You Are My Wildest Dream

Be My Translator?

The hotel room...

Embraces and smiles and wide eyes...

Tears flowing onto warm shoulders...

But, not the kind that follows a release of hurt, they're the kind expressing euphoria and the result of being slightly (very) tipsy. It's for good reason though—overjoyment. The attainment of a path. A path we have together now, even if it buys us just another week. My childhood lake house, the light Italian breeze, my girlfriend being with me and seeing it all now? Heaven.

After my mom's expected welcome to Hannah's drunken slip, we run off together back to the hotel temporarily to catch our breaths and celebrate our own win. It's a good thing the hotel is right around the corner from the restaurant, because we stumbled the entire way there. On the way, it's as if we forget what conversation just happened, because all is well and normal and guaranteed again; our lives fitting like a puzzle piece again. We laugh, hang onto each other, and point out the lizards running about the trees. Once we get to our room, we stumble through the doorway, and manage to mumble "plane tickets, now" in between sloppy make out sessions and laughing fits. We search up a flight to Lake Como for tomorrow and within just a few clicks: booked. Our plane, and us.

We sit on the bed and sober up a bit, then talk about some random details we haven't discussed yet; Hannah interrogates me in preparation.

"Okay, you have two dogs you said right? What are their names and breeds, please?"

I giggle and immediately reply to her questions.

"Carmela and Luigi. Two perfect french-bulldogs."

"Okay, the house is in Lake Como. How do you say "Lake Como" in Italian?"

"Lago di Como, baby."

"Okay, I can't meet your parents empty-handed. Do they like wine?"

"Well, technically, you won't be empty-handed... You'll have your luggage, your carry-on, and me..."

"ROWAN!"

"Yes, they like wine. Their blood is 20% grapes."

Hannah, now satisfied with her knowledge, tosses her head back into the pillow and breathes out with a smile, "I can't wait, Rowan, seriously. I can't wait." Happily, I get on top of her and straddle her body with my legs. I lean down and plant a faint kiss on her lips, "I can't wait either." I lift off of her lips as I remember the party still happening at the restaurant next door. "Hannah, THE PARTY. WE GOTTA GO BACK!" I spring up from the bed and reach behind me to grab her hand and pull her out of bed. She giggles as we sprint through the doorway, the hotel lobby, and out onto the street. I make a motorcycle noise with each turn we take, and it causes her to laugh even harder. Hand in hand, we run wild in the course desert air and thick moonlight glow.

As we catch our breaths, we arrive back at the restaurant and follow the path to the back again that's beginning to feel more and more like a best friend's own backyard; it's so familiar to us now as it's seen so many emotions, has a string of fairy lights in every corner, and that calming sense you get when you sit on the couch in the basement of your parent's house. Before we even open the gate, the thumping is already stronger than our heartbeats.

"Oh... my... god."

As we make our way in, we gasp for the millionth time tonight at what we see: Paris on the karaoke stage trying to pick out a song with her shoes off. "WHAT ARE WE BRINGING TO THE TABLE TONIGHT, GIRLS?" Paris yells out into the crowd of our crew who are all gathered around the stage like an actual concert. "KATY PERRY" someone yells out. "BLEACHERSSSSS" Erika screams as a counter-suggestion. "B...B... BRITNEY!" Hannah proclaims and jumps up and down, then quickly covers her mouth realizing what she just did; she fueled that damn fire real quick. Paris peaks out into the crowd to find who said it, then squints as she spots Hannah and I still at the gate. The rest of the crew erupts in cheers and howls at the suggestion, then someone calls out, "GIMME MORE." Paris, delighted at the attention, claps then whispers into the DJ's ear to confirm the song. The beat starts and Paris sings into the microphone, "IT'S BRITNEY, BITCH!" Paris performs Gimme More, and Hannah and I can't help but start dancing to her wasted singing.