Wednesday, April 25, 2012

Disco Nights

“Rico!  Stay back!  Lola, get behind me quick!”  I picked up a bottle and broke it over the counter.  Some glass started splattering in the air, and I heard gunshots.  Someone was screaming.

I sat up straight in my bed.  My screaming reverberated in my ears.  "Copacabana..." I muttered.  The bar and tables faded into the background, and I saw the reflection of streetlights against the curtains.  My breaths evened out.  Throwing off the sheets, I got up from my twin bed and stumbled to the closet and opened the doors.  The white, fly-collared jacket was still hanging next to the bellbottom slacks.  My white leather shoes were parked to the right of my box of glimmering socks.  The Grecian formula and brush sitting in my change plate with the rhinestone cufflinks.

“Thank goodness!” I said.  “Everything’s OK.”

I woke up screaming.  Barry Manilow was singing in my head.

“Honey, what’s wrong?”  My wife sat up in the bed.

I looked around.  Ugh!  A double nightmare.  The dresser was across from the bed, our children’s pictures sitting all in a row in front of the mirror.  The breeze from our fan cooled the perspiration from my face.

“Quick!  What year is it?  What am I wearing?!”

“It was just a dream.  You fell asleep in your jeans and Nike shirt.”

“Oh my gosh, what a psycho wedding!  Who pulls stunts like that?!”

“Darling, the wedding was last month.  You don’t have to wear those polyester pants anymore.”

I spent a few minutes collecting my thoughts.  A shudder went down my spine.  I hadn't known Tom and his fiance very long before they asked me to be part of their wedding party.  I should have suspected something, as their shelves were covered with Bee Gees 8-track tapes.  “Who sings, 'I’m Your Boogie Man' during their vows?”

“We’ll turn on some Huey Luis in the morning.”  I felt her hand run through my hair.  “I’m sure no one took pictures of you on the dance floor.  It’s probably just a fad with them that’ll pass.”

I sat there, shaking the images out of my head.  The platform shoes and disco ball started to vanish.  My wife patted my back.  “It’ll be better in the morning.  Good night, love.”

I lay back.  “Thanks, Lola.”


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