Loan Shark Love

“I’m coming! Just give me a minute!” I call out to all of them from where I’m standing in my friend’s room, getting ready. “Wait for me out in the car!”

I try to push Grey from my mind and make my way downstairs, stepping carefully in my high heels. I don’t want to twist my ankle before I’m even able to make it out.

My hair is shiny, with strawberry blonde curls down my back, and my makeup is sparkly and soft.

I’m ready for a night of dancing and fun with my friends.

My father’s bakery is on my mind, and even though he took the money, he vowed to pay me back and find out where the stacks of money actually came from.

I don’t want to think about how I’m going to pay the money back.

We finally arrive at the club, and the neon lights flash across the sky. It’s usually never a rowdy place, and most of the people there are rich and just looking for a place to wind down for the night. The dancing is far enough away from the bar and the tables that it’s not as disruptive as it could undoubtedly be.

I laugh with my friends as the sun dips below the horizon outside and our shiny Uber arrives by the door.

I’m immensely glad I decided to wear only a little makeup as sweat gathers on my brow in the heat as soon as the car door is opened. It’s spring, but the heat of summer is quickly approaching.

I fan myself with my hand, and then I step out of the car, across from the flashing building. There are crowds of beautifully dressed people going in and out of the club. I can hear the low thump of the music, deafening even from outside of the walls.

I feel invigorated by the night.

One of my friends links her arm together with mine as we crossed the street. My other friends we came with are following right behind.

All of my stress melts away as I take in the excitement of the night. I feel as if I’m wide awake, already swaying back and forth to the music as we go inside the building. One of my friends yells over the music, letting us know that she’s going up to the front to grab drinks from the bar.

I sip at my club soda when she comes back to our group, and we all spin on the tiled floor with the flashing lights, moving in time with the quick beat.

I can see my friends becoming intoxicated by the club, the neon lights flashing over their pretty faces as they take in the atmosphere of the nightclub. There’s a sick band playing, sending waves of live music out into the crowd, enlivening the dancers around us even more.

The clubs my friends and I usually go to in Brooklyn are nothing compared to The Light Room. Manhattan is a whole different ball game. The walls and floors thrum with life and light, intense and encompassing me all around.

Outside of the club, I know I would never have been able to describe how it feels to be there. In The Light Room, I’m not the overweight girl towering over my slim friends.

I’m someone else, a creature of light and moving sound, whirling my way across the dance floor as if I belong here in the neon as the beat moves through me.

Glowing, neon light balls soar through the air, thrown into the crowd of people around us, who jump and reach happily into the sky to grab at them with their hands.

I feel myself laugh feeling so bright and shining, like a star from the night sky fallen to earth. I don’t have the stress and the pressure on my shoulders of my dad losing his business. I keep dancing until my feet begin to ache, and I completely lose sight of my drink somewhere.

When one song stops and another one begins, I let myself catch my breath, feeling the high of the night wash over me. I look around the room, searching the crowd for any familiar faces.

“Olivia? Riley? Anyone?” I call, looking for Olivia’s long dress or Riley’s slicked-back ponytail.

My friends are pretty much nowhere to be found, and the crowd pushes at my body, edging me out of the group now that I’m not one of them, no longer a slave to the music around me.

I begin to struggle to maintain my balance on the slick tiles of the dance floor, and I feel off-kilter in my high heels. Sweat beads on my neck, dripping between my breasts.

A trickle of fear crawls into my mind, but I push it out of my thoughts, heading for the bathroom so that I can gather my thoughts there. Perhaps I’ll find a familiar face to cling to in the dark of the club.