Bam. Just like that.

Friday night. Kiki and I, spirits soaring, drive up Port Republic Road. With Jimmy Johns Vegetarian subs in our laps and Burnetts riding in the back sat covered by the ominous paper bag, what could possible go wrong? The promise of another crazy weekend was surely in store.



We scarf down our sandwiches in nearly record timing as we sit "Indian style" at my toque wood kitchen table. As i heaved my sandwich in my mouth, i wondered how many Jimmy Johns sandwiches had been eaten at that same table this semester. No matter now...



As we wash down our subs, we lightly whisk ourselves to my closet where the fashion show begins. On such a night as this (no particularly special night at all) we needed to look, as some would say: "hot". We giggle, and squeal at the various wardrobe combinations sprawled out on my living room floor before us as if we were children gazing into the window of a candy shop. We, as women do, compliment each other on each and every outfit that is put on, boosting each other's self esteem with each gratifying comment.

After our hours of primping, prodding, tweezing, and applying all of our silly makeup, we looked in the mirror, feeling like 'a million bucks'. Then, come the sister shots... with Lil' Wayne as our personal entertainer for the evening, we began laughing, throwing back pomegranate flavored vodka from Tye-dye shot glasses. I consciously laugh at myself as Kiki teases me for my need of a Diet Coke chaser... She always was tougher than I...The night was, as to be promised, filled with fun, friends, and dizzying dance sessions...So how did all that fun result in waking up at 5am shaking uncontrollably, skin, hot as molten lava, though feeling like i was freezing? Simple answer, my friends:



A lethal combination of pomegranate flavored burnettes, stress, lack of sleep, and poor sources of nutrition... this all boils down to one culprit...



college.

Indian Rocks

Soft barren feet

leave dusty tracks

in that once, so familiar place.

an echo resounds.

Head turning melodies in her mind take her back

to the vast ocean covered by a cool palet of brilliant blues and greens.

She plays, feels, floats, in its fairness.

grasping for what is not hers to share

White grape juice

and grilled cheese sandwhiches,

one thousand riches cannot compare.

An infinate, aching in her bones.

Longing

to return.



Her soft blonde hair fades in time,

whimsically, her white sun dress follows.

She searches

and searches for innocence lost

amongst optimism.



His eyes do not hold hers.

A death is evident.

Charades begin. Yet,

Hope lurches as a child to a raft.

Standing on bended knees,

from time to time.

She is free.