Each Night Is New Again

by Pam Avoledo

Reagan and I are running across the train tracks in our sequined mini-skirts and flowers in our hair. We’re shivering from the cold, but we’ve been mermaids for the night, dancing underneath an electric blue sun  in a packed club. Her car is on the second floor of a parking garage close by. From the tracks, we see the slow parade of cars waiting, giving us two extra hours to roam around the city. We know where we’re going and we’re not afraid.

There’s a 24 hour diner open and we slid into the round seats, facing the street. The drag queen, Aurelia Summer, her golden hoop earrings still on, waves at us and drinks her coffee. We order waffles and sausages and hash browns and eggs and eat it all and share pie for dessert like we’re going to be young forever.

Reagen dances as in the streetlight’s glow, and I film her and a girl our age, who says her name is Brynn,  tells her she’s really pretty and invites us to go bowling with her. And  maybe we’re all still drunk, but we go with her anyway. We’ve been everywhere in town, but each night it’s new again. Brynn hugs us goodbye, says we’ll have to meet up again, and Brynn’s another story we’ll tell our daughters when they are older and have a steady job and we won’t have to worry about where they are all night.

BIO: Pam Avoledo's work can be found at pamavoledo.com