Goodbye 33
A reflection on my 33rd birthday, and a thank you to a perfect year.
Wind catapulted leaves and crushed Diet Dr. Pepper cans up and around the sparkling lights of a marquee. The band name had already been swapped for Friday’s performance, but the Edison bulbs flickered beneath a neon bluebird.
I stared at a gathering group of giddy girls, all in various stages of dress inappropriate for the weather, most with technicolor hair.
I looked out over a patio, my favorite band playing over the bar’s loudspeakers, and wondered what luck the year ahead of me held.
The disco ball sparkled, Christmas tinsel too. A taxidermied bear in a Santa suit held a single rose between his teeth. My best friend’s cheeks were pinched rosy pink to match her hair, and we laughed over snapshots from the last wonderful night of my year.
We walked together, wind slapping our ears, entire body locked in shivers, because it was tradition. We do a lap, maybe two, we throw our arms out beside us and our heads back, and we express great gratitude to the all-seeing all-knowing Universe for blessing us with so much magic in our lives, so much luck.
It was just her and me, the festive lights of suburbia sparkling back at us, when I saw the headlights of a sprinter van rumble down an alley, and my heart felt full. They spilled out, music too loud, silhouettes distinct against streetlights, and I waved and blew them kisses goodbye, expressed gratitude, as though they were me at 33 and I was saying goodbye to her too.