and he has never looked more beautiful. After a puff, I cough, hacking. Graciously, Will remains quiet.

            He looks over through lidded eyes.  “You really do look good.”

            “You couldn’t have said this while we were together?” It feels like I've pushed a sharpened pencil through stretched saran wrap, snapping the tension and acknowledging we broke up and furthermore, we were in love once.

“I should have told you every day how beautiful you are.”

         “Right, but you were telling Cassie how you would date her if you were single.” Cassie. Another beautiful woman I felt like I had to defend Will from.

“I don’t even talk to her anymore. Nothing happened after we broke up.”

“That sucks, then.” I hate maintaining this cold, above it all attitude. I just want to break down and cry and scream and hit his chest with my fists and shove him off the balcony. I feel my voice break when I ask;

 “Why did you come?”

“I really missed you.”

            “I wasn’t even a good girlfriend.” I really wasn’t. Picking fights is a guilty pleasure of mine.

            “I don’t even care, you’re perfect.”

            I bury my face in my hands, and Will comes over and hugs me, putting out his cigarette. It’s a cold comfort, being in his arms again. Sort of like a parent yelling at you for breaking curfew. Caring with an edge.

We stand there, swaying, until he lifts my face up to his and kisses me. Hannah is going to kill me, but I throw my arms around his neck and kiss him back. He tastes like smoky spearmint and foreseeable regret. Knowing Will, I’m glad I shaved. He breaks away with a chuckle, thumbing over my lips, his own red and swollen.

            “Why is your mouth spicy?”

“Huh? Oh, I’m wearing plumping lip gloss. Sorry.”

He shakes his head, laughing. Diving back in, he goes for my throat. I stare at the stars, or rather, lack of them. No clouds, no light, and from this angle, I can’t see the moon. Just inked sky and the sound of Will’s lips meeting my skin, and for a bit I can’t remember if my eyes are closed or not.

 We lean against the balcony railing, necking for a bit, until I hear ‘Tin roof, rusted!’ for the 5th recallable time that night.

“Do you hear that?”

“Mm?’

“I think Love Shack is playing for like, the fifth time.”

“Nah, it’s like November Rain, it’s a long song. C’mere.” He leans in again, inching his fingers toward my waistband, but I gently push him off.

“Why would someone be playing Love Shack again?”

He traces my collarbone with his finger. “Why not? You’re overthinking it.”

Those familiar words push me past him and away from the railing. God, I can’t believe I was letting him touch me.

            I barely hear him huff a sigh (that I know is paired with an eye roll) over the blaring music, even behind the glass door. We’re definitely going to get noise complaints- why hasn’t Hannah turned the music down? She hates being that kind of neighbor. I fling open the door and I can literally feel the pressuring waves of sound. I jog down the stairs.

Everyone is dancing now, glistening with sheens of sweat, droplets flicking off at random intervals. Naomi and Lucy are grinding relentlessly, which is kind of crazy- Lucy has always seemed so… straight laced. She politely sits out dance marathons on a normal night, but she’s throwing it back on Naomi like it’s her last day on Earth. Hannah is doing the cabbage patch so fast it looks like she’s being sped up, and Raul is still dancing like he’s possessed, even more so now. And no one is on beat.

“What the hell is going on?!” I yell over to Will. His fingers are plugged in his ears, and he has to squint to read my lips. He gives an ‘I don’t know’ sort of gesture. Useless. I shoulder through the throng to reach Hannah, shaking her.

“Hannah!”

She squeals, stopping twirling long enough to drag me along in her orbit. She leans in and plants one directly on my nose, all while gyrating. “Babe! Where have you been?!”

“Hannah! Hannah, why the hell is the music so loud?!” We’re both screaming.

“Whaaat?”

“Why is the music so- ugh! Nevermind!”

“Byeeeee!”

I scootch through the crowd, edging towards our oversized speakers, thrumming with every note. Screw it, I just have to unplug them. I don’t care if everyone gets mad.

I crawl on my hands and knees, unable to move the table away from the outlet. Someone’s high heel goes directly between my knuckles, and I yelp in pain. I push further, my nails grazing the plug, fingertips finding purchase, I pull- and it’s out!

The music doesn’t stop.

“What the…?” I must look like a madwoman among madwomen, muttering incoherently, on my hands and knees in a frenzied crowd.  Strong hands pull me up from the floor and spin me around. Will.

“Will, I’m freaking out- I unplugged the speakers and the music is still playing!” I’m still screaming.

“Are you sure it was the right plug?”

“The speakers are the only thing plugged in back there!”

Will shrugs, taking my hands and guiding them around his neck. They hang like dead weight in his hands. “I’m sure you unplugged something unrelated- you know how houses have a ton of switches in the breaker.”

His metaphor makes no sense. I try to pull away, but he snakes his hands around my waists and tugs me closer.

“Will, I am not kidding, I’m really scared.”

He puts his hands over my ears, muffling the music. When he talks, I can hear the vibrations through his palms. “Don’t worry. Dance with me for a few songs, and I’ll figure it out afterward, okay?”

I’m still worrying. But something about Will’s cologne on his wrist is calming- he’s worn the same one throughout our entire relationship. I’ve spent eons cradled between his hands, trying to discern the different notes while he tells me sweet nothings. It is a sweet scent, of roses, pears yet with a dark undercurrent of something spicy. I can still smell it beneath the heat of the room. It smells like love, it smells like home.

“Just a few songs, okay?”

He smiles, and it is all I see before he kisses me again. He still tastes like Will.

It has been minutes, seconds, months, hours, years, since Will has asked me to dance. I can’t even see him in the crowd as I shimmy against Hannah, who shrieks with laughter and does the same to me. When I turn to her again, she slumps against me and her tongue invades my mouth. I don’t know who initiated the kiss, but I trace her molars with my own. She breaks away, drool running down her chin, and turns to Raul, doing the same thing. Raul takes it a step further and licks her cheek. I feel like I am going to throw up my own stomach from laughing.

Will dances through the crowd to us, grinning. Naomi literally throws herself on him, rubbing against him like he’s a pole. Or something. He reciprocates, lifting her up and twirling her around.

I am not to be ignored. I bump Naomi out of the way with my hip and jump up on Will, wrapping my legs around his waist. I feel something fall out of my back pocket, but it is quickly forgotten as Will twirls me around and dips me down to the ground. My world goes upside down, becoming the floor and people’s calves. I gasp for breath, giggling. I hear a crack, and an “oops!” Someone has stepped on my phone, creating a fiberglass crater. My phone, which has been playing music through the speakers.

I feel like I’ve just been doused in ice water. I wriggle out of Will’s grip, falling ass down on the floor. I get up, dragging my hands up my body and swinging my hips. I try to keep my elbows  at my sides, but I can’t- my arms cannot stop moving. Neither can my legs, or my shoulders, or my-

My muscles are spasming, and they won’t stop. Broken from ecstasy, I look down at my feet and choke. My feet have bled through my white sneakers, red petals blooming at the heel and toes. A quick glance at the rest of the partygoers reveals the same thing. Blood is pooling in heels and soaking through socks, and it doesn’t show any signs of stopping.

I can feel every nerve stand at attention and it feels as though they are splitting like hair. I gasp and heave in exhaustion. How can everyone else keep dancing?

“Will!” I scream out the best I can. My throat feels like I swallowed sandpaper. He can’t hear me, or maybe he ignores me, jumping around with his arms outstretched, eyes closed and facing the ceiling.

I catch Raul in my peripherals. Tears I didn’t see before are streaming down his face and his skin is blotchy with popped blood vessels. He coughs, spitting out red.

“Raul, Raul!” I make my way over to him and try to hold him up with limbs that won’t stop moving. He starts to slump, his knees buckling. His jeans are wet from the crotch down, and blood crawls up his socks like vines. My arms can’t support him, and he tumbles to the ground. He gives a few more quakes, then stops moving entirely.

I gasp as the sun rises, and a shock realization washes over me. This isn’t the first sunrise I’ve seen tonight. I can only scream.

“Someone! Someone, please help us!”

The bloodshot, unblinking eyes bore into my soul as I wail. The speaker sputters a sharp “put!put!put!” and blows out.

Without the blare, I can hear our door being pounded on. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before- the doorframe is cracked, white paint webbing from the force on the door. Underneath, I can pick out wheezing gasps and labored cries, not in any discernible language, all animalistic and wounded.

The door is released from its hinges, but there’s a struggle to push past the barricade of people. The door flips up, knocking Lucy in the jaw and to the floor, and firemen bottleneck into the apartment.

I grunt for help, but it is whisked away in the chaos. I shimmy over towards the fireman and try to grab one's arm.

“Please! Help, help me!”

I grasp at his steely shoulder, trying to shake him. He starts to shout at me, telling me not to touch him, and jerks me off. I magnet towards him again, but this time, he grabs my hips.

“What the-” he starts twirling me around, just like Will did.

“Put me down, put me down!” I try to claw at his hands, but my own spasm. He spins me more, eyes glazed over and glassy,  his stubbly face is stretched out in a painful smile. He brings me to him to start some sort of waltz, where I bite the junction of his neck and shoulder, tearing skin.

The fireman staggers backwards into his comrades, all dancing too. One is tangoing with Lucy, jaw loose and hanging, while another does the worm like his life depends on it. The original fireman lets his neck bleed out as he does a jerky rendition of the robot.

We’re screwed. I can see past the doorway now, and my landlord, crotchety and stiff as a board, wiggles around, mouth slack. The stampede of dancing feet extends beyond Hannah and I’s apartment, starting to pulsate throughout the entire building. I am so, so, tired.

I shuffle around to the window, where a little girl and her father grand jeté across the road.  My neck hurts, so I let it drop. I just want to die, to stop the pain, to stop the ache.

A pair of skinny arms wrap around my waist, and a nose nuzzles my neck. Beneath salt and sweat and iron, I smell roses and pears.

“Dance with me?”

I have no choice. I slump into his arms like a ragdoll, but is it so terrible?

There is something nice about having no control.