I’ll never get over it. I heard “argumentative antithetical dream girl” live. I screamed it, even. Next to two of my closest friends. We met when we were 11. And only now, in our 30s, can we begin to understand what that meant. As we sit in the fancy restaurant with honey butter biscuits and tiny dishes of pasta, brought by our waiter, who wears a pin that says, “we’re all just dogs in god’s hot car.” I didn’t know Belle moved in 6th grade or what Diz’s calendar of black dots meant. And now I do, and now we laugh over beignets and grief. 300 take-out coffees later, or at least three French Quarter cafe au laits later.
I had no plans Thursday night, but when I landed, I found Gos had texted me. He was in New Orleans! Total coincidence. We walk the Halloween streets. Folks on a balcony hold up a sign that says, “Show Us Your T*ts.” Gos yells up, “I got rid of mine!” We split hot cauliflower and all our memories of the old comedy theatre. He’s happy. Life is long.
On Friday I am much too excited to sleep when the gals do, so I head to Bourbon Street alone. I get a slushy that tastes like wedding cake. Not sure what it’s usually called, but there’s a temporary sign slapped on the machine: “Love Story.” A bouncer beckons me into a bumping party. I jump with a hundred strangers and emotionally belt “Out of the Woods” with a circle I’ll think about for a while. After an hour of non-stop Swift, the DJ starts “American Girl” and the crowd boos. He puts his hands up, like we’re shimmery cops, and presses play on “Style.” YOU ALREADY PLAYED THAT we screech. He says into the mic, “Wow, Swifties let you know fast!” And he desperately picks a folklore track.
SABRINA CARPENTER duet of "Espresso" and "Please Please Please." I had to sit down after. Mind fully blown. Throat shot. Earlier I’d told a random girl from New York, I’d love to hear a slow piano-fabulous “Welcome to New York.” Ten hours later, I do. I time travel to 2017, that depressing summer I couldn't find any work and ended up teaching drama at various summer camps. A first grader in the arts cabin pointed her finger at me one morning and commanded, "LET US DANCE TO WELCOME TO NEW YORK." And so I did. Meanwhile in 2024 the three of us make friendship bracelets and do our make-up and spit toothpaste in the sink while someone else curls her hair while someone else applies glitter freckles. It’s not unlike the summer camp bathhouse.
A stranger from the internet finds me to give me beads that spell “your ivy grows”—a sign. Blondie wore her lavender dress like I did. The psychic says, “definitely” and so say we. Belle watches her daughter’s softball livestream. Diz on the hunt for a soft pretzel. A stadium worker goes to the back to find some, hot and fresh. I give her beads that say “Swiftie” and I feel like we’re friends for all time. At airport security the woman who checks my backpack sheepishly asks if I’d like to donate any bracelets, and boy would I! I give her one that says "The Man U Script." She shakes it proudly on her wrist. I observe as our doorman becomes progressively sparkly all day. A very drunk guy corners me, says he’s so impressed by the culture, said he cried after a girl gave him a friendship bracelet. “I’ve never felt so welcomed before.” Yeah, man, I want to say, f*ck the patriarchy. We sing it loud and proud where football lives. The tiny gal in front of us dances in the aisle, proudly reciting if she were a man, she’d be the man. The itty bitty who gave me a yellow circle of “YBWM”—I’ll never trade it.
When it was all over, I was so fed I couldn’t even taste the bitter of bittersweet. We poured onto the street, completely shut down. I spy a woman in a gown getting her feet rubbed at a dinky massage parlor. Belle started chanting “Were you sent by someone who wanted me dead!” and it caught like fire, until there we all were, marching through the city like a femme rage army. We sign a fan’s white dress with our favorite lyrics. I write in Sharpie, “we were in screaming color.” We ended up in an air-conditioned room playing music videos. “She’s so young,” we keep marveling. So were we, I think. So were we.
On Sunday, with only an hour left in the magical city I decide to walk to the park. But on the way I see a familiar shop. The spot I had my tea leaves read when I worked on the cruise ship. Too kismet to pass up. The medium reads the cup, explains I don’t need anymore big dreams. I need to find people who will help me make my dreams a reality. I'll never get over it, how it hit different this time.
