The party is over...

Let it not be said that we “Americans” are always the agua fiestas, the rain on the parade… I hold up to you this evening as a prime example of its counterpoint. I slipped away for just a moment (ok, I had to brush my teeth, I couldn’t resist… and then I had to floss) and upon returning, people were shuffling out the door, wrapping themselves in outer wear, giving kisses, one for the South Americans and two for the Europeans (but which never end on the lips by accident☹ and Alison and I, the only gringas (that and a half-pint, halfsy), taking kisses where we could. Now she was going home, but to something much more exciting, I am sure, and my only desire was to lie belly down on my bed with the screen casting a blue light on my fingers and write it all down. This is becoming an addiction, but a rather practical one, I imagine.

Here’s my secret desire, number 2. I really want to forget about everything and just be a diva. I have been secretly writing songs since I was eight, though the early attempts were lost several moves back. Even then I had nothing transcendent to offer, just longing - what does an eight-year-old know about longing? Probably as much as my four-year-old does about playing the guitar, but man did she look adorable, holding the instrument, larger than herself, with appropriate posture.

I love the way the music slides in over me, embracing me in warmth, my voice detaches from my body, the notes weave themselves in and out and around the principal melody, several versions of every theme running all at once, the primary melody is lost, but what emerges is even more beautiful, and haunting and graceful. Singing is the only state of grace for me, when I disappear and re-emerge as the me I want to be, with no doubts or desires, just pure sensation.

How I love feeding the people I love. Nothing is more wonderful than a dinner party where everyone keeps eating, and drinking in orgiastic pleasure for hours on end, and I know that I was the one responsible for the pleasure. But like all good things, this too came to an end, too soon for me, the gringa… the one who would be happy to have a house full of friends and love every day. We are forever parodied and laughed-at, when at parties in other countries… damn Americans don’t know how to have a “real” party, everything always shuts down so early… I was not ready to shut down quite yet, so again I find myself writing to the eternally non-responsive listener, my own screen. I insist, it was the non-Americans that called it quits, preferring the warmth of their beds (filled with others, for sure) to the joys of the rumbling guitars, rolling in waves, voices uniting, across generational boundaries and continents and genres, a collective memory in an instant, a brief glimpse at the possibility of our joint humanity.

Well, now I suppose it is time for me too, to retire, and to search for that peace, in sleep. But just remember, the party was over against my will, another myth debunked, a fallacy unmasked. Not bad for a Friday night.