A Teen’s Transition into the ‘20’s

Black sparkling gowns and sharp collared suits boogie on down the dance floor under
     purple red blue green
flashing lights, Thriller bouncing on their heels, then Baby Got Back, then when the
     Twist comes on
their hips wriggle to the beat, get low and shimmy up again, ankle to the knee to the waist
     arms swing in rhythm,
fingers snap! I watch from a chair made of twenty-five year old bones, my eyes drift
     from the dance floor
to three hovering balloons tethered to an empty wine bottle over each table where the
     few, too afraid to dance,
play Texas hold ‘em with candy. Tonight’s speakeasy is groovy, the deejay shouts, thank
     y’all for coming out.
Now let’s see if any of you remember this one. He puts on the Macarena and the crowd
     thins to only the few
dedicated fans left of Los Del Rio. The rest scramble for the wings and that’s when I
     stand and move.
It’s my job to make sure they don’t grow up too fast. I guard the bridge of time,
     slow it down
and speed it up. I watch the room for stragglers running behind velvet curtains, trying to
     experience their first...
unhook of suspenders, their first, rendezvous with a flapper. I want to yell, Slow down!
     Stop dancing so fast
into the future, you’ve only just discovered the past. But I know it won’t do much good, I
     remember the desire
to leap ahead, to strip off the cat’s pajamas, to grow faster than my skin. It was a quick
     jump when prohibition
ended and I was thrust onto the street by my parents. Sneaking a girl into the basement
     for an hour under
the covers became less of a forbidden fruit and more of an expensive date. But then
     again I’m free
and saved by the deejay distracting everyone back to the dance floor, playing
     the Black Eyed Peas.
Shake them silly bones kids, there’s not enough time to be young when you are.

*Note: the lines here are supposed to be short/long/short/long, this blog doesn't give enough width to correctly portray that. if you want to see the real deal, email me