Pour It Out | by A'Ja Lyons

I wasn’t looking to have a ‘hot girl summer,’ but a freedom one. That Friday night I was out with two girl friends and we were going to dance and drink. I’d never done that when I was twenty-one like I was supposed to. Much of my time lately was spent making up for lost time. Nurturing the baby girl I didn’t get to be. The young lady I didn’t let myself be. The woman I was afraid to let others see for fear of rejection. The shield was lowered as drinks were flowing.

We’d started out downtown at Whiskey River where grown folks got their drink on. The thirty and up crowd frequented there and that was Mickey’s taste. She liked her men silverback and rogue as gorillas. Jamie held a lowkey temperament and seemed content to go along with the flow, even when I suggested we walk a few blocks and visit Dangerous Curves, the local “gentlemen's club” where nothing was gentle or formal. This was small-town Iowa, so they kept their bikinis on. Mickey and Jamie had never been, always too afraid to go. It was a mostly male crowd, but a few other ladies dropped in. I rarely saw other women. We dropped dollars on our sisters in solidarity. We’d arrived just as they began to glisten with a layer of sweat and light air of musk. I tipped a few dancers and paid for a private dance with a surprisingly talented youngster who’d chatted me up half the evening.

Mickey suggested AJ’s next. When we got there the drinks men didn’t buy her she ordered for us. I’d had enough to drink at Whiskey River. It was already midnight and my Mama Bear instincts began to take over. If Mickey and Jamie were going to keep drinking, I’d have to remain sober. The crowd at AJ’s were all in their twenties. The insecurity I thought therapy eradicated began to slowly creep back in.

I questioned if I was too old, if my outfit was too basic, if my hair was styled too plainly, if I was still too fat, if my shoes were too simple – that I didn’t belong. My friends wanted me there. I tried to hold onto that as I held onto them in the crowd of sweaty bodies on the rooftop bar. No one was staring at me. No one cared. It only mattered to me that I was the oldest, darkest skinned, and heaviest in the group. That stuff only matters in grade school. You’re an adult now.

I was with my sisters dancing to the rhythms correcting the misconceptions that I am any less than a goddess of the sun, or whatever that rapper said. I’m sure that’s what he meant. We walked together to the filthy restroom with a continuously long line for both sexes. I thought that trope was only on screen. Mickey got more free drinks from men and happily shared. I remained sober but happy for her as she reveled in her youth, beauty, and opportunity. I was most impressed with her wisdom to keep sisters close.

A skinny twenty-something boy barely older than my teenage son approached me and I suppressed my laughter. He couldn’t hold a conversation and I eventually got back to dancing. I made music requests from a fantastic DJ. Word from Mickey was that the music wasn’t normally so hot and happening at AJ’s. Reggaeton, dancehall, trap - not Iowa standards. Three women, melanin kissed by moonlight, held each other as beats flew through our bodies. My body that I’d formerly seen as broken, damaged as the sloughing of an earthen dam, felt healed by salve as sweat dripped down my legs. My legs, customarily weary from being weighed down by excess carriage. Heart and mind heavy from burdens others laid on me and those I needlessly placed on my own back sinking myself into valleys where I’d nearly drowned.

When two a.m. came it was time to return to reality. I drove my friends home and smiled with the memories made that erased a layer of grimy, old regret. Balms for the heart of the little girl inside still wanting to play and be held even as eyes tire and the body wears down when playtime and school days run long.

A'Ja Lyons is an editor at Medusa Rising. Photo by Megan Poole Photography.

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