80s Revolution

Back in time. My kind of style. Bare shoulders. Asymmetrical crop tops. Neon colors. Workout gear without the work. Shorts that glow in the dark. Every face in spotlight cos at that time everyone was a star. Truly, truly outrageous.

Everybody's dancing. It's only 8:30 p.m. Maybe it’s the Triple sec, maybe it's the guitar rift. I swore I wouldn't go to Long Island to quench my thirst. But what the hell, you're only born once a decade.

Everyone's dancing. A tool skirt in converse. Denim vests and butterfly belts. Black stockings. Lime green leg warmers. A boxy auntie rocks out at right angles. So she thinks she can dance. She smiles, touches my shoulder, and I cheer her on.

I wanna move but I need room to spin. Dancing like a queen requires caution. Hopefully, this time, I won't break up a marriage. I move through the rhythm, swaying in my seat as I cut my salmon. Whitney comes on and I wanna dance with somebody. I look to my guy, swaying, smiling and singing along. He comes alive here. It reminds me why we go where we go, why do what we do, even if it keeps us from keeping up with the fabulous folk. I match his rhythm and he becomes my somebody.

I can't hear myself think. I can't hear myself think? I can't hear myself think! The bass hijacks me, Morse code sent directly to my soul. I feel colors now. Electric yellow. Purple rain. Magenta Lime. The bluest of blues.

We got the beat. We don't stop believing. One more song. Encore!