Sighing, I use the removable shower head to spray down the tiled wall.
I take the train over to Flushing, or three different trains, actually, requiring me to take a train into Manhattan and then two different trains out towards Queens. It gives me time to remember Georgia dancing on one of those seats, spinning and grinding on one of the poles, head tilted back in open-mouthed laughter, headphones barely containing the volume of her hair.
I wind my way through Flushing, through masses of hundreds, maybe thousands of people, holding red plastic bags of fruit and vegetables and seafood. The spring air is warm with the smell of scallion, soy, and car exhaust.
The karaoke bar is tucked away from the main thoroughfare. When I walk up, I see my sister’s wife Jill lighting up a cigarette.
“I didn’t know you smoked,” I told her.
She shrugs, using her other hand to type something on her phone. She takes a drag, makes a strange choking sound, then bends over, coughing her lungs out. “Yum,” she hacks, tears in her eyes. “This is so relaxing. I love this so much.”
I eye her. “You okay?”
She nods, eyes red and face slightly disgusted. “You should go in.”
“Do you want me to wait out here with you while you finish your cigarette?”
“NO!” she half-shouts. She clears her throat. “No. Just… just go in. Oh, and happy birthday,” she says, patting me on the back with one hand and pinching the cigarette between two fingers on the other, holding it as far away from her body as possible.
I walk into the bar. I’ve been here before. It’s set up and designed to look like a nightclub, complete with faux leather couches and black lights, illuminating anything and everything light colored to a glowing neon.
I’m bracing myself for the inevitable “SURPRISE!”, even if it is in fact not a surprise party, yet is something my family would do anyway, but it doesn’t come.
Instead, I hear what sounds like a dying cat screeching the lyrics to I Believe in a Thing Called Love, that catchy yet slightly irritating song by The Darkness that came out in the early 2000s.
I believe in a thing called love
Just listen to the rhythm of my heart
There's a chance we could make it now
We'll be rocking 'til the sun goes down…
I recognize that cat. And honestly, the screeching works for this song.
In the back of my head, I vaguely note that my family and friends are seated around the bar, but my sights zero in on the stage.
Georgia stands there, screeching into the microphone and gyrating her hips like the guy in the music video, the whites of her eyes and her teeth glowing unnaturally under the black light.
I wanna kiss you every minute, every hour, every day
You got me in a spin, but everythin' is a-okay…
It’s relief, pure relief, this feeling in my chest. It blooms, as I walk towards her in a daze, like Icarus flying towards the sun. I can’t help the grin that takes over my face.
Georgia drops the performance when she sees my smile. She hands the microphone to Tala and Izzy, who I notice now are standing next to her with glee on their faces, like kids in a candy shop.
They take over the song while Georgia pulls me aside.
“Hi,” she says breathlessly.
“Hey,” I say. I’m no longer in control of my body, and I find my hand reaching up to touch her hair, tugging on the soft ends. “So, you got Jill smoking cigarettes now?”
She scoffs. “That was Tala’s idea.” Her gaze softens. “Can we talk outside?”
With a confidence born through routine, or love, maybe, I take her hand and lead her out. Her hand feels soft and warm and right in mine as our fingers interlock.
We’re outside and I get to look down at her beautiful face. I drink her in, parched by the loss. Her eyes sparkle. She has more freckles over her nose and cheeks, as if she’s been out in the sun. She’s wearing my lipstick. My eyes are glued to her mouth when she speaks.
