Glitter Rain

Now I’m twenty-five staring up at the sky in an empty field with a mouth full of glitter. It’s midnight now and it was midnight when I first arrived on this earth. Unwanted and brave. Unexpected and slight. My heart is beating through my hands, which are still welded to the metal barricade. I came here alone. I came here and got exactly what I wanted. So, why do I feel so empty? 

     I sense a trickle like blood weaving down my leg making its own sad, little stream. It’s the only thing I can feel besides my melancholy. But I can hear vividly the sharp crunch of plastic bottles under combat boots. I can smell weed, cigarettes and sweat suspended in the humid air. The voices of my generation buzzing towards the festival’s exit fills me with dread because the dream is officially over. If I move now the feeling will leave me forever and I’m not ready for the long walk to the overcrowded train station then the lonely walk back to my cramped apartment. The birthday cake I ordered is left waiting for me to consume it whole. No fork, no plate, just a mouth full of sugary, vanilla glitter.

   I slowly unravel one hand from the barricade. My fingers pop and ache with cold resistance. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and off comes a patch of shimmery, red glitter. I wipe my mouth and gold glitter flakes flutter in the wind. I’ve yet to turn around, to see just how empty the field is now that the show is over. Strobe lights still flash across the stage and music plays faintly from somewhere I cannot see. I wonder where the performers go after shows. Do they feel the same kind of loneliness when the show is over? Doubt it, considering their schedule is filled with destinations from Dubai to Alabama. Millions of people just like me waiting and yearning to feel something greater than themselves. 

“Hey! You coming?” I hear a voice, soft yet full and startlingly close. 

I don’t even turn around. My right hand is still glued to the barricade. My boots slowly sink into the dying grass clumped with mud and colorful confetti. I’m surprised it took security this long to notice me. Or maybe they’ve been keeping an eye on me from a safe distance hoping I would leave on my own and waiting until the last possible moment to coax me out of the festival. 

“Yeah.” I say without turning around. 

I close my eyes and absorb the last drops of this catharsis and tenderly release my right hand from the barricade. I shrug my shoulders tight against my ears and let them drop bracing myself to continue the rest of my night alone. 

“I know it’s hard. I’m the same way.” The voice is louder now but still soft and whimsical. 

“Why does it have to end?” I ask, staring back at the ghostly, empty stage.

 “ I don’t mean the festival itself but the feeling? Like, where does it even come from in the first place and why can’t I find it anywhere else?” my voice comes out fast, warbled and dry. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and more red glitter flecks fly. I should have turned around a longtime ago. The moment I heard the voice I should have looked them in the eye, smiled assuredly and walked off. 

     I let my eyes fall from the sky, to the stage and then rest upon my muddied boots. At one point they were shiny and red now they had faded to a brownish hue, their sheen gone forever. A red solo cup flies into the metal barricade and lands stiff into the sea of festive trash. I watch it fly as a pair of iridescent boots glisten in my periphery. Just as worn and faded as mine but connected to scarred legs peeking through blue fishnets. I let my eyes wander all the way up to their face which is painted so divinely with vibrant purples and shimmering blues. The colors are so skillfully blended I marvel at the artistry and wonder how long it took them to do it. I imagine what my face might look like to them but quickly realize I don’t care. 

“It doesn’t have to end.” They shrug and I almost roll my eyes because of course it has to end. 

“Time continues on and we have to go to work the next day and hold onto whatever memories we made and just hope that we can one day feel that good again or at least something close to it. It all has to end sometime.” It’s my turn to shrug. I kick up a solo cup, then watch it slap against the barricade before landing lamely in a discarded basket of what may have been cheese fries. It’s overwhelming to think that this is what is left of this moment. Crusty, lumpy cheese fries. 

“We should go.” Their eyes sparkle, soaking me in, inviting me in. I glance over the field for the first time since the performance started. People are still shuffling out of the exits as the cleanup crew begins to wade through the sea of garbage. The scene looks like the aftermath of an apocalypse. The sky is dark and the clouds are hanging so low I swear I could touch them. The air is misty and languid and smells like a rainstorm is swiftly approaching.

 I reason that I have to leave before the weather turns, so I stare up at the stage one more time before looking down at the iridescent boots and say, “ Sure.” We both have to leave the same way anyhow. Having someone to walk with actually sounds nice. 

     We walk in silence for most of the journey, stepping with knees high, hopping over anything that looks like it will stick to the bottom of our boots and hitch a ride home. I don’t know their name and they don’t know mine. I think it’s strange to have come to a festival alone and meet someone who appears to be equally alone. I wonder if they are lonely too. I open my mouth to ask their name but immediately change my mind. It’s my birthday and I deserve a bit of mystery. 

     We finally reach the exit and find three cops and a couple security guards sitting on barstools talking loudly about the outrageous number of potholes littering the city. They barely acknowledge us as we float past them and out on the sidewalk, which is sprinkled with a few straggling festival goers mixed with the locals walking dogs and strolling hand in hand with their partners.

     We both awkwardly stand side by side before facing each other. Our hands brush together for a second as we find a comfortable distance to stand and say our goodbyes. 

     As soon as I stretch a polite smile across my face, preparing for the natural next step, they brush past me heading in the opposite direction of the train. I guess I should have figured it could go like this. We don’t even know each other so why would we need to say goodbye? I begin to walk off towards the station when I hear the same question that got me in this situation in the first place. 

“Hey! You coming?” They smile at me and extend their hand for me to take. I look in the direction of the station, then back to them. My confusion must be blatant because they burst into laughter. The type of laugh where your head falls back and mouth hangs open like a cheesy stock photo. 

“Where would we go?” I have to be smart about this. I don’t know who this person is, let alone their name. For all I know they could be luring me to a deadend where an unmarked car sits waiting for us. 

“To the after party!” They answer back as if I should have already known this after party was happening and that I would be attending it. But I haven’t gone to a party since I graduated college two years ago. And even then I attended parties out of feeling obligated to groups of friends I don’t even speak to now.  

     I quickly reason that I have a couple options. I could go home and eat an entire vanilla cake alone or I could follow this stranger, whose name I don’t know, to an undisclosed location and possibly get murdered.

“Alright. Let’s go. ” I say because the choice feels like exactly what I need. It’s my birthday and I think I deserve a little adventure too. 

     Somehow we end up walking hand in hand down the street. The mist is much thicker and looks a lot like glitter. The tiny droplets sway under the hazy street lights as lightning strikes in the distance. Our hands swing gingerly back and forth and it feels like we’ve been doing this for years. There’s something about them that makes this feel so natural, though I still don’t know their name and asking at this point feels like a different kind of invasive. So for now, I will privately call them Iridescent. I wipe at the dew on my face and a handful of red glitter flakes off. I look up at the sky, then at Iridescent and wonder how their makeup hasn’t the slightest smudge. Everything about them looks perfectly placed and statuesque.  

“We’re here.” Iridescent releases my hand and I immediately feel saddened by the absence of touch. About a block away I see what looks like a swirling vortex of glitter. I squint and try to see something different. I imagined a house or an abandoned lot with people milling about drinking cheap beer and belting 2000s pop music but instead I see what looks like a portal. A glittery, red and gold portal pulsing like a heartbeat. I look back the way we came and notice the street ahead and behind us is empty except for a middle aged man walking his dog in the opposite direction. No one is around to witness this phenomenon or to tell me I have made a terrible mistake in trusting this random person to take me to some party that isn’t even real.

 The magical mix of colors seems to brighten as we walk closer. But if I was afraid before I don’t feel it now. Something about this feels right. Like arriving home after a long day of surviving; finally undisturbed, finally at peace. 

     We stand side by side facing the portal. This time I reach for Iridescent’s hand and squeeze tight. They look over at me and we both laugh uncontrollably. For what, I don’t know, but we laugh until tears fall, until we no longer understand the difference between laughing and crying. 

“You ready?” They rub their thumb into my palm and stare straight into the portal. Its colors thumping and circling, inviting us to take the leap. I know I have never been more ready for anything. I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand and off comes an assortment of colorful glitter flecks. They dance in the air, mixing and mingling with the misty world. 

I nod my head and prepare myself to enter what I know is more than a party. It’s the emergence of a new reality. One where I am not alone, where joy and pleasure is neverending . I can hear the rhythm of the same band that I watched play at the festival singing out to me. They are calling for me to join, to dance in the glitter. 

Iridescent leans into me until our shoulders touch and something like electricity jolts through my body and energizes me. 

“Happy birthday.” 

And so we leap with our hands interwoven and hearts full. 

We land amongst the glitter, right at the center of our happiness.