It was late in the party. Dark and sweaty in the tiny room and flailing bodies pressing in when suddenly he appeared at my elbow.
“Hey, want to see something awesome?” He held up a huge, empty glass bottle. A manic grin and we headed for the door and then we were
Outside with the cool night air rushing in,
sprinting through front yards, stamping grass into mud clots,
splashing puddles out of the way,
skirt aswirl ’round my legs, leaping retaining walls,
it was all I could do to keep up.
Finally, arrived on asphalt, we looked down the dark landing strip like pro bowlers. Wiggle of the hips, adjust the stance.
Then, the wind-up, a guttural shriek and, far away, the tinkle of shattered glass.
Our mutual fury, heartbreak, helpless, hopeless rage, something, exploding into tiny shards out there in the street. Blissful release is thinking of nothing but broken bottles and the blood pounding in your veins.
We stood, silent and transfixed, following with our eyes the arc it had made through the air.
He turned to me. “Want to do it again?” I looked at him. I smiled. I glowed. I soared, euphoric. “Yes.”