What happens when you can't even recognize your own parents, but you're able to identify the most notorious playboy in school? //
Asher Thomas lives in a world where she isn't able to recognize people's faces, including those of her parents and even...
Sometime later, Aaron is kneeling beside me. He is waking me up. His hands are on my shoulders, softly shaking. "Up, up," he prods.
Groggily, I let him lift me up and dust the sand from my hair. I slip my toes into my flip flops and grab my unopened Coke, and let him lead the way.
"You haven't had the time of your life yet," Aaron announces. "And right now, I'm going to change that."
"You've changed a lot of things," I speculate. Aaron is heading to the Quilt. Aaron is heading to the music.
"Good things, I hope," he responds, waiting for me to catch up. I shrug one shoulder, hugging my Coke bottle close. "Some," I say.
By now, the Quilt is packed. The vibrant colors are barely visible from the sea of feet, all jumping and dancing and having the time of their lives. Beating the blanket into the earth, not only with their toes, but with their voices. The crowd is a ruckus – singing, yelling, laughing. Aaron's people. Not my people.
Night has fallen, and the only light is from the torches and lanterns. The illumination makes the party look as if it's still daytimw. Colored spotlights are attached to the palm trees, washing the dance floor into a mess of pink, blue, yellow, and green.
Aaron pivots to me, bending at the waist. "May I have this dance?" He asks. Majestic. He flourishes a hand towards me, palm to the sky. An invitation. A beginning.
"Of course, kind sir," I chide, placing my fingers in his. With a crooked grin, he whisks me onto the Quilt.
People part to let Aaron through, and within seconds, we're in the center of the floor. We're meshed together with other bodies, skin on skin and shouts next to my ear, alive and excited, far from what I've been for the past few weeks. Aaron takes my Coke bottle and shakes it up, then pops open the cap and holds it above the crowd. People let out excited screams as the soda begins to foam from the opening, running down Aaron's arm and landing on nearby heads. "You're going to regret that," I say loudly, barely hearing myself over the tremble of music. Aaron laughs, thrusting the bottle towards me. "Lick my arm off?"
I roll my eyes, but many other girls have already stepped in. Within moments, Aaron's bicep is as clean as it was before, much to my disgust. It's so absurd that all I can do is laugh aloud, Aaron playfully flexing his arm – much to the approval of all the girls (and some boys).
The rest of the night passes in a blur. The spotlights are blinding, but vision is unnecessary. I can feel the beat of the music like electricity through my bones, small jolts running down my body. I'm not sure how healthy the volume is for my head, but at this point, I wouldn't dream of going back to the water and napping with my empty Coke bottle. This here – this mass of people, shouting and cheering, drinking up the music like wine ... it's intoxicating. They sucked me in, and I have no intention of making an escape.
The night flits from Aaron to people – strangers and someone I can recognize, back and forth, back and forth. I wish there would be continuous motion, but it's jagged. However, this isn't new to me.
After my fifth bottle of Cola, I tell Aaron my bladder's about to burst. "I need to piss," I say loudly, but those who notice only cheer and laugh. Everyone's drunk, and everyone doesn't mind me.
Without hesitation, Aaron grabs my hand. "I know the perfect spot," he yells back.
Moments later, we are at our destination: a few bushes.
"Exactly what I was hoping for," I drawl, stumbling in my effort to reach the shrubs. Behind the bushes, I rip down my shorts and still myself for the first time in hours. My head spins, a small throb blossoming in the back of my head.
"Not tonight," I mutter, zipping up my pants after relieving myself. I wander away from my piss, lying down in the soft sand and closing my eyes. My chest rises rapidly with anticipation for the pain that will ensue, nerves haywire. I still every inch of my body, forcefully slowing down my breath. I imagine that my head is in Aaron's lap, and his fingers are in my hair. His hum is soft and angelic, and he is willing the pain to leave before it has even begun.
It works.
A few minutes after my breath slows, the faint throb has vanished. Breathing a sigh of relief, I run back to Aaron, hoping he won't ask questions. As suspected, he doesn't.
He's waiting for me, hands in his pockets. Not staring back at the party, but staring at the waves.
"Sorry," I say, running up to him.
"I don't want to know about it," Aaron responds, making a face.
I roll my eyes, linking my elbows with his. He stares down at our connection, lips tilting. "Want to get out of here?"
"Most definitely," I say.
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