The Muse Inks

Ezra slides the shot glasses over to us, along with a plate of salt and lemon slices.

“You don’t let Cody give me drinks, but you’re supplying them to me like they’re water.”

“You said things are mild. That calls for a change of plans.” Ezra snickers before knocking back a shot of clear liquid.

Maybe I can pretend it’s water?

He leans in when a chorus of cheers goes through the crowd. “Let’s go dance. We can’t talk much here anyway.”

It jolts me awake to realize that it’s a thrill, being with Ezra like this. I’m seeing a different side of him that I haven’t seen before, and it takes me back to that first day, when he was still a stranger. I’ve known him a few years now, but in this dark crowded room, he feels like somebody I just met.

It turns out some things are still new. Like how there’s a light in his eyes that has nothing to do with the neon. It sends a lightning strike of adrenaline through me, especially when he urges, “Come on, Leslie.
It’s our night.” His soft smile is a contrast to the striking scene around us. Our night.

Despite my initial protest, the prospect of dancing in front of people has me knocking back the shot with Ezra. Then he hands me the last one.

“For liquid courage.” Ezra’s breath is hot on my neck—or maybe it’s the alcohol as I down my fifth shot of the night. Before I know it, he’s holding me by the hand and leading me away from the bar. The world seems to tilt sideways.

I try not to think of the people around us who may or may not be watching and wondering why I’m here. Because this is so not me. But when Ezra finds a spot for us in the maze of bodies moving with the music, and he spins me around in the small space, everything feels easy again. We laugh for no reason, and I think, So this is what it’s like to be drunk. Then I get the sense that anything can feel like me. Even this—even dancing in a room full of strangers, dancing with him.

When a new song plays, and he jumps up and raves along with no reserve, I look around us. Like him, everyone’s having their own fun, fueled by sloshing cups of alcohol, blaring music, and accidental touches in the pulsing crowd. People look like they’re thinking, Who cares? We’re all just drunk anyway.

Everybody’s too busy moving in their own little space to notice anybody else. Here, in the dark, we’re all just strangers who happen to be together. There’s a certain comfort to that, I think. So finally, aware of no other body but my own, I let myself get lost in the electric night.