Frustrated and perfect and beautiful all at once. A weekend of ghosts and zombies, but the good kind and the best kind. In weeks I feel old in the heart and old in the soul, but that becomes easy to forget and I’m glad. Absorb all that you can, the punch and poison, black lights and dry ice, names said only to be forgotten and words remembered you can’t forget. Not a syllable, not a sentence.

Drew and Victoria get to my place in the late evening. I hadn’t seen Drew in too long. I give him a hearty hug. His beard is thick and I tell him it must be the rugby. Soccer is a game for gentlemen played by hooligans, he tells me. Rugby is a game for hooligans played by gentlemen.

Inside, Liz and Andrea prepare for their usual night of debauchery and booze on the 6^th. Liz starts her transformation as a cat, but reverts back to last night’s zombie stripper ensemble. Andrea dons something that hardly covers herself. She’s a maid. The strip of fabric and lace defies thresholds.  I start my addition of the latex and paper towel contusions that work better than they should. They weep blood and display a visceral sheen. My arm festers. My neck and chest look fatal. My contorted cheek begs for medical attention. Drew is a lumberjack, sleeveless flannel, chest hair, and axe. Victoria mimics the style of La Dia de los Muertos to wonderful effect. Onwards south to San Marcos.

Joey greets us with his interpretation of Justin Beiber. It’s mostly just a hoodie and jeans, but the wig and headset sells it. I missed him also. Inside, we meet all new faces hazed in black light and masks. Names exchanged with the premise that they will be forgotten. Drinks are found quickly, a toxic punch that tastes more of liquor than fruit juice. Kaybee is there and it’s been so long. I greet him with a hug and I drink and he drinks and we talk of Bailey’s shots and Thanksgiving and travel. The punch manages to disappear and reappear in my cup quite rapidly and my buzz comes quickly and for this I am thankful. Jello shots. Shiner Bock.

An Aside: Jon Benet.

The party fills with new faces and I make it a point to know them all. Superficial friendships that satisfy my need for sociability. People my age long forgotten. They praise my zombie makeup and I greet them with the lowest effort zombie noise ever created. It might have been my current imbuement, but the noise that escapes my zombified mouth resembles an old Jewish man suddenly surprised. The Count from Sesame Street. Someone who is a drunk zombie. This is coupled with my arms being raised in a dinosaur motion. I am the best zombie, I assure myself.

An Aside: That’s hardly a costume you have. But I talk and I say things that have been on my mind that I would have said otherwise, as a zombie or not.

The back door of this apartment leads to a clearing that leads to other apartments and therefore other parties. I stumble towards the new masses of people. My walk from a distance probably appeared authentic as a zombie. I achieve this without effort. The next party is like the shady underground of our previous one. The light is a caustic green and the girls are dressed more provocatively than the last. Joey makes his way as Justin Bieber. His picture will find its way onto many phones and cameras that night. I move in and out. Kaybee and Victoria bring up the rear. Victoria steals the final shots of a Jack Daniels bottle. We enjoy them in that clearing.

I see faces long lost. Old high school friends that were more names if anything. They lead me to another party hidden behind a rare closed door. More unexpected faces. At this point the night moves fluidly, without much thought, acting on instinct and impulse. Outside again. Joey flaunts himself as the Biebs and doesn’t seem to suffer the curse of diminishing returns.

Back in the original apartment. The punch and poison begins to catch up with me.

An Aside: You listened to all those words that could be and were interpreted as drunk nothings, but in reality were all something to be heard. I said things I shouldn’t have and opened up stories that I haven’t told, all so fast and so easy. It probably means nothing in the end but the end is unimportant right now. It’s the during and the doing. The acknowledgement and the happening. Take it all in and don’t forget it. Through the booze and the muddled thoughts I remember it all. I don’t forget the motions. Not here or now. It seems like forever in that corner.

Something prompts me to stand and I know by the spinning room that it’s time to take our leave. We say our goodbyes to the new friends we’ll never see again. I give Kaybee one more hug. I rip the fake wound from my face and chest. It takes some chest hair with it. The three of us pile into the car. We blast the Strokes and sing our hearts out all the way to Austin. At the apartment we make our way to bed without much fanfare. I wake with fake blood on my pillow and my head pounds. In the mirror, I look like a zombie and I don’t think it’s the makeup.

I feel twenty again.