Small disasters

Friday Night Smelled Like Hairspray and Small Disasters #

Tonight confirmed my theory that teenagers should not be left unsupervised near mirrors for extended periods. There was a birthday party for someone from school and the entire evening smelled like hairspray, perfume, cigarettes borrowed badly, and panic. Girls spent nearly two hours getting ready to look “casual.” H. wore black eyeliner and immediately became emotionally more powerful than half the room. Erick arrived late looking perfectly composed as usual and spent the first ten minutes quietly judging everyone’s shoes. Then he leaned toward me and whispered: “Straight boys think gel counts as personality.”

Cruel.

The music was terrible in cycles. One good song every twenty minutes followed by emotional suffering. People danced anyway because teenagers will perform almost anything under colored lights. At one point a couple started arguing near the kitchen in whispers intense enough for everybody nearby to stop breathing socially. Meanwhile another girl cried in the bathroom because someone she liked flirted with someone else for approximately twelve seconds. Honestly adolescence is just small disasters wearing lip gloss. By midnight everybody looked tired and overheated and strangely vulnerable. Makeup fading. Hair collapsing. Boys pretending drunken wisdom after one beer. I kind of loved it though. There’s something honest about people becoming messy together.

.FRIDAY NIGHT.
Remember me,
Eclipse