Joy

There was something different, something new, hanging in the air that night.

She was pretty sure it wasn’t the curtain of tangy smoke that stung her nose but only made her want to breathe deeper. It wasn’t the distantly echoing melody of shouts and laughter, teenagers wreaking predictable havoc. It wasn’t even the snap-crackle-pop of the fireworks all around her, a consistently inconsistent rhythm doing a duet with her racing heartbeat.

She couldn’t identify it, but whatever it was made her face and fingertips tingle. The something in the air made her want to grab the moment, hold onto the night. Cling close to the memories-not-yet-memories and not let them go. Because the years would dull their rawness, the sharp youth of it all, and more than anything, she wanted to remember what it felt like to be here, to be young.

So she raised her arms from her sides and spun in a delighted circle, just once, because that was all it took to glue it in her mind, letting out a triumphant whoop to the glittering stars and the colorful explosions they danced with tonight.

For a frozen moment, time was nowhere to be found.

For a stranded moment, she was a statue, poised on one toe with arms flung wide.

For a single moment, she was happy, and she wouldn't let that go.

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