You are 14. You have a blue, silk shirt. It’s new, so you don’t have to worry about the wrinkles, or the shrinking. You will put on your acne medication in hopes that the zits won’t look too bad. You’ll pick at them, of course, disregarding your father’s advice: “If you pop your zits, you’ll get craters like this…At least I don’t look like Olmos,” he’d say. You don’t look like Olmos either, but you have craters just like your dad, but not yet. You’re still 14, and you have plans. You’ll smoke cheebah for the first time tonight, but only after you swear your friends to secrecy. You might drink some MD 20/20. I know, your stomach hurts just thinking about it today. But you know that all of this is just prep for Images, an under 18 dance club, your main destination. You’ll hope to hook up. You won’t. You’ll drink several Sprites and one orange juice. And of course, you’ll dance to Rob Base. You will dance harder than you’ve ever danced, so hard that you’ll barely register that you’re not very good at it. The DJ will play this track like three times, and on the last one, you will have learned enough lyrics to half rhyme along:
Bro’, I got an Ee-GO! Yo, talkin’ to me? No. Oh.
And by now everyone else knows enough lyrics to do the same, in unison:
’Cause I’m cool, calm just like a breeze Rock the mic with the help of Eeeeee-Z Rock! On the set, the music plays Only cuts the records that I say!
Rarely is everything all right with the world. Consider tonight the exception.
Image: “lab-rint” by Bill Cawley