Who cares?

As I walk in the door of a stranger’s home, I wonder why I am here. I hate parties. All those bodies shoved together in a small space, moving to music so loud my ears cry; it makes me want to curl up in a ball in my huge bed at home. Then my friend Billie shouts at who I assume is the host with a smile fattening her cheeks and I snap out of my amnesia. I am here because she begged me to come with her. When she told me about the party, her leg bounced with excitement. What else could I do but grin and agree? 

Parties and I do not agree. I went to a party once, but my boyfriend at the time ended up spiking another girls drink. Instead of fighting with him about it, I told her and took her home. Since then I prefer to take a trip up a mountain, sit cross-legged on a mossy rock interrupting a raging creek, and take pictures on my little disposable camera. At least on a mountain, the worst that could happen is you fall in a stream or get bit by a squirrel. At a party, you have to socialize with a bunch of people you have never met before, you need to be careful not to get too friendly while not being mean lest either of them gets you hurt. If someone takes your body language the wrong way you could get hit or hit on. 

    Billie leads me by my pinkie finger through the humans who shift and wiggle together, all moving as one to the sound of thumping music. The tall man we follow stops to speak to a couple who seem to be ignoring him. I force a smile and cast it toward my best friend. She squeezes my finger a little bit harder in excitement as we begin moving again. When we make it to the kitchen, Billie bids farewell to the host and starts to bounce up and down beside me. I bob my head to a cacophony of sounds I have never heard before, pretending to enjoy the party. 

           At last, "Low" comes on and I can finally put on a real smile. My hips shift and bump against Billie's, and my torso twists and elongates in a smooth rhythm. Dozens of other people dance and sway around us, each one stopping to smile or grind with us. After a while I begin to actually enjoy myself. 

           Somewhere in my mind, uncertainty simmers. What am I doing? Why am I doing the one thing I said I would never do? Anyone could grab you right now, anyone could take Billie out back, one of you could end up drugged on the side of the road. All these concerns dance in their own party in my subconscious, waiting for their chance to strike me with an anxiety attack. At the moment, however, I do not care. 

           Suddenly someone I do not know grabs my waist. I swing around with my fist up, about to collide with a narrow nose. He ducks out of the way just in time to knock a woman into her boyfriend, who then gets mad. I swear that steam billows out of the boyfriend's ears as he maneuvers his girl behind him. The one who grabbed me looks up into the brown eyes of an angry protector, and he shrinks in on himself. 

            He throws his hands up in an attempt to defend against the muscular man whose girlfriend was now yelling. It ends up being too late, and a couple of seconds later the offender is put out on the front porch. In the midst of the chaos, Billie and I get ourselves some drinks. I pour some Pepsi into a glass with a dash of whiskey, and Billie has vodka. Usually I prefer to stay sober in the presence of strangers, but the excitement from the party is finally catching up to me. When I start having fun, there is almost nothing that can bring me down. 

           A slow number comes on, Boyz II Men by the sounds of it, so Billie and I take the opportunity to finish our drinks. By the time the song is over, we feel a lot happier, the man who grabbed me almost forgotten. The possibility of it happening again does not cross my mind. Besides who cares? We are all having fun anyway. I pull Billie into the living room where most of the people are gathered. 

           The room is hot, but somewhere in my mind a voice is saying that is fine. Besides, people lose weight when they are sweating, right? I push any fun-killing thoughts out of my brain and begin moving. My hands swing with Billie's, my feet patter on the carpeted floor, and my hips flow side to side. The happiness of dancing with my best friend engulfs me. 

           The next song is faster, with beat drops and shattering bass. The rhythm hums through me and I begin to dance with other people as well. Girls, boys, even a dog (do not ask me whose it is, because I have no clue). Tens of people laugh, talk, and sing around me while I move my body however it feels nice. I forget what the party is for; just what we are celebrating is out of reach. That does not matter though, because people are around me, hyping me up, dancing with me. I jump up and down with everyone else, smiling and having a great time. 

           I wake up in the morning with Billie sleeping on the floor of my bedroom. A yawn invades my waking up, and I shuffle my way to the kitchen for some breakfast. Searching through some cupboards and my fridge, I remember last night. Looking back at the events and the people that were there, I should have been more careful. But then again, who cares about being safe when you are having fun? You only live once. I dig into some cereal with a smile on my face.