Hiding in plain sight

November 9, 2014

It’s 2:39 AM and I have just returned from my first college party.

It was almost exactly what you’d imagine a college party to be like, minus the beer and beer pong. A giant tub of jungle juice was being served out like punch instead and everyone had a red Solo cup. The music was bumping and it was dark, but just light enough to see flashes of faces. You could barely hear each other so it became a yelling match every time you tried to carry conversation. There was a slight odor of sweat that tinged the warm environment. To complete the set was a double lining of tarp that covered the carpet floor of the living room, wall to wall. Some people were in the kitchen and some in the living room, but eventually we all made it into the living room to play charades. When the occasional catchy beat started playing some jumped up to dance.

I laughed at my friends’ antics when they started their crazy dances and drank a bit because, after all, I am of age. I even danced a little. A boy  would occasionally  touch my shoulder or my arm affectionately, and eventually laced his fingers in mine when I went in for a high five, and didn’t let go. It didn’t last long because the next song would come on and he’d be a riot on the dance floor. And then I saw. This perception cut through the haze of the room and I saw clearly.

All this noise, all the clamor, and all the frenzy.
They are nothing more than distractions. It’s one huge cover up.

We turn off the lights and turn up the music because without it we wouldn’t be saying the things we say or doing the things we do. There’s a current in the air and one spark of a desire is all it takes to set the rest on fire. We create an environment that coaxes our most monitored urges out of their cages and set them loose. It’ll rip up inhibition, reason, and/or self-regard –anything in the way of its conquest to fulfill the pent up desires. We obey our flesh and indulge in the sickly sweet fruit of what we know is bad for us. What was black-and-white just blur together. He wouldn’t have tried to touch me in broad daylight. He wouldn’t dare eye me as just a body if the music wasn’t pounding.

I wouldn’t have allowed anyone to touch me that way because I don’t like being touched.
I would never have regarded his stature and build that way if I could just see his face.

Until this party I never really understood why people would hoot and holler, saying you needed to get “fucked up” tonight. As if it were a good thing. But I get it now. I felt it and I still feel it pulling me. “Wasn’t that fun? Didn’t that feel nice?” Wouldn’t it be nice to satisfy your most base, primal instincts, the ones set deep into your very genetic code? To be loved in every way? To be absolutely free. But I get it now.