Memories, Changes and Joe's Crab Shack
While I waited in the holding pen at Joe's Crab Shack for the rest of my party to arrive, I sat in the awkward wooden bench watching the people around me. I found myself following the behavior of two women.
From the back, they looked like coeds home for summer break. Tanned backs, tank tops and short skirts. Gyrating hips to the syncopated beat of a live band, their fruity alcoholic drinks sloshing over the rims of their glasses. Acting foolish in the way that most college-aged girls do, aware of the attention they draw and basking in the thrill of being watched, all the while appearing oblivious to the stares of other patrons. They laughed and yelled, moving to the beat, talking and dancing only with each other.
I sat there and thought, 'Jesus. I miss my friends.' It reminded me of Miami, pushing our way to the front of the crowd, standing next to the stage cheers-ing our bottles of bud light and screaming along to all the classic rock hits. Throwing our arms around each others shoulders as we recited every word to Buckcherry's "Crazy Bitch" and Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'". Doing shots with the lead singer and laughing hysterically as the hotel camera guy took photo after photo of us for the website. It reminded me of Fieldhouse and Brothers and Jakes and Joes and how those songs, "our songs" would come on and we'd come together to scream along. It reminded me of our Halloween party, which was completely out of control, and still one of the BEST memories I have from college.
My heart sank and the dull ache I've been working to ignore returns to the center of my chest. I miss these people. I genuinely miss them and I worry that I will never have friendships like this again. My head fills with worries and fears and I looked down to blink the tears out of my eyes.
When I looked up, the women had turned, laughing to one another and sharing a private joke or story. Suddenly I realized. These weren't ladies my age! They were in their late forties, they were middle-aged. Normally older women trashily attempting to emulate younger women annoys the shit out of me, in a stop-acting-like-a-slut-grandma kind of way, but when I looked at these women it made me feel better.
That's what it will be like with my Johnson St girls. We'll be old and haggard and still tear the town up when we are together, clearing the dancefloor of all twenty-somethings and rocking out to the oldies we know and love. Potato will wear shamelessly low-cut shirts and shorter than short skirts and STILL hop up on tables, dancing for the crowd. Fern will challenge all comers for beer chugging contests and will beat them all, even the burly frat boys. And Whol-e-tone will still be surrounded by crowd of admiring young men, and she will listen to their every word and be genuine and sweet in response. And we'll look at each other over pitchers of beer (or a table littered with empty shot glasses and long island cups) and smile over a shared memory and laugh about how little has changed.
From the back, they looked like coeds home for summer break. Tanned backs, tank tops and short skirts. Gyrating hips to the syncopated beat of a live band, their fruity alcoholic drinks sloshing over the rims of their glasses. Acting foolish in the way that most college-aged girls do, aware of the attention they draw and basking in the thrill of being watched, all the while appearing oblivious to the stares of other patrons. They laughed and yelled, moving to the beat, talking and dancing only with each other.
I sat there and thought, 'Jesus. I miss my friends.' It reminded me of Miami, pushing our way to the front of the crowd, standing next to the stage cheers-ing our bottles of bud light and screaming along to all the classic rock hits. Throwing our arms around each others shoulders as we recited every word to Buckcherry's "Crazy Bitch" and Journey's "Don't Stop Believin'". Doing shots with the lead singer and laughing hysterically as the hotel camera guy took photo after photo of us for the website. It reminded me of Fieldhouse and Brothers and Jakes and Joes and how those songs, "our songs" would come on and we'd come together to scream along. It reminded me of our Halloween party, which was completely out of control, and still one of the BEST memories I have from college.
My heart sank and the dull ache I've been working to ignore returns to the center of my chest. I miss these people. I genuinely miss them and I worry that I will never have friendships like this again. My head fills with worries and fears and I looked down to blink the tears out of my eyes.
When I looked up, the women had turned, laughing to one another and sharing a private joke or story. Suddenly I realized. These weren't ladies my age! They were in their late forties, they were middle-aged. Normally older women trashily attempting to emulate younger women annoys the shit out of me, in a stop-acting-like-a-slut-grandma kind of way, but when I looked at these women it made me feel better.
That's what it will be like with my Johnson St girls. We'll be old and haggard and still tear the town up when we are together, clearing the dancefloor of all twenty-somethings and rocking out to the oldies we know and love. Potato will wear shamelessly low-cut shirts and shorter than short skirts and STILL hop up on tables, dancing for the crowd. Fern will challenge all comers for beer chugging contests and will beat them all, even the burly frat boys. And Whol-e-tone will still be surrounded by crowd of admiring young men, and she will listen to their every word and be genuine and sweet in response. And we'll look at each other over pitchers of beer (or a table littered with empty shot glasses and long island cups) and smile over a shared memory and laugh about how little has changed.